


Resolving a Misunderstanding

by MMADfan



Series: The "Resolving a Misunderstanding Universe" Group of Stories [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ADMM, DH disregarded, Drama, Epic Length, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship-to-Romance, Gen, Minerva-centric, Pre-Canon, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:52:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 141
Words: 877,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MMADfan/pseuds/MMADfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minerva has just finished her first term teaching. A series of misunderstandings leads to an embarrassing moment, injured feelings, regret, growing understanding, then resolution. A Minerva McGonagall fic set in 1957, with forays into the past. More than a romance; stories within stories. </p><p>Voted <strong>Favorite Legacy Story</strong> in the <strong>"Minerva McGongall"</strong> category in the <strong>Spring/Summer 2013 <a href="http://hpfanficfanpoll.livejournal.com/">HP Fanfic Fan Poll</a> Awards</strong>.</p><p><strong>Main Characters:</strong> Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore.<br/><strong>Other Canon Characters:</strong> Poppy Pomfrey, Rubeus Hagrid, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, Tom Riddle, Grindelwald, and others.</p><p>Not DH-compliant. Disregards DH.</p><p>Most content T-rated. Pertinent warnings appear in individual chapter notes. See individual chapter summaries for characters appearing in that chapter.</p><p><em>Resolving a Misunderstanding</em> was selected to be a featured story on the Petulant Poetess during January 2008 and was a featured story on Sycophant Hex Lumos in May 2007.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Minerva's Grievance

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** This story is intended for an adult audience. While the vast majority of this story is T-rated (PG-13), certain later chapters contain explicit sexual content depicting consenting adults. If such content offends or disturbs you, do not read it. There is a bowdlerised version available on FanFiction.net, if you prefer to read the story with the mature content edited to make it more suitable for a broader audience.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva complains to Poppy about Dumbledore's repeated slights. She gets herself wound up as she tells Poppy about the latest incident, much to her immediate distress and regret.

**PART ONE**  
 **I: Minerva’s Grievance**

If Minerva had been a different sort of woman, she might have regretted her choice of words as soon as they were out of her mouth. If she were yet another sort of woman, those words would never have reached her lips. And yet a different sort of woman altogether would never have even _thought_ such words. As it was, Minerva McGonagall rarely resorted to uncouth language, but she was quite capable of it at that time, and when she used it, she made it a policy not to regret it. Although there were occasions on which she regretted using them in front of a particular audience, she had never yet regretted her choice of words. In this instance, however, she immediately regretted not having noticed the wizard who had just passed through the door behind her. Soon after, she came to regret even her choice of words. What became of that regret is the most interesting part of our tale, but that shall have to wait.

The conversation had started out as just a bit of a gripe session between friends. Minerva had flounced into Poppy’s office at a quarter to ten that morning, a look of exasperation on her face.

“I’ll tell you, Poppy,” declared the irate witch, “I’m getting sick of this. Is he _never_ going to be punctual for our meetings? He doesn’t seem to have this problem with his other appointments. He always has time for old Sluggy, even without an appointment, and he’s never late for meetings with Gertrude! He doesn’t seem to respect me at all.”

“Well, Min, you know that he is trying to overcome the perception that he’s prejudiced against the Slytherins, after having been Head of Gryffindor House for so long, so of course he’s going to make time for Slughorn. And Gertie is his deputy. She’s been here for donkey’s years. They have an established relationship.”

“Don’t call me ‘Min’! You know how I hate that. I understand about Slughorn and Gertrude, honestly, I do. But this morning we had an appointment to go over the NEWT-level Transfiguration curriculum – his idea, not mine! – and I spent all yesterday afternoon and evening reviewing, writing up notes on any changes I was suggesting or areas where I was unclear about the most effective pedagogic method; not that there are many changes, since I don’t want to experiment too much until I see how the curriculum works for me as it stands. And I did have questions about the incoming seventh-years, since I didn’t teach them last term. This was not an insignificant meeting about the best source for buttons or beetles, or some such! And do you know what happened, Poppy, do you?”

Poppy shook her head and encouraged her friend. “Tell me, Min – Minerva! Something must have happened to get you so worked up!”

“I got there at eight fifty-seven, and gave the password to the gargoyle. I know I was a few minutes early, but I thought that by the time those stairs got me up to his office, it would be nine o’clock. Nothing happened. So I gave the password again. The only difference this time was that the gargoyle had the temerity to leer at me!”

“Well, Minerva, you have to admit that the gargoyle pretty much leers at everyone. That’s the way gargoyles are.”

“Whose side are you on, Poppy Pomfrey? The gargoyle gave me a . . . a _deeper_ leer than usual. Then it sat back, crossed its scrawny little arms, and closed its eyes!”

Poppy was caught somewhere between amusement and sympathy. Afraid she would laugh, she just nodded with what she hoped was an understanding smile.

“Well, I then announced to the gargoyle that I had an appointment at nine o’clock with the Headmaster, and repeated the password. The gargoyle only opened one eye. I thought perhaps I had the wrong password, but Albus gave it to me himself yesterday after lunch. He told me he was changing it for the summer, and I was quite sure that he had clearly said ‘pixie sticks.’ It was at that point in my reflections that I realized he must not have changed the password as he had said he would, so I decided I should use the previous password, ‘candyfloss.’ Guess what happened then?”

Poppy had no idea and said so.

“The gargoyle opened both eyes, looked up at me, and it seemed the door was beginning to scrape open, but then it stopped. At that point, Gertrude showed up, greeted me, asked me if I knew the new password, then, without waiting for my answer, said ‘pixie sticks’! And the gargoyle opened the door for her!”

“No!” Poppy sat back in her chair, confused.

“As you can imagine, I was somewhat flummoxed by this turn of events. Gertrude mounted the moving stairs and called behind her that if I wanted to come up, I should hurry before the door closed. I leapt in and stepped up a few feet to stand behind her. I told her I had tried the new password myself just a moment before, and it hadn’t worked. I was beginning to wonder whether Albus had instructed the gargoyle not to grant me entrance – not that I told Gertrude that. Fortunately, Gertrude clarified that Albus always sets his passwords to change at a specific time. He can even be out of the castle, and the password will change if he Spells it in advance.”

“Well, that’s quite clever. I don’t think Headmaster Dippet used such a spell,” Poppy mused, smiling at her friend.

“Well, clever is as clever does, Poppy,” replied Minerva stiffly. “Apparently, he had set the spell to activate at nine o’clock, just the time of our meeting.”

“Well, I can see how all of that could be a bit annoying, Minerva, but surely you’re not so upset over such a small matter.”

“Oh, you haven’t heard what _really_ bothers me, Poppy. That, that, that _wizard_! That wizard, when we got to his office, was not even present! Gertrude entered, called out for him, and instructed me to have a seat. She then went into his private rooms to find him.” Minerva rose from her chair and began to pace the matron’s small office, agitation in every step.

“Well, I don’t see anything particularly odd about that, Min – Minerva. I mean, Gertie’s his Deputy, asking you to have a seat while she went to find him–”

Minerva sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes – something Poppy didn’t think she’d seen her do since Minerva was in her sixth year and a certain Professor of Transfiguration had smiled gently, told her that such dramatics are amusing in a child and then nothing more.

Minerva returned to her chair, obviously restraining herself from throwing herself into it petulantly. “Poppy! I was up there last week for another meeting for which he was late – that one was on the first- and second-year curricula, and so entirely superfluous! – and I tried to look for him in his rooms, which, as you know, are up those spiral brass stairs. I took a half dozen steps and those stairs turned into a slide and dumped me on the floor, where I landed like some gormless first-year Gryffindor wizard. And there at the top of the stairs stood Albus, looking down at me, laughing. Of course, he did come down to see if I had bruised anything other than my pride, but he told me then that the stairs to his private quarters are charmed to do that when anyone steps on them without his invitation. So you can see why I wondered about the gargoyle after it let Gertrude in with the same password that I’d tried just a few moments before.”

“Ah, now I see.” Poppy looked at her friend thoughtfully. Minerva sat stiffly in one of the hard wooden guest chairs that were standard issue in all Hogwarts’ offices. How different, Poppy thought, from the man about whom she was complaining.

Whenever the Headmaster entered the office that had been Poppy’s for the past three years, she noted that he reflexively Transfigured the guest chair into something more comfortable. The shape and the amount of padding of the resulting armchair seemed dependent upon his mood, and the ease and spontaneity of the Transfiguration showed Poppy that not only was this a Transfiguration he performed often, but one that he performed without much forethought. Occasionally, he’d even seem unexpectedly pleased with a particular colour or configuration, and mutter something about needing to remember that one. Minerva, on the other hand, would never dream of Transfiguring a chair in someone else’s office without so much as a by-your-leave, and even then, only when attending to the need or comfort of another. She might not have been able to achieve the effortless, seemingly spontaneous, Transfiguration that Albus could, as he was much older and more experienced, but she could have done it and made it look easy. Whereas Albus would change things to suit himself, Minerva would simply deal with things as they were.

It was not that Minerva lacked flexibility, thought Poppy, nor that Albus was self-absorbed or self-serving. But Albus clearly did believe in taking the initiative to change the circumstances in which he found himself if those circumstances did not suit him. Such a thing would not occur to Minerva. She took things as she found them and adapted, or didn’t.

She was no pushover, despite that, not Minerva McGonagall, and she certainly was not hesitant to change things she believed were wrong. Principled, she would stand up for her friends, and for what she thought right, but she would consider it a peculiar waste of magic, not to mention at least slightly rude, to Transfigure a perfectly serviceable wooden chair into a pouffy chintz armchair in order to be more comfortable for the brief time she’d be using it. No doubt she’d seen Albus do just that and thought nothing of it, since she usually made allowances for what the wizarding world affectionately considered Albus’s “eccentricities.” In fact, on any other day, Poppy would have sworn that Minerva had a soft spot for her old Transfiguration professor. And she had certainly seen no sign that the Headmaster lacked respect for her, as Minerva had suggested.

What was bothering Minerva that day was only peripherally related to her penchant for orderliness, Poppy decided. Of course it would be somewhat disturbing to the meticulous and punctual Minerva McGonagall to have to wait for someone who was habitually late, but Poppy suspected that if Albus were as frequently late with others as he was with her, Minerva would have dismissed it as easily as she dismissed his eccentric Transfiguration of wooden seats into chintz armchairs or of heavy beakers into delicate teacups. No, what bothered Minerva was his seeming punctuality with others and the apparent disregard with which he treated appointments with her. She was also none too pleased that Gertie could mount the steps to the Headmaster’s private quarters without invitation, while she was relegated to being dumped on his office floor.

“Well, Minerva, I’m just trying to be a friend here, so if what I’m saying seems unsympathetic, please bear that in mind.”

Minerva, who had not quite burned through the fire of her righteous anger, nodded at Poppy and relaxed somewhat into her chair.

“Minerva, it seems to me that it would be impractical for the Headmaster to have stairs to his quarters that would not admit his Deputy. I imagine that the first time Gertrude encountered his little slide, she let him know in no uncertain terms what she thought of it. On the other hand,” said Poppy, looking at her friend carefully, “it certainly would not do to eliminate all barriers to his privacy – do you remember what it was like for him after he defeated Grindelwald? It seemed that every witch in England and Scotland, and even a few wizards, wanted to snag him. You weren’t at Hogwarts, Minerva; do you know that they even managed to get into the castle? That’s why Dippet ended up renewing the wartime wards that restricted entry to the grounds. He’d wanted to revert to the original wards, the ones that allowed anyone who was a current or former resident to enter the grounds at the gate without any further ado – were they changed after you’d started school, Minerva, or before? The wartime ones had already been implemented by my first year, so I never really knew what the old ones were like. Dippet never even got around to lifting the Anti-Apparition wards before he and the Board of Governors decided that they’d still have to screen visitors as they entered the grounds because of all the problems these nutters were causing, and so they reinstituted the tighter perimeter wards.”

“But Poppy, this is _completely_ different. It’s not as hard to get onto the grounds today as it was a few years ago, of course, but the wards on all of the exterior doors would alert Dumbledore and the House Heads as soon as anyone entered the castle who didn’t belong. And I’m _obviously_ not one of those nutters.”

“Hmmpf. Obviously.” Poppy gazed at Minerva thoughtfully and continued. “They were even coming in through the windows back then. My seventh-year Charms class was interrupted when a witch flew in through the window.” Poppy chuckled at her reminiscence. “We had the opportunity to practice a few nice charms that day. I cast the one that froze her broom but held it in midair. Quite clever, I thought at the time.”

Minerva snorted. “Even so, Poppy, you have to have a password to get into the Headmaster’s office. Even if he wants privacy in his quarters – which I completely understand; I value my own privacy, after all – he could require a password at the door to his rooms, or set up an invisible barrier at the bottom of the stairs, and require a password there. No doubt Headmaster Dippet used such a system. Setting up a slide like the one in Gryffindor Tower is just, just puerile!”

Poppy finally gave in and laughed. “We didn’t have anything quite like that in Hufflepuff, but I understand that the stairs to the girls’ dormitory in Gryffindor have had that charm on them for at least a couple hundred years, possibly ever since they combined the Girls’ and Boys’ Common Rooms to encourage greater internal House unity back in, what was it, sixteen-something?”

“Fifteen ninety-four, as you would know if you ever bothered reading _Hogwarts, a History_ ,” grumbled Minerva. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that Dumbledore no doubt encountered those stairs himself back when he was a student. Knowing him, he probably thought it was quite funny, once he got over the embarrassment of landing flat on his arse, and now that he’s Headmaster, he decided to have a set of them for himself. I can even imagine him activating the charm on purpose just to slide down to his office in the morning.”

“Hmmpf. That’s as may be, but I am not a child. And what if one of the elderly staff members triggered the stairs and broke a bone? It’s irresponsible.”

“I’d set them to rights,” Poppy interjected.

Minerva sighed, and a fleeting look of sadness crossed her face, to be replaced by one of anger. She balled her fists and, through gritted teeth, hissed, “You haven’t heard the capper, yet, Poppy.”

“There’s more?”

“ _‘There’s more?’_ she says! Of _course_ there’s more; none of that would still be irritating me if there weren’t more!” Minerva closed her eyes in frustration, or perhaps she was just reviewing the events of the morning. “Gertrude found Albus, obviously, and they came down stairs together. They were discussing something or other to do with the school, I gathered that much, when Albus caught sight of me.” Here, Minerva closed her eyes again and swallowed. Poppy recognised this Minerva McGonagall. This was the Wrathful Minerva whom everyone in Gryffindor had learned to avoid provoking – or learned simply to avoid once provoked. She’d become much better at controlling her temper over the years, and Poppy doubted she’d be hexed if she said the wrong thing, but she stayed quiet and allowed Minerva to gather herself, nonetheless.

Minerva let out a shaky breath and continued her story.

“‘Oh, Minerva, there you are!’ he says, as if I’d be anywhere else at five minutes after nine when we had an appointment at nine o’clock in his office. ‘I’m so sorry, Minerva, but Gertie has a few things she needs to discuss with me before she leaves for Cornwall this afternoon. We’ll have to postpone our meeting,’ he says. That’s fine with me, Poppy, I understand completely. Gertrude is his Deputy and will be leaving to be with her family for a few weeks. It makes perfect sense that they meet this morning. It does _not_ make perfect sense that our esteemed Headmaster make an appointment with _me_ when he is aware that _she_ will need to meet with him.”

“Now, that’s not fair, Minerva,” Poppy protested. “It could very well be that he thought they had wrapped up all their school business and that her visit surprised him.”

“Yes, Madam Poppy Pomfrey, Voice of Reason!” Minerva fumed. “Would you PLEASE let me finish? I told him that was fine with me – after all, I have no grounds to protest such a reasonable proposal. But then I asked him if I should return in an hour or two, and do you know what his response was? Do you?” Wrathful Minerva had entered full-blown rhetorical-question-mode, so Poppy just shook her head. “‘Oh, my, no,’ he says, ‘no, I can’t meet this morning. I’m afraid Gertie’s arrival interrupted _my weekly beard conditioning_. The potion has to sit undisturbed from start to finish and I had to charm it off early, so I’ll have to start the process all over from the beginning, then I have a Floo-call scheduled with the minister for something-or-other at eleven o’clock’ – he didn’t say something-or-other, of course, but I don’t remember which insignificant minister he was talking about. ‘It’ll have to be this afternoon, my dear. Perhaps we’ll see one another at lunch; we can arrange something then. There’s a _good girl_ , Minerva.’”

Poppy shuddered when she heard that last phrase. No wonder Wrathful Minerva made an appearance today!

“ _‘There’s a good girl, Minerva.’_ The nerve of him! ‘There’s a _good girl’?_ I am a Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! I may not have been here long, and I may not have his experience, but I still deserve a LITTLE respect. ‘Good girl,’” Minerva fumed, her eyes tearing up. She rose from her chair again and leaned toward Poppy, one hand resting on the edge of the desk separating them. “How dare he! How _could_ he? _How?_ It’s just one insult or indignity after another, Poppy, and I am beginning to think that he doesn’t think me a capable, mature witch! Well, if that’s the way he feels, then _fuck_ Albus Dumbledore! And fuck his stupid beard, too!” Minerva didn’t notice that as she was making this final speech, Poppy’s eyes were growing wider and rounder, and so impassioned was she that she ignored Poppy’s sudden wild gesticulations.

“Hmm, interesting idea, Professor McGonagall. Certainly an interesting idea.”

* * *

**_Author’s Note:_** This story has nineteen parts. The parts aren’t all the same length, but they are all thematically discrete parts of the story. Most of the story is from Minerva’s point-of-view, and it’s a Minerva-centric fic, part romance, part drama, part adventure/suspense, and part Bildungsroman. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First published 27 February 2007 through 29 May 2008.
> 
> (Early chapters posted in draft form earlier in February 2007 to fanfiction.net and elsewhere.)
> 
>  _Resolving a Misunderstanding_ was voted first place in the HP Fanfic Fan Poll Awards Spring/Summer 2013 round for Best Minerva McGonagall Legacy Fic.
> 
> This is the first fanfic I wrote, and it spawned many more fics set in the same fanfic-universe. Although I do think that my writing has gotten better with time and exercise, this story is still a sentimental favorite of mine, and the basis for most of the HP fanfiction that I have written since, including the stories in the ["Death's Dominion" series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/19221), which are set much later than this one, beginning during the HP school years (the years in which the books are set).
> 
> Please note that at the time I began this story -- February of 2007 -- Minerva's birth year was generally considered to be in the early 1920s and Dumbledore's in the 1840s. I set Dumbledore's birthday as August 1, 1840, and Minerva's as October 4, 1924. Poppy is a few years younger than Minerva in this fic.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story! 
> 
> For [links to all my stories, including works-in-progress](http://mmadfan.com/list-links-to-mmadfan-fics/), and for information about the stories I have written and posted so far, you can check my blog at [mmadfan.com](http://mmadfan.com/). There's also a Kindle (mobi) version available for download. You can find the [link to my Kindle-ized fics](http://mmadfan.com/read-fanfic/mmadfan-fanfic-in-ebook-format/) on my mmadfan.com blog.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Minerva's Mortification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poppy gives Minerva some good advice. Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore, Poppy Pomfrey, Minerva McGonagall.

**II: Minerva’s Mortification**

“Hmm, interesting idea, Professor McGonagall. Certainly an interesting idea.”

Minerva whirled around at the sound of Albus Dumbledore’s voice. “Professor Dumbledore, I mean Headmaster, er, I mean Albus, I didn’t know that you were there.”

The Headmaster smiled slightly and said, “I presumed you were unaware. Yes, indeed.” He shifted slightly in a way that would suggest awkwardness in anyone else. He continued quietly, “I Flooed the Ministry and spoke with, how did you so elegantly refer to her,” Albus gazed off, as if trying to remember, “ah, yes, ‘the Minister for something-or-other’ and told her that as I had pressing business with a colleague, I would need to postpone our discussion of Britain’s participation in the International Wizarding Treaty on Extradition and Asylum until a later time. I also decided that I could wait until tomorrow morning to apply the potion that Aberforth has given me to test, even though it may skew his results some. Did you know that my brother Aberforth was quite good at Potions in his youth? Hmm, probably not. But he was. He is also possessed of a rather entrepreneurial spirit and continually attempts to combine the two, to a greater or lesser degree of success. Most recently, he has been creating a goats’-milk-based potion designed to condition the beard of men past a certain age. Obviously, one of the drawbacks of this potion is that each application requires an uninterrupted half-hour, but Aberforth assures me that once he has refined the potion, he will be able shorten its working time. Personally, I do not know whether this enterprise will be more profitable than his last, in which daily ingestion of a certain potion made with goat horn powder was supposed to renew a man’s vigour, hmm. It had certain rather unfortunate side effects that limited its marketability. Yes, well. Hmm.”

As Albus shifted again, Poppy thought that the Headmaster _did_ look as though he was feeling awkward, and he had sounded as though he were rambling. But Albus never rambled. _Meandered_ a bit, perhaps, but never rambled. Minerva simply stood, rooted to the spot, turned towards Albus, her mouth slightly open; from her vantage point behind the desk, Poppy could just discern a glazed and disbelieving expression fixed in Minerva’s eyes.

Poppy didn’t know what to say or do, but it was clear to her that Minerva was even more at a loss than she, so she rose and came around the desk to stand between them. 

“Minerva was a little overwrought, Albus, before you came in. I’m afraid your timing was not particularly good.” Poppy tried to smile at her boss.

“I understand, Poppy. I had been looking for her and thought it likely I would find her with you.” An uneasy hesitation left unsaid that he had not thought it likely that he would find her in such a state. Looking in Minerva’s direction, he continued, “Well, it seems that this is not a good time for us to meet, after all, as I see that you are engaged with your friend here. Perhaps we could speak during lunch.” Without waiting for Minerva’s reply, Albus nodded at her, then at Poppy, and said, “Good morning until then.”

With that, Minerva and Poppy found themselves alone in the hospital wing again. Minerva groaned and put her face in her hands. As she slumped forward, she felt Poppy’s reassuring arm around her, guiding her to a chair.

“Oh, Poppy, what have I _done_? Any respect he might have had for me is certainly gone now. And _why_ did I have to make all of those assumptions? All of my interpretations were completely incorrect! He has been trying to fit me in amongst all of his other commitments. Even the business with his _beard_ ,” she wailed, “was not about him. I thought he was just being vain and putting his personal grooming above his meeting with me!” Minerva was as close to hysterical as Poppy had seen her in years.

“There, there. I’m sure the Headmaster understands, Minerva.” Poppy kept one arm around Minerva’s shoulders as she Summoned the other guest chair and sat down beside her.

“What? _What_ does he understand? That I am an immature, self-centred witch? That I am a disrespectful employee who should be fired? If ever I hoped to gain his respect, this has certainly destroyed any chance of it.” Minerva shook herself and sat up a bit straighter, trying to regain control of her emotions. “He won’t fire me, though, even if I deserve it. He’s Albus Dumbledore and he won’t fire me. I should quit for his sake.”

“Now don’t be silly, Minerva. You are not doing the cowardly thing and quitting! You know it would be self-serving of you, initially, just until the shock of your embarrassment wore off; then you would regret it.” Minerva did not protest this estimation, so Poppy continued, “First off, I’m sure he’s heard much worse – hush, now, don’t interrupt! – and he knows you well enough to know that you are normally very composed and respectful. A-a-ah! What did I say?” chided Poppy as Minerva opened her mouth to protest. “I don’t want to have to put a _Silencio_ on you! As you say, he has been making time for you in his very busy schedule. He wants you to be successful, Minerva! You were his shining star, you know, when we were students. He always tried to be fair and not play favourites, but it was clear even to us younger years that you were special. And you deserved to be. You have a wonderful talent for Transfiguration, Minerva, and on top of that talent, you work very hard. You could have done half as much work as you did and still achieved an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ in Transfiguration, but you didn’t. You pushed yourself. If there were a grade above ‘Outstanding,’ you would have got it. Minerva, he hired you because he believed in you. He could have got someone else to fill the post, as you weren’t available until last December, but instead, he exhausted himself fulfilling the duties of both Headmaster and Transfiguration teacher for over a year, insisting to the Board of Governors that no one but Minerva McGonagall was right for this job and that, unless the Ministry wanted to let you out of your contract early, Hogwarts would just have to wait for you.”

Minerva sniffed and rubbed her tears from her cheeks with the back of her wand hand. “I thought he just didn’t want to let go of teaching. I was rather insulted when he first told me that I was only taking the first five years and he’d take the sixth- and seventh-years through June. I didn’t want to wait until September to teach NEWTs level classes; I thought he was trying to keep the most interesting classes to himself.” She sniffed again.

“Of course not, Minerva! He always enjoyed teaching, to be sure, but I really don’t think he has the time to miss it very much. He wanted to take the sixth- and seventh-years because he didn’t want to disrupt the students’ lessons in their NEWTs years when it’s so important they not be distracted by such a sudden change. Not to mention that it gave you time to adjust and get used to teaching. And he _did_ let you take the fifth-year OWL classes. That showed faith in your abilities.”

“I know. I see that now. Of course, it was easy to teach the fifth-years – they were already so far ahead in the lessons. And most of them would have been able to take their OWLs when I took over in December. January through June was more or less revision of everything they’d already learned, as well as an opportunity for those a little weak in the subject to come up to standard and have some extra attention from me.” She sniffed again. “Well, even if he still thinks I’m a competent Transfiguration mistress and teacher, he certainly must have lost respect for me personally and professionally after hearing my entirely unjustified and childish tirade.”

“Well, now, listen to you, will you! Just a few minutes ago you were in here ranting and raving that he didn’t respect you; now you see you were wrong about that, so you have decided that you must have lost his respect now. Minerva McGonagall, I don’t think it’s his _respect_ you’re after, that’s what I think.”

“Whatever do you mean? Of course it’s about respect! Why on earth did he have to call me a ‘good girl,’ as though I were still some pesky but obedient student? It was like stepping back in time, Poppy. I felt as though I was just another one of his students again.”

“Minerva, haven’t I told you that you were _never_ ‘just another one of his students’? And whilst I do think that you don’t want him to view you as a student, that you want Albus to recognize Minerva McGonagall as the fully-fledged witch she has become, I really don’t think it’s about respect – or at least it’s not _only_ about gaining his respect.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Poppy. You really aren’t making much sense.” She Conjured a glass of water and drank deeply. “Although perhaps you are right: it’s not just about gaining his respect; it’s about gaining it and keeping it.” Minerva gave a shuddering sigh. “And I can’t do either if I behave like I did today. No, Poppy, I must be all business. I need to maintain my professional demeanor at all times. He should never have been able to overhear all that because I never should have been speaking that way anywhere that anyone could just walk in. What if it were term time and a student overheard me speaking like that about their Headmaster? They would lose respect both for me and for him.”

“Well, you are right about that last, but I also believe you would have been more discreet during term time – or if you had any expectation that someone might interrupt us – but with all the students gone and so many of the staff away, you let your hair down.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right, Poppy, but he still must think what I said was terrible. He must think I don’t respect him at all.”

“I wouldn’t put it quite _that_ way. I think he was embarrassed, both for his own sake as well as yours. I also believe that he was thinking more of your discomfort than of his. Whilst it may not have been tactful of him to emerge from the shadows just when he did, you really hadn’t said anything too badly embarrassing until after I’d already spotted him in the doorway and I couldn’t get you to put a plug in it and stop talking. I think Albus had heard enough to know that you were distressed and he felt that he’d upset you. My feeling about it, looking back, is that he wanted to reassure you that you have an important place here. It was just unfortunate that you continued carrying on after expressing your, um, distaste for the term ‘good girl.’”

“ _‘Continued carrying on!’_ It was worse than that, Poppy. I remember very well what I said – and, no, I won’t repeat it.” Minerva sighed again and closed her eyes; a few more tears leaked out and ran down her cheeks.

“I think it likely that he feels more _hurt_ by that than anything else, Minerva. You didn’t see his face just then, but he went completely blank, and the colour drained from his face. It was like watching a little boy who had just been told his pet Crup had died and who was trying not to cry.”

“Oh, Poppy, what should I do? What _can_ I do? He really _has_ been good to me, you know, meeting with me about classes and such.” Minerva sighed and twisted the handkerchief she’d finally thought to pull from her pocket. “During term, there were a few times when I didn’t make it to dinner because I was so busy with grading and preparing for lessons, and he actually brought me a tray himself. It would have been thoughtful enough if he’d sent a house-elf in with something, but he brought it himself.” Minerva sat, shaking her head, struggling not to start tearing up again.

“Well, you have been downright foolish, Minerva McGonagall, if you ask me, thinking the Headmaster doesn’t respect you or care for you! I don’t think Headmaster Dippet ever brought anyone dinner, and he was known to be an old softie. Of course, you would have heard about it from him the next day if you missed a meal, and been instructed to be sure to get a sandwich from the kitchens and keep your strength up if you missed dinner again. If it happened too often, you might even get an avuncular lecture about the perils of overwork, but I can’t say that Dippet would ever have brought you dinner himself, even if you missed it seven days running.” Poppy didn’t add that she’d never heard of _Dumbledore_ bringing anyone dinner personally, either; she didn’t want Minerva to feel any worse than she already did.

“He even brought me macaroni and cheese one night. He said he remembered that when I was a student I seemed to like the house-elves’ macaroni and cheese and he hoped I still did,” she sniffed. 

“Now do you agree with me that you have been very foolish?”

“Yes,” Minerva sighed. “But what will he think of me? And what can I say to him?”

“Hmm, considering how he seems to know you fairly well, I think that he will realise soon, if not at this moment, that you were speaking out of a sense of hurt and from your own insecurity – although clearly he doesn't know you well enough to avoid calling you a good girl or to realise that his tardiness would feel like an insult to you.”

“Insecurity!” Minerva straightened and looked directly at Poppy for the first time since Albus had left. “I am _not_ insecure!”

“Not generally, no,” soothed Poppy. “But with regard to your position here at Hogwarts, and vis-a-vis Albus, especially, you are. Think about it before you reject the idea outright. I also think you should consider what else might be at play besides a desire for his respect.”

“But it’s almost quarter to eleven now! Lunch is in just over an hour! He said he would speak to me at lunch.” Minerva was clearly beginning to panic anew.

“Then go back to your rooms, have a bath, put on something fresh, and come to lunch looking like the accomplished, composed witch you wish Albus to see.”

Receiving that good advice, Minerva rose, thanked her friend with a hug, and left for a restorative bath and a good long think.


	3. Insults and Indignities ~ or ~ Albus Reflects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus reflects on his relationship with his new Transfiguration teacher and how he came to know her years before, when she was a stubborn but precocious young student.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore; young Minerva McGonagall, Armando Dippet, Professor Dumbledore, Aberforth Dumbledore.

**III: Insults and Indignities**

He walked slowly down the corridor. For Albus, the vast hallways of Hogwarts fairly rang with emptiness during the first weeks after the students left for the summer. By the last week of August, those same hallways would seem enveloped by a warm, inviting hush. Today, however, the emptiness felt particularly pronounced as Albus returned to his office from the hospital wing.

He reflected on the events of the morning, puzzling over them a bit, chiefly trying to gain perspective for himself. The day had simply gone from bad to worse, and the one thing he believed would be its saving grace – a meeting with Minerva – had turned out to be the most nightmarish part of this day. The day was not nearly over yet, either.

He had been utterly gobsmacked to overhear Minerva as she railed on at Poppy, chafing at his treatment of her. He listened from outside Poppy’s office for a moment as Minerva described their encounter in his office. She had clearly viewed that brief meeting in a very different light than he had. Believing that he could assuage her feelings and calm her down a bit – perhaps even offer her a peppermint pillow, his most recent favourite sweet – he had stepped into the open doorway of the office. He had been dumbfounded to hear Minerva’s reaction to his calling her a “good girl,” however, and froze where he stood, suddenly unsure of his half-formed plan to cajole her out of her mood.

Albus reached the gargoyle, which swung the door open without a word from him. Sighing, he mounted the moving spiral staircase; he saw clearly now that he should have made good his escape as soon as he had realised Minerva was unhappy with him, but he hadn’t understood precisely _how_ distressed she was. In retrospect, perhaps it wasn’t particularly appropriate to address a witch of thirty-two as a “girl,” but Minerva seemed inordinately disturbed by it. Griselda Marchbanks always giggled when he called her a girl, and she was older than he!

Standing motionless in the doorway to Poppy’s office, Albus had quickly processed that it wasn’t merely the appellation that distressed her, but some unknown series of insults and indignities that he had apparently inflicted upon her. That mysterious fact had only just registered with him when he thought his heart had ceased its beating. The words that Minerva uttered at the culmination of her tirade seemed simultaneously to ring in his head and to be utterly impossible. This was _Minerva McGonagall_ , his prize student, his protege, and, he had believed, his friend. What had she just said?

Albus crossed his office, looking reflexively at Fawkes’s normal perch to see if he’d returned yet. If ever Albus had needed the phoenix’s song in recent years, he certainly felt he could benefit from it today. Hearing Minerva’s harsh words echo in his head again, Albus wished he could wash away the feelings they had evoked in him. Even now, in the sanctuary of his office, he could scarcely believe what he had heard or how it had affected him.

Whilst standing stock-still in that doorway, still trying to process Minerva’s inexplicable words, Albus realised that Poppy had been staring at him, wide-eyed, gesticulating at Minerva in a wholly ineffective attempt to get her to stop speaking. Discreet escape was no longer possible. He could not leave and pretend he had never heard what he so obviously had. Although that spared him the burden of creating such a pretense and carrying it about with him, he was now faced with an immediate problem: what to say at that moment. Albus was always quick on his feet, and he said the first thing that came into his head.

As he sat down behind his desk, he shook that very head. _“Interesting idea, Professor McGonagall. Certainly an interesting idea.”_ One should never say the first thing that pops into one’s head in such emotionally-charged situations. Nonetheless, it hadn’t seemed to make things any worse. His ensuing speech, though . . . he was not sure whether _that_ had been such a good idea. It was a variant of what he would have said to her a moment or two earlier in an attempt to reassure her that not only did a meeting with her _not_ come in second to his beard conditioning and that the Floo-call to the Ministry really _would_ have been important enough to take precedence over a meeting about the NEWT-level curriculum, but also to reassure her that she herself was more important than his personal grooming, the curriculum, or even an international treaty. Not that Albus would have put it precisely _that_ way, of course. He couldn’t very well tell her that she was more important than either conditioning his beard or ratifying an international treaty; those comparisons sounded simply ridiculous. For the first time that morning, a genuine, if fleeting, grin crossed his face.

He sighed and removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes as he considered what he’d actually said to her. He could use his Pensieve to review the event and go over his precise words, but he felt that the actual experience had been bad enough the first time without having to relive it so soon.

No doubt he had come across as the pompous, upright Headmaster rebuking an underling. He didn’t know himself what his intent had been at the time – there really hadn’t been an opportunity to form one. He had simply spoken out of a desire to clarify his position to her and, if he were truthful with himself, out of a still-acute sense of anguish.

Albus could not remember the last time he had felt such a personal emotional affront – that squeezing in his gut, the sudden constriction of his throat, and the intense, heavy ache in his chest. At almost 117 years old, he had had plenty of opportunity to learn not to let the words and attitudes of others bother him inordinately. When he was a boy, Albus had been very sensitive to the opinions and insults of others; he remembered his father telling him, somewhat roughly, that not everything in the world was about him and not to take it all so personally, or he’d never be able to make it through life. Albus had not become insensitive, by any means, but he’d learned that his father had been right all those years ago. Allowing one’s happiness to be ruled by the opinions of others was a certain mistake. Most of the time, it wasn’t even _you_ that people were really talking about, but some image of you they’d created for themselves. And even when it _was_ about you, it was also about _them_ and their own feelings about themselves.

He sighed again as he rubbed his temples. Even in this case with Minerva, he supposed that was true. It _was_ about her, her feelings at the moment, and her feelings about herself, but it was also about _him_ and her view of him. He still felt a keen sense of anguish when her words came back to him, unbidden. This simply was not a situation in which he could chuckle and go on about his day with some view to smoothing things over later. Minerva was not a mere acquaintance, nor even a simple colleague. He had not only known her since he had come to Hogwarts to teach during her second year as a student, but he believed they had developed something of a friendship during the years since she’d left school.

At the time he’d joined the Hogwarts staff, Dumbledore had not anticipated being there for more than five or six years, seven at the very most. He would teach Transfiguration, since Slughorn had begun teaching Potions that Spring term and since the current Transfiguration teacher had wanted to retire soon, in any event. His primary purpose, however, was to assist Headmaster Dippet with school security. Albus hadn’t understood at first why he would have to live at the school in order to take charge of the wards, but once he’d been introduced to the Founders’ grimoires and then begun to delicately probe the layers of wards attached to the castle and its grounds, he had known it was essential.

It would have been absurd, of course, for him simply to move into the castle, set up housekeeping, and go about his business as usual. Not only would his residence look peculiar on its face, but it soon would have become apparent he was there for some unusual reason that couldn’t be explained away by saying he was conducting research; that excuse would only work for a few months. After all, what kind of bachelor-wizard wants to live in a drafty old castle filled with school children and adolescent witches and wizards if he doesn’t have to, even – or perhaps _especially_ – one of his age? He must be either up-to-no-good or up-to-something-mysterious – or both! Whatever anyone suspected his motives were, he would come under a scrutiny that Hogwarts could ill afford if he didn’t appear to have a legitimate reason for being there. In addition, certain aspects of the wards would be inaccessible to him if he were not a member of the Hogwarts staff, no matter his skill or talent.

Normally, the school wards were under the direct control of the Headmaster or Headmistress, with magical reinforcement from the Heads of the four Houses. The wards were wholly renewed each year on August second in an elaborate process involving all five witches and wizards; they were periodically strengthened or refined as needed throughout the year – either by the Headmaster alone or by the Headmaster with one or more of the House Heads. In addition, they were keyed to the Headmaster and the House Heads’ magical signatures, alerting them if any wards were triggered or breached.

Not only was Armando becoming less able to handle the magical stress of the Headmaster’s warding duties, but the wards themselves had become increasingly misaligned over the last several decades. Some of the oldest, foundational wards had become curiously mutated over the years, particularly the most complex ones designed by either Rowena Ravenclaw or Salazar Slytherin, whilst others of them had become almost dormant. A few of the more recent wards from the 1600s were peculiarities that no longer served any useful purpose and only diverted magical energy away from the more essential wards because of the inept way in which they were applied. In 1874, to add insult to injury, the Headmaster of the time, believing himself an expert in wards, curses, and the like, had changed the operation for renewing the wards annually, both shortening the procedure and altering the order in which each ward was addressed. Apparently he hadn’t realised that the superficially reiterative steps that appeared to be unnecessarily repetitive were actually vital for integrating the wards with one another, particularly for binding the later wards to the foundational wards. Until Armando had begun to look into the situation, he had not even been aware that the methods taught him decades earlier when he became Headmaster, and which he’d followed meticulously every August second, were anything other than those laid down by the Founders.

In addition to the procedure for renewing the wards annually, the Four Founders had created methods for adding new wards to the school, for incorporating them into the renewal procedure, and even for disabling or modulating the foundational wards as needed. These methods had been meticulously followed until the middle of the seventeenth century, when the peculiar additions were simply layered on top of all the previous wards. That deviation would have created only a few problems that would have been easily reversible even two or three hundred years later had the Founders’ procedure for renewing and modifying the protective spells been adhered to. Unfortunately, the 1874 changes were instituted with undetected but ultimately disastrous results. This truncated renewal operation compounded the damage exponentially each year it was performed.

Dippet was no fool, and he was well aware of his own limitations, both those that were innate and those brought on by age. He couldn’t even begin to figure out how to bring the wards back into proper alignment. After spending two solid weeks poring over all of the records in the Hogwarts’ Headmaster’s private archive, Dippet had no doubt at all that simply reverting to the proper renewal method would actually make things worse, locking the mutations, weaknesses, and “mouseholes,” as he came to call them, even more firmly into the ward lattice. He also had no doubt that he was inadequate to the task of making any changes that wouldn’t merely compound the injuries to the ward structure.

It was Dippet, therefore, who proposed bringing in Dumbledore for the task. Dumbledore was easily the most accomplished wizard in Britain or Europe, with his knowledge and ability extending well beyond the Alchemical discoveries and inventions for which he was so well known. He would be able to read even the Founders’ documents with ease, despite the archaic languages in which they were written, and his knowledge of protective spells and curse-breaking would assist him in unravelling the wards and reweaving them properly. In Armando’s opinion, Dumbledore’s Arithmantic expertise was equally impressive; it was that ability, after all, that had enabled him to make so many breakthrough discoveries in Alchemy at such a relatively young age. And it went without saying that Dumbledore was the foremost master of Transfiguration produced by Britain in at least two hundred years.

And so it came to be that Albus Dumbledore became professor of Transfiguration, Head of Gryffindor House, and Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts all in one fell swoop. Under other circumstances, or had it been some other wizard, there might have been some grumbling about seniority, but the Hogwarts staff was aware of the dangers imminently facing the wizarding world, and even those who were not privy to the precise problems with the Hogwarts’ wards were happy to have such a well-respected wizard arrive to help with school security. He was affable enough, so his installation as Head of Gryffindor House was seen as quite logical, particularly as the previous Transfiguration teacher had coincidentally also held that position. And the title “Deputy Headmaster” might sound glamourous to some, but those within Hogwarts knew that it just meant doing all of Armando’s scut work. The position had been rotated amongst the Heads of House over the last two decades, no one lasting more than a few years before begging or bribing someone else to take up the job. Although the Deputy would be the first person considered for the position of Headmaster or Headmistress when Dippet finally retired or kicked the cauldron, there was certainly no guarantee that the Board of Governors would choose him or her.

Since the staff wasn’t complaining about Dumbledore’s whirlwind arrival, the wizarding world simply raised a collective eyebrow, murmured that Dumbledore was wasting his talents at Hogwarts, concluded that he had always been more than a little quirky, and then returned to its customary preoccupations. So it was with quiet relief and genuine warmth that the Hogwarts staff welcomed Dumbledore to the school in June 1937. And so it also happened that Albus Dumbledore began his acquaintance with Minerva McGonagall, a serious second-year Gryffindor, in September 1937.

* * *

He had invested in her emotionally, Albus realised as he sat idly behind his desk. Perhaps because he’d never had children of his own, he saw in her a kind of spiritual heir, he mused. Until that morning, he had assumed that she viewed him as a father-figure, if not a grandfather-figure. Albus had always been vaguely unsettled by that notion, although he was reluctant to explore why that might be. Now, though, that thought not only unsettled him, and more than usual, but grieved him, as well. Perhaps he had misjudged her view of him entirely, and she had never held him in esteem in that way. A sense of loss flooded him as Minerva’s harsh words reverberated in his head. Albus shut his eyes tightly, as though that might prevent their echoing taunt. Recognising the futility of that, he relaxed, allowed his eyes to open partially, and began the exercises he had learned when he first practised Occlumency. A few moments later, he opened his eyes fully, knowing that, although Occlumency meditations might take the edge off his feelings, they wouldn’t truly help him in the long run.

He called a house-elf for some tea. As he sipped the warm, sweet, and milky beverage, he considered Minerva and what he knew of her. He found it difficult to believe that he had seen a regard, or even an affection, in her that was not genuinely there. Albus had known her for almost twenty years. She would not dissemble in order to create such an impression – he was sure of it. He doubted that an act of that sort would even occur to Minerva and doubted further that she could carry out such a pretense, particularly not over such a long stretch of time. Besides, what would have been the point of it?

Finishing his first cup of tea and pouring a second, Albus felt a bit calmer and decided that Occlumency and tea combined to make a wonderful restorative for battered emotions. _“Battered emotions,”_ indeed! He certainly sounded overly dramatic to his own mental ears. He had overheard only one bit of conversation, he told himself; no need to carry on as though he had just lost his best friend!

Well, if he were correct about Minerva’s character, that meant that she had some positive regard for him. He actually believed they had become friends of a sort over the last ten years of intermittent contact and correspondence. It was time to act like a friend, then, and stop behaving like a petulant child! He had been thinking so much of those few, stunning words that he had forgotten the fact that she had been upset with him about the postponed meeting and apparently other – what did she call them? – insults and indignities? What kind of friend was he to concentrate only on his own feelings and forget hers?! He thought he remembered seeing tears in her eyes.

One thing all of his friends knew about Albus was that he loved lists. They didn’t even have to be lists of rationally related things, such as to-do lists or grocery lists. Nonsense lists were best of all, he thought, because they inspired the imagination. In the heyday of his Alchemical research, whenever he encountered a particularly vexing problem, he made long lists of everything that entered his head, never stopping to think about any one word. Then he would go through the list and pick a few of his favourites, although he would not try to articulate why they were his favourites, and start a new list with those words, seeing what other words occurred to him after he’d written down each of those. Not very scientifically, Albus would sit down with the two resulting lists and draw circles in different colours around some words, and arrows pointing to others, then add a few squiggly question marks. After he was through, he would turn the parchment over and go take a nap or retire for the night, if it was late (which it usually was since he would lose track of time when playing with his lists). When he got up, he would call for tea, or brew some himself, and sit down with four fresh pieces of parchment, a quill, and his favourite indigo ink. Then he would write.

The first parchment was for any dreams he could remember. On the second parchment, Albus would write down what it was he was trying to accomplish in solving the current problem, but without explicitly stating what the problem was. On the third parchment, he would write why the problem was a problem.

He would finish his tea, have something light to eat, and turn over the two parchments with his original lists. Then he would just stare at them for a while. At some point, he would pick up his quill, pull the final fresh piece of parchment toward him and begin to write. Sometimes it would be an Arithmantic equation that placed the elements of the problem in different relation to one another than any equations he had tried earlier; other times, it would be a few paragraphs describing his dilemma in a new way and the beginnings of how a solution might present itself.

Albus remembered a time he was visiting Aberforth when a friend of his brother’s dropped by. Albus was sitting at Aberforth’s kitchen table, the two lists in front of him. The friend had never met Albus before, and when he saw him sitting at the table staring blankly at two parchments covered in colourful arrows, circles, and nonsense words, the friend nudged Aberforth with his elbow and whispered to him, asking with some sympathy if his brother was suffering from spell-damage, or perhaps was a bit simple-minded.

Yes, Albus found lists very inspiring. This time his lists would be practical ones. He drew a line down the centre of his parchment, dividing the page in two neat halves. At the top of the first half, he wrote, “Knowns,” and underlined it. On the second half of the page he wrote, “Possibles,” underlining it.

He would worry about the utility and the priority of each entry after the lists were done, he decided. Brushing the feathered tip of his quill against his lips thoughtfully, Albus considered what might be “Knowns.” Hmm. He started to write, stopping now and then to think back at what he knew, rather than what was just conjecture:

  * she had an appointment with me at nine o’clock to discuss NEWT-level curriculum;
  * I suggested the appointment;
  * she came up the stairs with GG (who found her caught at the password change);
  * she said to me and to Poppy that rescheduling the appointment was fine;
  * she described the Minister I was scheduled to Floo-call as “insignificant”;
  * she was angry that I had called her a “good girl”;
  * I didn’t notice whether she was upset when she left my office;
  * she wants to be respected;
  * she perceives “one indignity or insult after another”;
  * she thinks I don’t consider her a capable witch;
  * I gave her the password yesterday at lunch;
  * I scheduled her appointment to coincide with the password change;
  * she was very angry with me.



Finishing that list, he started on the other side of the page under “Possibles”:

  * she has always disliked me or held me in contempt (more an “Unreasonable Fear” than a “Possible”);
  * she has always respected me;
  * she has always liked me;
  * I have insulted her (how?) and subjected her to unspecified indignities (what?);
  * she was upset when she left my office – and I couldn’t tell (GG did ask me whether I shouldn’t have scheduled an appointment with MM immediately and then arched her brows at me, which, when we are playing chess, usually means she thinks I’m making a foolish error);
  * she wants to quit;
  * she will quit;
  * she is looking for excuses to quit.



At that point, Albus returned to the first list he had made, and added, “I don’t want Minerva to quit.” Looking at that last addition to his list, he considered it, grazing the tip of the feather against his lips. He added yet another “Known”: “I want Minerva to stay at Hogwarts.” After a slight pause, he wrote, “I respect her intellect and her character” and “I enjoy and appreciate her company.”

He sighed, raised his head and looked out the window at the blue Highland sky. There was one other thing he could add to that list of “Knowns”: “I am too fond of Minerva for my own good.” But he didn’t and chased that thought away.

Instead, he turned back to his list of “Possibles” and scanned it. Well, it seemed _highly_ unlikely that she had always (or ever!) held him in contempt, so charming his ink a deep reddish-orange, he crossed the first item off his list. He assumed that she had always held some sort of positive feeling for him, so he quickly skipped those next lines, moving on to “I have insulted her.” Hmm, well, whether he had insulted her or not – for he certainly never _intended_ any insult – she certainly appeared to _feel_ genuinely insulted. Charming his ink to a bright turquoise, he circled the word “insulted,” then did the same to the word “indignities.”

He read the next entry. Since it seemed improbable that Minerva would have been so upset with him _after_ leaving his office but not been upset _as_ she left it, he deemed it highly likely that she _had_ been upset; he just hadn’t noticed. He underlined “upset when she left my office.” After thinking a moment, he extended the underline to include “and I couldn’t tell.”

Finally, he looked at the last three entries. Charming his ink to a rather violent mustard yellow, he crossed out all three, drawing a double line through “she is looking for excuses to quit.” Perhaps he was cowardly, but he simply would not consider those possibilities yet.

Pulling out a fresh parchment, Albus titled the new page, “Insults and Indignities.” He believed Minerva would not have said she’d experienced one insult or indignity after another if she hadn’t. He could easily put the first one on his list: “I cancelled our appointment at the last minute.” He snorted to himself; _“last minute,”_ indeed! He had cancelled after she’d already arrived for the appointment! He thought about those few moments earlier that day.

When Gertie had come up to his quarters, she found him in a rather undignified state, he reflected, although it wasn’t as bad as if she had caught him on the toilet or in the shower. He was sitting on a high stool in the centre of his bathroom, which was still warm and humid from his earlier shower, with one towel wrapped around his waist and another draped over his shoulders, reading the _Daily Prophet_ agony columns, his hair up in a Muggle hairnet. That alone wouldn’t have been so bad, really, since Gertie had taught with him since 1938 and had seen him in all kinds of states. But in front of him floated a small bucket filled with a potion that smelled like a combination of sour milk, rotting cabbage, and dragon manure. And in that noxious-smelling concoction soaked his beard, neatly gathered at his chin with a red ribbon. Gertie Gamp was not possessed of what one might call a mirthful nature, but when she looked through the partially open door of his bathroom and saw him sitting there, half-naked with his beard in that bucket of stinking sludge, she guffawed. Fortunately, Albus was quite aware that he looked ridiculous and didn’t take offense. Nonetheless, it was not a position _any_ Headmaster would like his Deputy Headmistress to find him in.

Albus removed his glasses again and rubbed his eyes. The only reason he had been sitting there, beard still soaking in that putrid potion, was that he had received an urgent early morning Owl from Goban Govannon, the son of an old school friend, informing him that the young man’s father – well, Albus supposed that at eighty-two, Goban no longer qualified as a “young” man – had taken a bad fall off his broom the evening before and had lain out half the night before he was found by some Muggles and brought to a Muggle hospital. Fortunately, living in Leeds, he carried Ministry-approved, Muggle-friendly identification in his pocket, and a couple of policemen had appeared at his mother’s doorstep a few hours before, notifying her that Garbhan Govannon was in hospital suffering from multiple broken bones and other injuries. Naturally, she had contacted Goban, who had met her at the hospital in Doncaster.

All attempts to persuade the hospital to release him to their care had failed. The doctors believed that Garbhan was suffering from dementia or some other neurological or psychiatric condition since he had not been entirely lucid when he was brought in: he had told them he had fallen from a comet and could they please howl St. Mungo’s. Not only that, but he had been wearing a most peculiar “gown” when he was found.

The doctors had kept the old man partially sedated and would only allow the family brief visits. He was in an open ward, so they couldn’t just Apparate him out – besides, they didn’t know what effect the Muggle medicines might have on someone in a Side-Along-Apparition. Because Goban felt he should stay with his mother and father at hospital, he had sent an urgent Owl to Albus asking that he contact St. Mungo’s for them.

So by six o’clock that morning, Albus had Flooed St. Mungo’s, contacted the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes at the Ministry, and Apparated to Yorkshire, where, outside Doncaster Royal Infirmary, he met a St. Mungo’s mediwitch and a representative from the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee. Between the three of them, they extricated Garbhan from his predicament and transported him to St. Mungo’s, where Albus had given him a stern lecture about the importance of wearing trousers in a Muggle district, even if one was out flying, and scolding him for riding an old Comet whose charms hadn’t been properly maintained.

It was eight o’clock before he got back to Hogwarts, and he hadn’t even had his morning cup of tea. Albus couldn’t imagine facing Aberforth’s beard tonic without fortification, so he had a house-elf bring him tea and toast. He _had_ remembered his appointment with Minerva, but thought he would have just enough time to soak his beard and dress properly (he had to agree with Garbhan that a robe is more comfortable than Muggle trousers). If Minerva got there before he was ready, Albus had been sure she wouldn’t mind waiting. He knew for a fact that his bookshelves contained several volumes that could hold her interest for as long as it took him to clean up and get dressed.

Now Albus realised he should have sent her a message letting her know he would be late and rescheduled to half-past nine. Not that it would have changed the fact that Gertie needed to meet with him, nor the fact that his beard-bucket time had been cut short. But at least if she had arrived at nine-thirty, he would have been in his office; and because the embarrassing interruption would not have been so fresh in his mind, perhaps he would have asked her if she could return later that morning, instead of telling her he had to condition his beard. That must have sounded like a terrible excuse!

Nonetheless, even changing these facts, it didn’t resolve the fundamental issue: Minerva had told Poppy that there had been one indignity or insult after another. She had clearly been unhappy even before he had upset her that morning. Albus returned to his list.

What could she have viewed as an insult or indignity, Albus pondered, brushing his bottom lip lightly with his quill feather. Deciding that conjecture had a place on this list, he added:

  * I didn’t reschedule our appointment immediately and gave her excuses that she found inadequate;
  * I called her a good girl, and she believes that shows I don’t respect her as a witch;
  * I postponed our meeting in order to meet with GG, and MM inferred that meeting with GG was more important to me than our meeting.



Albus thought about the last few weeks and tried to find any other instances in which he had done anything that Minerva could have interpreted as a sign he didn’t respect her. Suddenly, a mental _Lumos_ seemed to go off, and he quickly wrote:

  * MM triggered the charm on the stairs, causing her to fall on the office floor;
  * I laughed when she fell;
  * GG used my stairs this morning to fetch me, and MM saw that the stairs are charmed to recognize her;
  * I was late to a meeting with MM when the stairs denied her admittance and was late again today.



Albus stopped to think back. When was the last time he had been on time to a meeting with Minerva? There was the post-term staff meeting held the day after the students had left. But that didn’t really count since it was with the entire staff.

“Let me see, let me see,” Albus murmured to himself. When she had arrived at the school in December, he had met her at the gates; well, no, he had intended to meet her at the gates and had Owled her that intention. Thinking back, he remembered he saw her enter the main doors of the castle just as he was hurrying down the stairs to meet her. He had been relieved that she was late, since that meant he could still greet her as she came in and escort her to her rooms. But had she been late? Minerva was always punctual. He had Owled her that he would meet her at the gates at four o’clock, and it was almost forty-five minutes later that he had run down the stairs and taken her bags from Hagrid.

_Oh, no,_ he thought. For the most accomplished, brilliant wizard of the last two centuries, he was certainly an idiot at times. Of _course_ she had been on time. She had probably even been a few minutes early. How long had she waited at the gates before Hagrid or Ogg had let her in? Certainly at least a half an hour. Albus groaned. He then proceeded to think of all of the occasions on which he was supposed to meet her and was aghast to realise that he had been on time to only two of them. The first was on her second day at the castle, when he showed her her new classroom and explained that he had thought she’d prefer having her own classroom and office rather than having to share the old one with him for the rest of the year. But that meeting hardly counted since he hadn’t told her of the time in advance and had just shown up at her door in the morning. He had been punctual according to his own schedule in that instance, but not according to hers.

The second occasion, he realised with some unease, was when he met with her for her review at the end of term last week. Albus began to see how, in the six months that she had been at Hogwarts, she must have come to believe that he did not take her seriously or value her time. That wasn’t it at all, Dumbledore thought miserably. Almost every time that he had been late or missed an appointment, there had been a very good reason, some emergency or other urgent interruption that delayed him. He had always felt so comfortable with Minerva, it had never occurred to him that she might feel slighted or that anything more than a brief explanation and a quick apology would be necessary.

Albus had even missed the house-warming tea party that Poppy had arranged for her on a Saturday afternoon, two days before New Year’s Eve. Even Slughorn, who had been in Finland gathering some kind of exotic reindeer velvet, and Grubbly-Plank, who had gone to Romania for a special three-week intensive course on dragons and their mating habits, had returned for the occasion. Albus had walked in as the last of the guests were on their way out, and Minerva and Poppy were cleaning up. He had brought her a present, at least: a large tartan afghan of cashmere and mohair in soft heathery colours. He had placed a special warming charm of his own invention on it that would detect the ambient temperature of the room and at the words, “warm me,” would gently warm whomever was wrapped in it to the appropriate degree, and then automatically deactivate when the afghan was removed or folded. Even without the charm, it was a cozy blanket. She had seemed to like it, and had invited him to stop for a cup of tea with her and Poppy. Poppy hadn’t been able to stay, but the two of them had had a lovely time, he thought, talking and drinking tea, getting hungry and calling the house-elves for sandwiches, then opening the bottle of cognac that Horace had given her and having a taste of that. Suddenly, it was almost midnight and he hadn’t known where the time had gone. Surely that was better than having been on time for the party!

It had been a lovely evening, and they had spent some enjoyable time together since, although rarely more than a quarter of an hour, unless it was connected to some school business. Dippet had socialised with the staff, and everyone who had ever worked at Hogwarts knew him to be approachable, should they ever have a problem with a student or with their duties. Albus was sure that, now that he was Headmaster, his faculty felt he was approachable, as well, even though he had been too busy to socialise much. Except for Minerva. Why didn’t she tell him how she felt before this?

Going back to his list, he wrote “MM insulted because I am not on time for meetings,” then wrote, “Justified” in bright purple next to it. Always prompt herself, she no doubt found it particularly irksome to have to wait for those who weren’t. And given that she could observe that he was capable of punctuality, she was understandably upset with him. Albus put little tick marks next to all entries on his list that pertained to punctuality, then reread those that remained.

No doubt being tipped onto the floor by his staircase could count as an indignity. He furrowed his brow. He knew she had a sense of humour, but she hadn’t found it at all amusing. She hadn’t been hurt, after all. Looking at the other entries on the list, he decided that the situation had made her feel like an errant schoolchild, reminding her of the stair in Gryffindor Tower.

Looking at the clock, Albus realised that it was already after noon, and he had told Minerva he would see her at lunch. Although during summer holidays, unless they made other arrangements for themselves, any staff remaining at the school took breakfast in their own rooms, lunch and dinner remained a communal affair, even when the castle was nearly empty. Otherwise, one could rattle around in the castle for weeks and never encounter a soul, even one of the ghosts. Albus did not think that was healthy. Instituting communal meals throughout the summer was one of the first changes he implemented after becoming Deputy back in ’37.

Albus stepped onto his turning spiral stair, still considering the situation with Minerva. Whereas when he returned to Hogwarts to teach, it had been some eighty years since his NEWTs, she’d only been away a little more than a dozen years. Now she was working beside teachers who had taught her as a child. In addition, she had arrived in the middle of the school year, with only a few weeks to settle in before she was to start teaching. Although the two had met and discussed the curriculum several times since last January, when she had agreed to join Hogwarts faculty, it was still difficult to come in after classes were established and the students were settled into routines.

When Albus had come to the school in 1937, on the other hand, he had arrived at the end of June as the students were finishing up their OWLs and NEWTs. He'd had more than two months to settle in before beginning to teach. Granted, he was busy those two months with research on the ward structure in July, then the ward renewal in August, followed by more research, tests, and experiments, but he had felt quite settled and at home by the time term began in September. He almost felt put out that his teaching duties interfered with his work on the wards, but that quickly passed as he discovered he enjoyed teaching and being Head of Gryffindor House.

He had always made time for the little Gryffindors to come see him and scheduled a special Gryffindor Tea the second Saturday afternoon of every month that first year so they could get to know their new Head of House. When Quidditch practice fell at the same time as the Tea, he just moved the “Tea” to the Quidditch stands, somewhat perturbing the Quidditch Captain at first, but everyone seemed to enjoy it.

Albus chuckled remembering the serious little second-year whose book he had to take away during the first Tea in September. Minerva protested that she had Charms homework, but when he pointed out that the Charms textbook she was reading was for the third-year class, and he doubted that Professor Dustern expected her to hand in her homework a year early, she at first looked slightly sullen, but then suddenly flashed him a brilliant smile and said, “A year and a half, actually!”

At the Gryffindor Tea the next month, she had tried disguising her book as a romance novel, but he took it away, saying that teatime was for _making_ conversation, not for reading the conversations of others. When Albus examined the book a little later as the students were eating cream cakes and chatting animatedly about the upcoming Halloween party, he discerned that it was the fourth-year Transfiguration text in disguise, and that Minerva had not simply charmed the cover to _appear_ different, but had Transfigured it to actually _be_ different. She must have decided that simply Transfiguring the cover was insufficient, because she had also charmed the text so that it actually read like the pages of a romance novel. Turning the pages, Albus had chuckled to see that the same four pages of the novel were repeated beginning to end. Clever of her, though, not to use just two pages. If someone had been standing behind her as she turned the page, they would not be presented with the same text they had just seen a moment before.

Although he had used a spell to reveal what lay hidden behind her charm, he didn’t remove Minerva’s own spells. Instead, Albus had waited until she approached him at the end of the Tea to request her book back. He escorted her to his office, sat her down, and asked her who had placed the spells on the book, because it was a serious breach of school rules to deface a textbook. He remembered the look of slight panic that had briefly crossed her face, which was quickly replaced by one of determination.

“It is _not_ defaced. I put the spells on it myself, and the book will be as good as new when they are lifted.”

Albus had expressed doubt and told her not to take the blame for someone else. When she continued to insist that _she_ had charmed the book and that the book would be fine, he shook his head.

Feigning disbelief, Albus had handed her the book, saying, “Well, Miss McGonagall, I had wanted to give you an opportunity to minimise the trouble you are in, but since you persist, fine. I want to see you lift the charm and the Transfiguration.” After she had done that with a few quick flicks and whispered incantations, he said, “Now, Miss McGonagall, because you continue to insist that you placed the original spells, I want to watch you put them on again.”

Minerva’s eyebrows raised at that and she swallowed, shifting in her seat. For a brief moment, it was Albus who panicked, fearing that it hadn’t been she who had charmed the book, after all, and that he had only created trouble for her. But then Minerva stood, walked to his desk, picked up a book, looked at it, put it down, then turned to his bookshelves. Silently, she ran her finger along the spines until she found one that apparently suited her.

Albus said nothing as she pulled her selection from the shelf, a popular text on the ethics of magic. She opened the book, looked at the table of contents, then opened it to the middle and placed it next to her own book. Making a complicated pattern over the opened pages with her wand, she uttered what Albus recognised as a variation on a common copy spell. 

Turning again to her Transfiguration text, Minerva opened it to a random page. She furrowed her brow in concentration, and beginning with a charm to conceal the original text, she cast a series of charms, hesitating slightly only once. When she was through, the text now appeared to be that from the ethics book. She then tapped the closed book with her wand and whispered, _“Converto integumentum caeruleum,”_ charming the binding blue.

Apparently satisfied, she turned back to the ethics text, picking it up, examining it, running her palms over its surface, scrutinising the spine, even sniffing it. Putting it down, Minerva returned to her own book and closed her eyes for a moment; when she opened them, she pronounced confidently, _“Commuto gemellium volumen alter alia,”_ her wand describing a circle in the air just above her target. The book shivered slightly, then its binding melted into what appeared to be a perfect copy of the binding of the book sitting beside it. Albus clapped and laughed happily.

“It took me a while to figure that one out, and it still makes it easier if I charm the cover with the colour first,” Minerva had said, smiling slightly.

“But how did you read it?” Albus asked.

Minerva smiled more widely and tapped her wand against the stem of her glasses. “I usually only wear these for reading, anyway, so I put a charm on them that lets me read the concealed text. It’s annoying, though, because I still can see the shadows of the other words underneath what I’m trying to read.”

They had spent the next four hours discussing her choices of words and wand movements, and Albus let her demonstrate the amusing, fortunately reversible, effect of simply pointing her wand at a book and commanding, _“Geminio!”_ which caused another copy of the book to appear beside the first – as Albus had known would happen. She had told him that the worst experience by far, though, was when, still trying to use “twin” as the imperative portion of the spell, she had incanted, _“Gemellio!”_ and caused a book to pop out twin copies of itself.

“It was _terrible!_ ” she said, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t know _what_ went wrong; I thought it was about to explode! The cover just kept swelling more and more, and then the spine split open and out popped two miniature copies of the book – but with no pages!”

They had both laughed heartily about that. When he realised they had missed dinner, Albus called a house-elf and ordered two servings of shepherd’s pie, two glasses of milk, and a plate full of chocolate biscuits. It was the most fun that Albus had had with another person since coming to Hogwarts to teach. Of course, this didn’t become a regular practice, but he did begin to meet with the second-year Gryffindor occasionally to give her extra credit projects and help her work through any difficulties she was having with them.

As Albus approached the Great Hall, he smiled slightly at his memory of the determined little Gryffindor. But when he remembered he would be seeing not Miss McGonagall, the schoolgirl, but Professor McGonagall, Hogwarts’ teacher, the smile faded. It had been less than two hours since they had seen each other under such awkward circumstances. How would she react when he walked in – if she was even there. She could have eaten quickly and left already, as it was almost twelve-thirty. Albus took a deep breath, entered the open doors of the Hall, and walked toward the round oak table at which several teachers and staff were still seated.


	4. More McGonagalls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We join Minerva as she visits her childhood home early one Saturday morning in February.
> 
> Characters in this Chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Egeria Egidius McGonagall (mother), Merwyn McGonagall (father), Murdoch McGonagall (older brother), Melina McGonagall (niece), Fwisky (house-elf)

**IV: More McGonagalls**

Minerva left Poppy’s office determined to regain her professional composure. She didn’t know what had got into her. She had been annoyed, to be sure, when she’d left the Headmaster’s office earlier that morning, but certainly nowhere nearly upset enough to have exploded as she had. It was reciting her litany of grievances against Albus that had stirred her up.

Letting out a long, weary breath, Minerva began the climb up the stairs to her rooms, waiting patiently on the third floor landing for the stairs to rotate over so that she could continue to the fourth. As she trudged up the stairs and on to her rooms, she had to tamp down the thought that she should have known when he assigned her to quarters on the fourth floor that she had been sent to Siberia. He had explained that he thought it would be convenient for her to have her quarters so close to her classroom. All it meant was that in the morning, she had to make her way from the fourth floor to the ground floor in order to take breakfast in the Great Hall, then make the return journey to reach her classroom before the students streamed in. She then had the same round trip again at noon and once more in the evening. Although she did have a few free hours during the week since she was not teaching the NEWT-level classes, she rarely took “advantage” of having her rooms so near her class. She preferred to work in her office, where she could keep all of her teaching materials organised and at hand. It was also good to be available to students during the day, Minerva felt. Her favourite teachers had always made themselves available when she was a student.

Minerva was also acutely disappointed that Albus had decided to give her a different room from the one he used on the first floor. In the months leading up to her arrival at Hogwarts, her head was filled with visions of teaching in her mentor’s classroom. She felt she would be inspired by memories of her years spent there as a student, as well as by the imprint Albus had left in its atmosphere. The classroom she _had_ been given, on the other hand, seemed stark and cold; Minerva thought it hadn’t been used in at least thirty years, given the random bits of parchment she was still finding in odd cracks and cubbies. Its windows were north-facing; since her bedroom windows faced west, there were times during the Scottish winter when she had thought she would never really see any sunlight. Even after the house-elves had worked their magic on the classroom and her office, they still seemed stuffy and dank. Minerva felt she might as well have been given rooms in the dungeons.

To be sure, the furnishings were fine. There was plenty of room on the bookshelves in her office, and the convenient cupboards in the classroom were well stocked with all of the classroom supplies she would need. She hadn’t anticipated using a previously empty classroom, however, and the classroom walls and shelves were glaringly devoid of any interesting objects, charts, or illustrations. The first floor Transfiguration classroom, in contrast, was almost distractingly full of various devices, objects, paintings, and memorabilia that Albus had collected over the years. Even when she had been a child, it had been possessed of diverse artifacts and specimens that aroused a student’s interest and imagination. She was sure that the new Transfiguration classroom had seemed Spartan and unfriendly to students who were so used to Dumbledore’s quirky collections.

Early in February, therefore, the first Saturday she had free from duties, she arrived unannounced early in the morning at the rambling old house she had grown up in, startling the house-elves and her mother. Her father had just looked up from the large, dusty tome he was reading, saying, “Hello, Min. Staying for lunch?” then pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and returning to his book without noticing whether she answered him or not.

Minerva made a bee-line for the attic and spent the next three hours rummaging through old trunks and wardrobes, rejecting almost everything she found as totally unsuitable – either painfully prosaic or disturbingly bizarre. By the time Fwisky popped in to inform her that lunch was about to be served, Minerva was tired, itchy (what was _in_ that dust!), and chilled to the bone. After quickly washing the smudges from her face and brushing the cobwebs from her hair, she joined her parents in the dining room. Murdoch, her older brother, and his daughter Melina were there as well.

“Melina! How wonderful to see you!” cried Minerva with genuine delight as she sat down. She hadn’t seen her niece in several months – not since Melina had moved from London to Edinburgh in June following her first two years of Healer training. She was now in a small clinic finishing her basic training. “When did you get here? How long are you staying?”

Melina smiled with equal pleasure. “We only just arrived a few minutes ago, Min- erva. Dad had a few things to do at the apothecary before we left.”

“Had to check up on the apprentices. They could ruin a dead-easy burn salve if it weren’t that they’re never sure when someone’s going to pop in on them. I think they get lazier and stupider every year. They pass their NEWTs and think they’re experts on everything to do with Potions,” grumbled Murdoch. “Didn’t want to worry you about it at the time, but right after the New Year, one of the apprentices, Turner was his name, blew up the back of the apothecary whilst making Wit-Sharpening Potion, of all things.”

“ _Was_ his name?” asked Minerva with some alarm. “Is he dead?”

“No, though he probably wished he was when I was through with him. He left hospital last week and returned to Mummy and Daddy. _I_ wasn’t having him back.” Murdoch stabbed a potato with his fork.

Relieved, Minerva wondered aloud, “But how? I don’t remember Wit-Sharpening Potion having any volatile ingredients. Let me see, ginger, armadillo bile, umm, beetles of some kind, and a few stabilizers. Was it a bad batch of beetles?”

Murdoch snorted. “For someone who only received an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ on her Potions NEWT – and more than ten years ago, at that – you would have done better than Turner did!” Murdoch paused to eat a brussels sprout. “He used Acromantula venom instead of armadillo bile, which would have done nothing worse than create a toxic – and expensive! – goo, if he hadn’t also pulverized the scarab beetles instead of crushing them. I tell you, I’m thinking of going down to that school of yours and asking Slughorn what he thinks he’s teaching!”

“How _are_ things at Hogwarts, Minerva?” her mother asked, finally getting a word in. “We haven’t heard much from you.”

“Fine, Mother. Of course, it’s a lot of work, especially getting to know the children and what their strengths and weaknesses are, but that will come with time. The other teachers have been very welcoming, and of course it’s wonderful to have Poppy so close.” Well, down three flights of stairs and a corridor or two . . . .

“I’m glad, dear. I had worried about you taking that job, you know. I didn’t want to say much about it, but – ” She was interrupted by simultaneous snorts from both her daughter and her son. “Well, I didn’t!” she protested. “It’s just hard for a mother sometimes. You’ll understand that someday, Minerva. And I’m still worried about you. It’s so isolated, and there are so few people your age. At least in London, you did get out some, and you met people at work. And it’s not as though Hogsmeade is a thriving metropolis, as quaint as it might be.”

“You certainly are one to talk,” replied Minerva. “It’s not as though this house is particularly close to anything – the next Muggle village is ten miles away, and your nearest wizarding neighbours are the Stoats, and that’s got to be at least – ”

“Heavens, Minerva,” her mother laughed. “Since when did you begin thinking like a Muggle? We may not be on the Floo-Network yet, but I have yet to walk to the Stoats, like some Squib. We don’t see them much, anyway. But your father and I do get into Edinburgh. It may not have Diagon Alley, but there’s plenty there for the likes of us. Why, Melina even took us to a Muggle concert two weeks ago. Chopin and Liszt. It was quite lovely.”

Her father, who had appeared to be preoccupied and not attending to the conversation, interjected, “Lovely! Whenever a man has to put on trousers and wear them for more than a few hours, there is nothing lovely about it. I swear I was getting a rash by the time we returned to Murdoch’s!”

“Oh, Dad,” laughed Minerva. “That’s what you always say! There’s never been any evidence of a rash!”

“Hmmpf. Only because of its location, lassie. I won’t even allow your mother to see it!” He winked playfully at his wife and took a sip of his tea, apparently retiring from the conversation.

Egeria laughed at that and brought the conversation back to her youngest child’s choice of jobs. “So you’re settling in well? Fitting in with the other teachers? Any of the children causing you problems? If they are, you know I know many of their mothers or grandmothers.” Although she had “retired” a few years ago, Egeria had spent sixty years as a midwife, attending new mothers and their babies all over Scotland and northern England.

“Yes, Mother, everything’s fine,” replied Minerva with an exasperated sigh. “And if I couldn’t handle the children without your intervention, I shouldn’t be there! Really!” she huffed.

“Well, then, how’s Poppy?”

Minerva, thankful for the apparent change in direction the conversation was taking, said, “Oh, she’s doing well and loves her job. I think she’s happy I decided to take the position. In fact, I have to be getting back later this afternoon since we are meeting at Madam Puddifoot’s. It’s a new tearoom in Hogsmeade she wants to try.”

Egeria ate the last of her caramel custard. “So, Poppy’s not seeing anyone?”

“What do you mean, Mother?” Minerva wished she could join the conversation between Melina and Murdoch. Discussing the finer details of proper ointment application to scrofungulus sores was not what she normally would have considered appropriate for the dinner table, but it was better than what she knew her mother was going to ask.

“I just meant that if a girl has a Saturday afternoon free, she would normally want to spend it with her young man, especially if she’s usually cloistered in a place like Hogwarts all week, that’s all.”

Minerva was used to her mother asking her about whether she had met any nice men lately. Her stock reply was always, “Yes, Mother, many. I meet many nice men.” Then she would change the topic. It wasn’t as though her mother had married young. She and Merwyn only married when it was clear that Malcolm, Minerva’s oldest brother, was going to make an appearance in the world. However, as Egeria always pointed out whenever Minerva brought up her mother’s own late marriage in her defence, the two had “courted” for over ten years before that.

Minerva sat stone-faced and clenched her teacup. “I’m sure she enjoys my company, Mother. And it’s not a cloister.”

“Minerva, love, I am only pointing out the obvious. And then I will stop, I promise. It’s not that I want you to settle down, you know that. And if you never married, it wouldn’t matter to me, truly, if I knew you were happy. But I _know_ you, sweetness. You have some of the best traits of both your father and me, but also some of our worst. You know them yourself, I am sure, so I won’t flatter or insult you by naming them all. Please just remember to make an effort to get to know people. Get to know the ones around you better and try to meet some new people, as well. And if you start seeing someone socially – not Poppy! I mean a man; one who’s interested in you – well, that’ll be icing on the cake. Sweetness, you deserve to have some fun, some _joy_ in life.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Minerva took a sip of her cold tea and stared at the tablecloth.

“Now, I promised Melina that I would help her find some of my books. They may be a bit out of date, but the charms are foundational.” Egeria rose. “Melina, are you and my son finished discussing oozing sores?”

“Of course, Grandmother.” Turning to Minerva, Melina asked, “Will you be here for a little while, at least? With our schedules, I don’t know when we will be able to see each other again.”

“Of course! I won’t be leaving until at least three-thirty, Melina.”

Merwyn rose from the table, put his arm around his granddaughter’s shoulders, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “It is always good to see you, Mel. Don’t let that clinic work you to the bone, now. Make some quiet time for yourself just to read and think or to take walks through that Muggle Edinburgh you like so well.”

“I will, Grampa, I promise.”

Egeria bent and kissed her daughter’s cheek, one arm affectionately around her shoulders, and whispered, “I’m glad you’re settling in well, Minerva. And it is always good to have you home, even just for a few hours.”

Minerva smiled at her mother and stood to embrace her quickly, then turned to Melina. “Don’t forget me while you’re having fun with all those old healing charms! Come see me before you leave!”

“Dad and I will be here all afternoon, so just find me when you’re through with your mysterious project in the attic! Do you know you still have dirt above your left eyebrow?” With that, Melina followed Egeria out of the dining room, leaving Minerva with Merwyn and Murdoch.

“More tea, Minerva? Murdoch?” When they both shook their heads, Merwyn called for Fwisky, who efficiently cleared the table.

“Let’s go into my study. Those two are going to be in the library for a while.”

They settled into the study, Murdoch and Minerva gingerly clearing two spaces to sit. Minerva wasn’t even sure what she was sitting on – a bench or a wooden chest? Both her father and brother were curious about what she had been doing in the attic all morning. After Minerva had told them that she had been looking for interesting things to display in her classroom, they all trooped up the stairs to see what she had found.

“Hmm, don’t know what most of this stuff has to do with Transfiguration, M’nervy, but some of it is kind of interesting,” Murdoch said, unrolling a dusty tapestry entitled, _Gwion Bach Learns Wisdom_. “I think this one was in the nursery when I was a boy.”

“Have you checked everything for dormant charms, Min?” her father asked.

“No, I thought I’d do that this afternoon. I don’t want to Apparate with anything I’m not sure about, let alone bring it into a Hogwarts classroom filled with children whose spells sometimes go awry,” she replied.

“Why don’t we give you a hand, then, if you think we can trust your brother’s competence with a wand,” Merwyn teased.

“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose with you and me both here, he can’t do too much harm,” said Minerva with an amused glint in her eye.

“All right, you two. Very amusing. Just because I don’t require a lot of foolish wand-waving in my profession doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to cast a few simple diagnostic spells.” Murdoch feigned injury.

“‘Diagnostic spells’? Do you think we are in an infirmary, lad? Detecting and revealing spells are what we’ll be using. I’ll do the Dark detecting, I think, if you don’t mind, Min?” 

“No, that’s fine, Dad. After you’re finished with an object, just pass it to me or Murdoch, and we’ll check for any other unexpected charms or transformations.” When Murdoch just stood there, Minerva elbowed him in the ribs.

“Yes, sounds like a good way to go about it,” agreed Murdoch, with little enthusiasm.

“You _do_ have your wand with you, don’t you, Murdoch?” Minerva teased.

Murdoch just snorted and perched gingerly on a box. “Just the way I’d plan to spend my afternoon in the country, away from the smog of the city. Shut up in a dusty attic breathing in who-knows-what.” He sighed melodramatically. “The things I do for my baby sister!” Said baby sister punched him in the arm, after which the three settled down to their task.

At three o’clock, arms full, they emerged from the attic stair to find Melina coming toward them. “I was just going to look for you! I wanted to see you before you had to leave. We never have enough time!”

“I know, Melina, I’m sorry. Want to help me shrink everything and put it in a bag? We can chat while we do that.”

Agreeing, Melina followed her aunt, father, and grandfather to Minerva’s old bedroom. As they started sorting through the items, and Minerva rummaged through her wardrobe, looking for the carpet bag she _knew_ was there, Melina said, “So, how’s Professor Dumbledore? It must be odd working for him and taking over his old job like that.”

Minerva’s reply was lost, muffled by the wardrobe and its contents.

“At the risk of sounding like your mother, Min, you know your Great-uncle Perseus was at school with Dumbledore. I’m sure that he’d be happy to – ”

Merwyn never had the opportunity to say what Perseus Parnovon would have been happy to do, because Minerva withdrew her head and shoulders from the wardrobe and whirled around. 

“Father, I do _not_ need anything from Uncle Perseus. Nor from anyone else. Not to do with Hogwarts, my career, or my personal life. And _who_ took my carpet bag!”

Deciding that discretion would be the better part of valour, Murdoch and Melina neatly sorted, folded, shrank, and stacked, and pretended not to hear anything.

“Um, Min, I just meant that – ”

“I _don’t_ care to discuss it! And my name, in case you had forgotten it, is ‘Minerva,’ not ‘Min,’ not ‘Minnie,’ and especially not ‘M’nervy!’” she added, shooting a withering glare at her brother.

Merwyn took off his round, rimless glasses and polished them on the edge of his sleeve. “All right, lassie. I know you can take care of yourself. Sometimes it’s nice to have another perspective on things, that’s all. Fwisky!” he called out.

There was a load crack as Fwisky Apparated into the room. “Fwisky, do you know where the carpet bag that used to be in this wardrobe is now?”

“No, Mister Merwyn. I do not. Does the young Miss Minerva be needing a carpet bag? I can fetch one.” The old elf looked up at Merwyn, wanting to be of service.

“Yes, Fwisky, that would be well. Thank you.”

Without another word, Fwisky popped away. A moment later, she was back, a large carpet bag of greens and browns floating above her. “Does this suit Miss Minerva?” she asked, turning toward Minerva.

“That’s fine, thank you, Fwisky.”

As Merwyn and Murdoch silently handed things to the two women to place in the carpet bag, shrinking them as necessary, Minerva sighed, then stretched. “I’m sorry, Dad. I guess after Mother’s speech, combined with the fact that I’m a little tired, I was a bit over-sensitive. I know you meant well. And I _would_ like to see Uncle Perseus and Aunt Helen sometime soon – _not_ to talk about my job! – but I probably won’t have much time between now and the summer holidays.”

“No harm done, Min. I should have known better – especially since you were in the middle of not-finding your carpet bag! By the way, do you know when you last saw it?” Merwyn asked innocently.

Minerva thought a moment, then suddenly laughed. “Of course I do! It was one of the ones I used when I moved from London in December.” She turned and embraced her father.

“Well, M’nervy, if you want to be taking tea with your friend Poppy, I’d suggest you hurry,” said Murdoch, as he cast a lightening spell on the carpet bag then handed it to her. He winked then and recited:

_“Hurry, hurry, run, M’nervy!_  
 _“Come for lunch or you’ll get scurvy!_  
 _“Don’t go ’round and ’round a-whirry._  
 _“Cabbage for dinner, cabbage for supper;_  
 _“Watch it now, she’s in a fury!_  
 _“Hurry, hurry, run, M’nervy!_  
 _“The world has gone all topsy-turvy;_  
 _“Just eat your lunch and don’t you worry!_  
 _“Hurry, hurry, my sweet M’nervy.”_

Minerva laughed, good humour restored. A dozen years older than she, but still closest in age of all her brothers, Murdoch had made up that rhyme for her the summer before his final year at Hogwarts. He had teased her about her impatience to start school and told her that Hogwarts wasn’t all cream cakes and hot chocolate, but cabbages, too. When she protested that, unlike _some_ people, she didn’t care about food; she just wanted to go to classes and the library, he laughed and told her that even lessons and the library weren’t particularly fun – you had to learn what the teachers taught you, not just what _you_ wanted to study. The next morning, when he found her trying to read one of his old Charms textbooks, he told her to go out and play. “You don’t need to learn everything all at once, you know, M’nervy. And you don’t need to grow up so fast.” “But you all are,” she’d protested, whining. When he took the book away, Minerva spent the rest of the day sulking, wondering with whom, precisely, she was supposed to play. None of the house-elves knew the first thing about chess, and she’d outgrown having “tea parties” for her dolls and the house-elves. Late that afternoon, Murdoch found her curled up in the library with _Hogwarts, A History_ , not reading, just holding it and looking miserable. That’s when he made up that rhyme for her, hoping to make her laugh. She just pouted the first time he recited it; the second time, she stomped off; but when they were having cabbage for lunch a few days later, he started the rhyme again and was pleased to see her trying to hide her smile behind her glass of pumpkin juice.

“All right, Murdoch, that’s enough! I don’t need your nonsense rhymes clanging in my head for the rest of the afternoon!” She smiled and shook her head fondly at him.

“Come on, Melina, walk me downstairs. Say, do you want to come with me? Poppy left St. Mungo’s to work at Hogwarts before you started your training, so I don’t think you two have ever met, but I’m sure you’d like her. Do you have the time?”

“I’d love to,” Melina replied enthusiastically. “I don’t have to be at the clinic until tomorrow afternoon, in fact. Dad, can you take my books back home with you? I’ll Floo home from the Three Broomsticks later this evening.”

After Minerva and Melina said good-bye to Egeria in the library, they walked out to the front garden.

“Meet in front of Scrivenshaft’s, shall we?” said Minerva briskly. “As you haven’t been to Madam Puddifoot’s yet.” Melina agreed, and with a pair of cracks, the two Apparated to Hogsmeade.


	5. Madam Puddifoot's and a Complicated Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Poppy meet at Madam Puddifoot’s and give Melina some advice.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey, Melina McGonagall

**V: Madam Puddifoot’s and a Complicated Situation**

Minerva and Melina met, as agreed, outside of Scrivenshaft’s and took a few moments to glance at the quills they had on display in the window. The two had turned to leave, when behind them they heard a familiar voice.

“Ah, Fortune must have smiled upon me today! Two lovely McGonagalls!”

The two turned back to see Albus emerging from Scrivenshaft’s with a surprisingly large package, considering the kind of wares Scrivenshaft’s sold.

“Professor Dumbledore!” exclaimed Melina happily. “I think it is we upon whom Fortune has smiled – or, at least, on me – Minerva gets to see you every day. This is an unexpected pleasure!”

“And how are you, Miss McGonagall?” asked Dumbledore. “Or should I say ‘Healer McGonagall’?”

Minerva started at hearing “Miss McGonagall,” then realised immediately that Albus had been addressing Melina and not her.

“Oh, I’m very well, Professor. I’m in Edinburgh now, at the clinic, finishing up my programme. In June, you shall be able to call me ‘Healer,’ if you wish!”

“Of course I will, Miss McGonagall; after all, you have worked very hard these last years to earn that title. But I do hope you aren’t neglecting any patients today, strolling the streets of Hogsmeade with your aunt?” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

Melina laughed. “In fact, Professor, we just got here; we were –”

Minerva cut her off, worried that Melina was about to tell Albus about their afternoon up to that point, and she really preferred that he didn’t hear all the details Melina might launch into. “We were just meeting Poppy Pomfrey at Madam Puddifoot’s in a few minutes, Headmaster.”

Albus grinned. “Well, Professor, please don’t let me keep you from your tea. I have heard she serves an excellent trifle.”

“Perhaps you could join us, Professor,” invited Melina. “Or I suppose I should call you ‘Headmaster’ now!”

“I wouldn’t dream of intruding on your ‘girls’ afternoon out.’” Albus smiled. “And ‘Professor’ is fine, Miss McGonagall, unless you wish to call me ‘Albus.’”

“I don’t know if I could manage that, Professor, but please don’t feel you would be intruding! Although I am sure that you have other, more pressing business at Hogwarts than taking tea with three witches.”

Minerva looked on, unsure of whether she should encourage Albus to join them, or scold Melina later for inviting him, or both. “I’m sure you’re right, Melina. The Headmaster is a very busy man.”

“Nothing would delight me more than having tea with three charming witches; however, I do need to be elsewhere shortly. I am afraid I have a prior engagement.”

After a few more pleasantries, they took their leave, and Minerva hustled Melina down the pavement. “Really, Melina, we will be late to meet Poppy,” she scolded. “Standing in the cold in front of Scrivenshaft’s, detaining the Headmaster from his business, was not why we Apparated to Hogsmeade.”

Melina laughed good-naturedly. “Come on, Min, he spoke to us first! It would have been rude just to walk away, and I know you do not like to be rude. And what was it with all this ‘Headmaster Dumbledore’ business? Do you always address him so formally? I thought you liked him – wasn’t that one of the reasons you took the job?”

“Hush! Heavens, Melina! Do you possess no discretion by now? We were in public. It is only respectful to address him appropriately. When he called you ‘Miss McGonagall,’ well, it was as though I was speaking to him in front of a student, or something, I suppose. And, as I said, we were on a public street. Which we still are, until we enter this establishment, at which time, we will still be in public. Do you know what that means, Melina?” asked Minerva as they approached the door to Madam Puddifoot’s and paused.

“Um, that I should address you as ‘Professor McGonagall, ma’am’?” asked Melina cheekily.

Minerva restrained herself from rolling her eyes. “Don’t be fresh. That is not what I meant, and you know it. Although if you _could_ remember my name is ‘Minerva,’ I would appreciate it.” With that, Minerva opened the door to Madam Puddifoot’s.

She didn’t know when last her senses had been so assaulted. There was a cacophony of pink everywhere, from shocking pink to salmon pink to pale petal pink; the colour saturated the entire tearoom.

“Get a move on, Min– erva! It’s cold out here,” Melina said, prodding her aunt gently in the back.

“This has _got_ to be the most _atrocious_ room I have ever been in,” whispered Minerva to her niece, as they stood looking around for Poppy. They finally found her, tucked behind one of the entirely improbable bushes that the proprietress had scattered between the tables – no doubt believing that they lent a romantic atmosphere. In Minerva’s opinion, however, they were ugly to the point of putting her off her tea. The bush that had concealed the matron’s presence possessed variegated pink and white leaves and small red buds like miniature butterflies, gently flapping their petals like wings. Some kind of mutated Flutterby plant, perhaps, unless it had been charmed pink. Minerva shuddered and wished she could sit with her back to it, but that was the seat that Poppy had chosen.

As introductions were made and tea requested (Minerva ordering the trifle, despite the fact it wasn’t one of her preferred desserts), the surroundings receded a bit, although Minerva maintained later that she found the flapping petals too distracting to properly concentrate on her food. 

Poppy and Melina took to one another immediately, as Minerva had hoped they would, and after the two had shaken their heads with amazement that their paths had always just missed crossing – first at Hogwarts, where Melina entered her first year in 1947 and Poppy had left in 1945, then at St. Mungo’s, where Melina had begun her training in 1954, just months after Poppy had left the hospital to return to Hogwarts, which Melina had just left only a few weeks before, following her NEWTs. Both had been Hufflepuffs, and, between their shared experiences at the school and at the hospital, the two had many acquaintances in common. Soon the conversation turned to the recent scrofungulus outbreak in Edinburgh, Melina explaining that that was one reason she had two days off in a row.

“None of us had a break for three solid weeks, Poppy. I’m sure you know what that’s like. So Healer Boneset decided we all deserved a little time off. We drew lots, and I was the lucky one to get the weekend.”

Minerva, glad that Poppy and Melina had so much in common and hit it off so well, was still beginning to feel a bit like one of the bushes, although not as conspicuous.

“I do hope you are not about to begin discussing scrofungulus again, Melina. I had quite enough of that at lunch without having it disturb my appetite now, too,” Minerva said with a light smile.

Melina chuckled. “I don’t know how you could have overheard much, with Grandmother Egeria putting you through the wringer like that.” She took a sip of her hot tea.

Poppy turned to Minerva and said, “Let me guess. She was ‘discussing’ your social life again.” Poppy seemed to think this quite funny.

“Don’t you laugh, Poppy, since your social life was under scrutiny, as well!”

Poppy seemed to swallow her tea the wrong way. Before she knew it, Melina had cast a quick charm, and she had stopped choking. “Ta, Melina! What do you mean _my_ social life?” Poppy was somewhat indignant.

“Well, not your social life, so much as your _lack_ of one. Mother found it a pity that you were meeting _me_ for tea and not a gentleman friend. She saw it as a sign that we both lead a cloistered existence at Hogwarts.”

“What! Even if I _were_ seeing someone, who’s to say that I wouldn’t meet you for tea?”

“Grandmother’s notion is that you two are so isolated up at the castle, that if you had an afternoon off, you would be spending it doing something with someone of the opposite sex – something far more fun than having tea in Hogsmeade.” Melina waggled her eyebrows suggestively and giggled.

“Melina McGonagall, you know that’s not what she said!” Minerva cried in mock outrage.

Melina giggled again and licked up a bit of pink icing. “Maybe not in those words, but it’s what she was thinking. And certainly what she was implying. ‘You should have more _joy_ in life, Minerva’ – and you know she _wasn’t_ talking about the intellectual pleasure of solving a knotty problem in Transfiguration.”

Minerva turned almost as red as the obnoxious little blossoms that seemed ready to flit from their stems. “She just wants me to be happy, is all. Since you seem to have listened to our conversation, you probably are also aware that she told me she doesn’t care if I ever get married!” Minerva seemed to think that declaration would end the conversation, but she was mistaken.

“No!? Really?! Your mother actually said that? But I thought she was always trying to get you to meet people, wizards, in hopes of getting you married off!” Poppy was glad the conversation had been so neatly deflected from her social life back to Minerva’s.

Melina laughed out loud at that. “Oh, don’t make any mistake there, Poppy. Grandmother still wants Minerva to meet the right wizard – and make whoopie, as the Muggles say – she just doesn’t care if she gets married to do it!” Melina was clearly taking pleasure in Minerva’s discomfiture.

“Well, who are you to speak, Miss Melina I’m-always-too-busy McGonagall! You’re younger than I am – you’re supposed to be sowing your wild oats, or gathering them, or whatever it is that young witches do. I don’t see you off with some ‘gentleman friend,’ as mother would put it, on your first Saturday free in weeks.”

Minerva expected to get a rise out of Melina with her words and was surprised when Melina just blushed and fiddled with her teacup.

“What haven’t you told me, Melina?” Minerva asked. Poppy wondered if she should excuse herself to use the little witches’ room, but then decided this was too much fun.

“Well, Min,” Melina took a deep breath, “you see, that was one of the reasons I wanted to see you this afternoon. I wanted to tell you about Brennan.”

“I see,” said Minerva slowly. “And who is this ‘Brennan,’ and what did you want to tell me about him?”

“Brennan O’Donald. I met him a few months ago at a play. It was the interval, and we’d both gone to the bar set up in the lobby to get a drink. We’d each ordered the same thing; the bartender had thought we were together and that it was the same order, so he only made one. When he put it down on the counter, Brennan and I both reached for it at the same time, knocking it over and making a mess. We laughed about it, and he bought us each a drink, then the interval was over. I didn’t think about him again, honestly, but then I was at a concert one afternoon – one of those free ones they have at the museum – and I heard a voice behind me asking if I’d care for a drink. I turned around, and there he was. We chatted a bit, then we found seats next to each other. We didn’t make any arrangements to meet again, but we did, anyway, a few nights later, at another concert. Well, as he said, three times is the charm, so he invited me to go to dinner with him after the concert. We’ve been seeing each other ever since.”

“I gather from what you say that these have been Muggle concerts. It’s rather a coincidence, don’t you think, that you and this wizard should keep meeting at these Muggle events, and you have never met him otherwise? Have you considered the fact that, well, there’s something _wrong_ with him and that he deliberately followed you and met you at these places?”

“No, it never occurred to me that there is anything wrong with him! He’s not some strange masher, Minerva. It is perfectly normal that I never would have met him anywhere else before since he is not a wizard.”

Both Poppy and Minerva were silent.

“He’s very nice, Minerva! I want you to meet him. I need you to like him. Really.” As she pleaded with her aunt, Melina suddenly looked very young to Minerva.

“Oh, darling Melina, I’m sure he’s very nice. But, dear, what have you told him? Surely if you’ve known him a few months, it’s been getting more than a little awkward, never being able to bring him home, or have him pick you up.” Suddenly Minerva had an alarming thought. “You haven’t told him you’re a witch yet, have you, Melina?”

“No, no! What do you take me for, Minerva? I have a friend at the clinic who has a flat in Muggle Edinburgh. He picks me up there. Jennie has even put an extra bed in her little study and lets me keep a few things in it, so it looks as though I live there. Brennan keeps saying I should get a place of my own – he’s even offered me a job since my excuse is that I only just moved to Edinburgh and can’t afford my own place yet. He seems to think I’ve spent too much money on attending concerts and that I should be saving for a flat, so he won’t ever let me pay for my own tickets anymore. He insists that’s how it should be, anyway, and that he wants to treat me like a lady.”

“I wonder how he’d feel if he knew his lady was a witch, though?” asked Poppy, saying something for the first time in a while.

“Oh, he’s _wonderful_ , Poppy! I _know_ he wouldn’t mind. It’d probably be confusing, at first, but as long as we didn’t do anything too startling at the beginning, I really don’t think it would be a problem. We have so much in common. He’s a chemist, and he even owns his own shop. That’s how he was able to offer me a job, you see. He thinks that I’d been studying pharmacology in London and had to move to Edinburgh for family reasons.” Melina sighed then and said, “You are right, Minerva, it has been difficult keeping so much from him. If dad didn’t live above the apothecary, I might even be able to bring him home, if we had Quimpy stay hidden. But he can’t even see the apothecary, let alone enter McTavish Street, because of the Muggle-repelling Charms. Of course, if he _did_ see the apothecary, that would possibly be even worse. I just don’t think I can continue seeing him and making up stories like this, Auntie Min, that’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

Minerva couldn’t remember the last time her niece had called her “Auntie Min.” With just a little over a decade separating them, they were actually closer in age than she and Melina’s father, Murdoch, were.

“Well, Melina,” said Minerva, patting her hand comfortingly, “I know it is hard to stop seeing someone whom you care about, thinking of the right excuse, but – ”

Melina broke in, “That’s not what I mean at all, Minerva! I need to find a way to stop lying to him without sounding like I’m off my rocker and without breaking any of the Muggle Protection laws.”

“Well, then, you’ll have to marry the bloke,” said Poppy briskly. “Spring wedding, perhaps?”

“What!” exclaimed Melina. “But I’ve only known him a few months. I don’t think either of us is thinking in that direction yet. He hasn’t even met my father. He’s nervous enough contemplating that without my suggesting marriage. And I _cannot_ marry him under false pretenses, him thinking I’m just another Muggle, then finding out after it’s too late that I’m not.” Melina finished her anguished lament and put her head in her hands.

“We understand that, Melina, but why do you think there are so few Magic-Muggle marriages? Not only do we rarely mingle enough to meet, but it is simply too risky to inform a Muggle about our world only to have it turn out that the Muggle and the witch or wizard go their separate ways, leaving the Muggle with dangerous knowledge of us,” explained Minerva. “And faced with a choice, most witches and wizards, confronted with the option of continuing to weave ever more complicated fictions about their life and waiting to see if marriage is down the road or leaping feet first into the cauldron and marrying a Muggle they don’t know particularly well, most decide to break off their liaisons.”

Melina, looking even sadder, clarified, “It’s not a liaison.”

Poppy, thinking of something that Melina had said, asked, “Why is he nervous to meet your father? I know most young men are a bit nervous about it, but have you made up some terrible story about him, as well, to explain why he hasn’t met him yet even though he’s right there in Edinburgh?”

“No, no, nothing like that. It’s just that, well, Muggles are a little peculiar, is all, about age. To us, a difference of a decade or two is nothing, but apparently he’s afraid that dad will think he’s ‘robbing the cradle,’ as he put it.”

“My word, Melina, how old _is_ he?” asked Poppy, envisioning a wrinkly old geezer lusting after a fresh young witch.

“Not _that_ old! I keep telling him that, but he keeps saying he’s almost twice as old as I am. I tell him that just means that he knows how to treat a lady right.”

“Oh, well, that’s all right, then. I was just picturing some ancient Muggle drooling all over you, and it gave me the creeps,” replied Poppy with a little shudder.

“No, it’s _not_ all right, Poppy!” exclaimed Minerva. “How can you say such an irresponsible thing? The man is a _Muggle_ , for heavens sakes – and I like Muggles as much as the next witch – but it is complicated. Not _wrong_ , please don’t misunderstand me, Melina. Not wrong, just _very complicated_. It only becomes more complicated by the fact that he’s older.” Minerva held up her hand, silencing Poppy and Melina. “It’s not that he’s an older _man_ , but that he’s an older _Muggle_. Muggles become less and less open-minded as they get older, although I suppose that could be said of anyone, but worse than that, Muggle men have very short life expectancies. Why, you two could marry next week, and it would feel as though you had just turned around and _-poof!-_ he’s dead!”

Melina looked stricken and speechless at Minerva’s words.

“Come, now,” said Poppy forcefully, “it’s not as bad as all that! How old is Brennan, then, about forty?”

“Thirty-nine,” said Melina miserably.

“Piffle! That’s nothing! He has decades left! You’ll outlive him, no doubt, barring something unusual, but that’s to be expected, anyway. Witches often outlive their husbands. And some go on to marry again, some don’t, but I doubt that their opinion on whether they should have married or not in the first place rests on _when_ their husbands died – no, it would depend on the _kind of husband_ he was. And think of it, Melina, Minerva: any of us could die tomorrow in an accident, or we could contract some terrible, incurable disease, or something. There’s no guarantee for any of us that we will live to see the next day, is there? But do we say, ‘oh, there’s just no point in doing anything because we may die tomorrow?’ No! Because we may die, we _live_ in the meantime!”

Minerva played with the trifle left on her plate. “You know, Melina, I think Poppy’s right,” she said slowly. “I simply worry that you’ll be unhappy, or that you’re borrowing trouble. I can’t help it; I care about you.”

Melina sighed. “I know, Minerva. And it’s not as though I wasn’t aware of everything you’d said, I was just trying to avoid thinking about it all. To me, the worst part has been making up the stories, and I was hoping you would have an easy solution to that.”

“No, I don’t. Do you, Poppy?” When Poppy shook her head, Minerva continued, “Let me think about it for a while, though, and do a little research. In the meantime, have you told your father yet? No? Well, then I think that’s the first thing you should do. Then I think you should have them meet – maybe dinner in a nice restaurant; Murdoch should still fit into his good blue suit. Then have Brennan bring you back to that flat and have your father go home on his own. Fortunately, Murdoch is good at mingling with Muggles, and if you’re in a public place, there shouldn’t be too much opportunity for either of you to slip up and say the wrong thing. I do wonder what you’ve told Brennan your father does for a living, though.”

Melina blushed a bit. “I told him he’d been a chemist in London and he’d been sacked for incompetence so he’s living off of mother’s insurance money and please don’t be mad at me Dad will be already!” she finished in a rush of breath.

Minerva just looked at Melina expressionlessly, then she burst out laughing. After a moment, the other two witches joined her.

“Oh, my, Melina, you never fail to disappoint!” chuckled Minerva, trying to catch her breath and wiping tears of laughter from her cheeks. “I wish I could be a fly on the wall when you tell your dad that one!”

“Hmm, Melina, how much have you actually told Brennan about your father’s supposed sacking?” asked Poppy.

“Not much, really. I act like it’s an uncomfortable topic for me, and he doesn’t press. I don’t want to make up so many details that he gets curious and asks around in London about him. He must know other chemists who work there. It could wreck everything if he finds out that I’m lying to him about that. I’ve already had to be evasive about my supposed course work in London. Fortunately, I’ve done enough reading in Muggle medicine to be able to sound like I’ve done a term or two.”

“Well, suppose you tell him that it wasn’t your father’s error, but that he took the blame for some other chap who had a young family to feed, or something? That he believed it was a one-time error the young man had learned from, and he didn’t want him and his family to suffer from it for the rest of his life, hmm? I hope you didn’t make it a deadly error.”

“Oh, no, I said that he’d just put the wrong dosage on a bottle and the patient hadn’t taken enough and so had got sicker until the doctor discovered she’d not been getting enough medicine.”

“Well, that’s not so bad, then,” said Poppy. “But now we really need to be going. None of my charms have become warm while we’re sitting here, but it’s already dinnertime at the castle, so we should be getting back.”

“Hmm, I’m surprised that after a Hogsmeade weekend, no one has eaten themselves sick on Honeydukes’ sweets. I doubt the students will be eating much dinner tonight, and they’ll be so tired, they might not have the energy to get into any trouble!” added Minerva, as they called for their bill.

“What are your charms, Poppy?” asked Melina, trying to see them from across the table.

“Ah, Professor Dumbledore gave them to me after he became Headmaster. He always felt, you see, that I was far too tied to the castle, even when no one was ill since accidents can happen anytime. Whenever I did want to get into town, I had to let the Deputy, which he had been, as you know, have a list of places I was going and when I was going to be at each of them. It rather puts a damper on an afternoon of shopping if I have to schedule how many minutes I spend in each shop! On top of that, I never felt easy about leaving for more than a few hours at a time. With this charm bracelet, however, I can be contacted from the Headmaster’s Office at any time I leave the Hogwarts grounds.” Poppy held out her wrist to display her bracelet. “The cauldron means there’s been some kind of potions accident, the wand means there’s a spell involved, the broom means it’s an accidental injury since so many of those involve Quidditch. If the hat gets warm, it’s a student; if the book does, it’s a staff member. And the feather means that it’s an extreme emergency.”

“Why a feather?” asked Melina as they were leaving the restaurant.

“Because birds fly, I suppose,” Poppy replied.

The three set off down the main street, Melina saying that she’d walk with them as far as the Three Broomsticks since she planned to Floo home from there, rather than Apparate for the third time that day. The three women walked through the new snow that had fallen while they had been in Madam Puddifoot’s and chatted, Melina saying she’d take Minerva’s and Poppy’s advice and Owl them both soon. As they neared the Three Broomsticks, they could see two people emerging from it and the warmly lit room beyond. One of the two figures was clearly that of Dumbledore; the other was a witch. As the two turned to head toward the castle, the witch seemed to slip a bit in the snow. The Headmaster’s hand reached out and caught her before she fell, then he crooked his elbow, offering an arm, which she took.

“He’s still the same, sweet, gallant Professor Dumbledore, then,” said Melina with a smile, her cheeks rosy from the cold.

“You’ve only been gone from school a few years, Melina, what did you expect? That he’d grown an extra head and begun spitting in the streets or something?” asked Minerva irritably.

“What’s got into you, anyway? I just meant that it was good to see him earlier, is all. And seeing him just now reminded me.”

Poppy, thinking to avert some kind of odd family squabble, intervened, saying, “It’s nice to see the Headmaster take some time for himself. He rarely does. I don’t know how his health hasn’t suffered for it yet. I do wonder, though, that both he and Gertie could be gone from the castle during dinner. He’s usually fairly insistent that one or the other of them attend every meal – preferably both. Professor Gamp is his new Deputy,” Poppy explained in an aside to Melina.

“Well, it’s just none of our business, is it? We don’t run the school or monitor their lives. And I happen to know that each House is having supper in their individual common rooms tonight, as a special treat after the Hogsmeade weekend. I know because Horace and Wilhelmina were complaining to Professor Gamp about it,” said Minerva, looking more closely after the couple and seeing that Poppy had been correct about the identity of the second party. “They said it was always extra work for them to monitor the common rooms when they did that. I got the impression that Wilhelmina would just as soon never win a Quidditch game because she has to stay up too late to monitor the Gryffindors’ victory parties.”

They had reached the Three Broomsticks and Melina paused, looking up at the two women beside her. “I know it’s late for you, but do you have time for one drink before I leave? Please?” she wheedled.

Poppy hesitated. A warm Butterbeer would taste nice on a night like tonight.

“No, Melina, I’m sorry, Poppy and I have to get back up to the castle. Just because I had the day off doesn’t mean that I didn’t leave a lot of work behind. And I think I’ll stop by Gryffindor House and see if Grubbly-Plank wants a hand.”

“All right, Min. Thanks so much, both of you, for listening to me and for the advice. I just hope I don’t bollix things up too badly.” Melina hugged her aunt hard, who returned the embrace warmly, then turned to Poppy and gave her a quick hug, too. “I’m so glad Minerva finally introduced us. We’ll have to get together sometime and talk about all of the boring and disgusting things she didn’t let us talk about this afternoon!”

Minerva smiled, and Poppy laughed, saying she’d love to get together sometime when their schedules allowed, then added that Melina was welcome to stop by the Hogwarts infirmary anytime she had a free afternoon – she might have to set her to work, if it was busy, but she was welcome, in any case.

“I’d like that, Poppy!” Melina smiled happily at her new friend.

“Well, then, I’ll just ask the Headmaster to put you on the list of permanently approved guests – unless you’d prefer to do that, Minerva?”

“No, no – she’s a Healer-trainee and coming to see you; I think you are the more appropriate person to make that request. Although if you don’t stop by and visit me, I shall be gravely injured!” Minerva added to her niece.

Melina laughed and gave her aunt a quick kiss on the cheek before hurrying into the warmth of the pub behind her. The other two continued their walk up the street in the direction of Hogwarts.

“Want to Apparate to the gates?” asked Poppy. “It’s bloody cold out tonight.”

“You could do a Warming Charm, if it really bothers you,” Minerva said somewhat absently. “But, no, I think I’d like the walk. You go ahead, if you want. It’s been a busy day, and I wouldn’t mind a quiet walk up to the castle, honestly.”

“Well,” Poppy hesitated.

“Go on ahead, really. Unless you’ll take offense, in which case, don’t. I’m happy to have your company, but I won’t mind if you go on ahead.”

“All right, if you’re sure. See you tomorrow at breakfast, then?” Poppy asked, knowing that her friend really wouldn’t mind the frigid walk up to the gates.

“Probably. I do have a lot of work to finish for Monday, so I may just have a cup of tea in my room.”

“Okay, then. Don’t dawdle, though, it is too cold!” With that, Poppy Apparated the rest of the way to the gates. It was too dark for Minerva to see her up ahead; she could barely make out the dim lanterns that hung on either side of the gates.

She continued her walk, glad for the silence. As the snow began to fall again, she wondered what it was that was bothering her, for something was. She was annoyed about Poppy’s remarks about the Headmaster and Gertrude, but about something more, too. . . . She wasn’t going to think about it, she decided; after all, it was she who had said that what Dumbledore did was none of their business. Besides, it was probably just Grubbly-Plank’s attitude that bothered her. She’d been the Gryffindor Head of House for over a year, and she still didn’t seem to know all their names. This despite the fact that she taught all of the second- through fifth-years every year, meaning that she only had to learn the names of the ten first-year students since she either had taught or was teaching the other sixty or so. Not only that, but she had left the last Quidditch match early, and it had been Gryffindor - Slytherin; it had been a tight match until the Gryffindor Seeker had caught the Snitch in a daring dive. When the players looked around for their Head of House, she hadn’t been there. But Minerva had stood and cheered and waved a Gryffindor banner. She may not have endeared herself to the Slytherins in that moment, but it seemed that the Gryffindors had warmed toward her a bit more.

Minerva didn’t want to misjudge the woman, but she really didn’t think that Grubbly-Plank was cut out to be a House Head. She was quite a competent teacher, by all accounts, although she hadn’t been the Care of Magical Creatures Professor until the year after Minerva had left, so she didn’t know from personal experience. Yes, she would definitely stop by Gryffindor House and see if she could help. She’d go see Wilhelmina first, of course, if she were in her rooms. She didn’t want to offend her, after all.

With that decision made, Minerva finished her trek across the grounds to the castle. She’d stop by Gryffindor, then grade some essays before bed. In the morning, she could unpack her bag of goodies and start decorating her classroom. Minerva felt quite cheered as she tramped through the fresh snow toward home, thinking about the various things she had packed away in her bag and ignoring the little niggling voices that repeated, _‘I have a previous engagement’_ and _‘both he and Gertie . . . gone from the castle during dinner,’_ until they had faded completely.


	6. Spero et Expecto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva remembers how, in her fifth year, she began to get to know Professor Dumbledore beyond his role as her Transfiguration teacher, but as a wizard with many roles and responsibilities, including that of "General" Dumbledore.
> 
> **Beginning of Part Two.**
> 
> Characters in this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Blampa (Hogwarts house-elf); and young Minerva and Professor Dumbledore.

**PART TWO**  
 **VI: _Spero et Expecto_**

As Minerva entered her quarters, whispering her password, _alvarium album_ , her heart felt heavy, her eyes burned, and her throat was dry. She would follow Poppy’s advice and take a warm bath, but she should have thought to ask her for a calming potion of some sort – or at least a light Cheering Charm. Sighing, she knew that neither of those would have provided more than temporary and artificial relief. She shed her outer robe, draping it across the small bench in front of her vanity, and went into her bathroom to draw her bath. While not as elaborate as the Prefects’ Bath she had used during her last years as a student, it was still lovely, with pretty tiles lining the walls, depicting various scenes from wizarding history – most focussing on the deeds of witches, she had realised several days after arriving at the castle that winter.

The bathtub had several taps, each with its own control that could be adjusted either manually or with a wand. She bent and adjusted the hot and cold taps to fill the bath, then turned to the other spigots lining one side of the bath. Whilst she normally chose rose-scented bath oil in the evening and a bright, bubbly citrus mix in the morning, today she adjusted the lavender and rosemary taps to lightly scent her water.

Having done that, she returned to her bedroom and called out, “Blampa!” The house-elf popped in.

“Is Miss Professor Minerva ma’am wanting anything? Blampa very happy to serve the Professor ma’am!” Blampa was practically quivering with joy at having been called. The other house-elves had teased her and told her she must not be a very good house-elf because her new Professor hardly ever called her for anything.

“Yes, Blampa, please. I would like a large pot of hot tea. Orange pekoe, strong. And milk, no sugar.”

“Oh, Miss Professor Minerva ma’am!! Blampa be’s so happy to bring the Miss Professor her tea!” At this, Blampa actually jumped for joy. “But wouldn’t Miss Professor like some nice honey with her tea? Very good honey, Blampa knows. And very good for sore heart and sore throat, Miss Professor ma’am!”

Minerva stiffened. _Sore heart and sore throat,_ she thought. _What does that creature know? There are far too many of them in the castle; who knows what they talk about down in those kitchens._ “Why would you offer me honey, Blampa? I asked for no sugar.”

Blampa’s mood seemed dampened by Minerva’s chilly tone. “Honey is only sweet like sugar, but good for tea when a witch is sad. Blampa knows. Blampa sees many sad witches and wizards feel better when they drink tea with good honey. Blampa feels Miss Professor might like good honey with Miss Professor’s tea, too.”

Minerva relaxed. Of course. Blampa had simply sensed that Minerva was not herself that morning.

“Very well, Blampa. Bring the honey with the tea – but don’t put any in it! I shall be in the bath. You may bring it to me there.”

“Yes ma’am Miss Professor!” replied Blampa, quivering again in anticipation of being able to serve.

“Thank you, Blampa; that will be all.”

Blampa popped out, and Minerva returned to the bathroom, where the taps had automagically shut themselves off. Minerva shed her shoes, socks, underrobe, chemise, and knickers, dropping them to the floor by the door. She sighed and stepped into the warm bath. Although it was early July and her rooms were warmed by the afternoon sun, the castle still seemed somewhat chilly to her. She conjured a soft terry-cloth pillow and leaned back against it. Just as she was beginning to run through the events of the morning in her mind again, Blampa reappeared, a large tray hovering in front of her. In addition to the tea, Blampa had brought a plate of shortbread and one of ginger newts.

“Thank you, Blampa, but I only asked for tea.”

“Blampa want Miss Professor Minerva to be happy. Miss Professor Minerva likes shortbread, and ginger newts is very good for Miss Professor and taste happy, too.”

Minerva, never having tasted anything “happy” before, decided not to argue with Blampa. She’d had sufficient unpleasant encounters for one day, she thought.

“Thank you, Blampa.”

Blampa popped out again, and Minerva reached over to the tray, which still hovered at a convenient height. She poured a little milk in the bottom of her cup, following it with the steaming golden tea. After only a moment’s hesitation, she added a small dollop of honey and stirred it. Just as she was taking her first sip, Blampa popped back in again, startling her.

“Goodness, Blampa, you startled me! I didn’t request anything else,” she said, eyeing the pile of fluffy towels floating behind the house-elf.

Blampa’s eyes filled with tears. “Blampa want to serve Miss Professor Minerva. Blampa want her Professor Minerva happy!”

Minerva groaned internally. Infernal house-elves! The McGonagall house-elves didn’t have all of these annoying habits – Fwisky would box the ears of any elf who started to cry over nothing – and none of them spoke in that irritating manner, speaking of themselves _only_ in the third person and never addressing a witch or wizard with “you.” No McGonagall would have stood for it very long.

“It’s fine, Blampa. You merely startled me. I wasn’t expecting you. If you cry, I shall be very unhappy, Blampa!”

Blampa stopped her sniffing and gave a watery smile.

“There, now, that’s better. I see you’ve brought towels. You may leave them over there before you go.”

“Yes, Miss Professor Minerva ma’am.” Blampa had begun quivering slightly again.

“That will be all for this morning, Blampa. Please do not come in again today until I call you.” Minerva knew she had to be specific about that; after arriving at Hogwarts in December, she had once told the elf not to return until she called her, and Minerva became puzzled as to why her laundry was piling up in its basket and it didn’t appear her rooms had been cleaned. She called Blampa to ask her why. Blampa began moaning and weeping, saying that she was waiting until she was called. “Blampa waits, Miss Professor Minerva ma’am. Blampa waits and waits.” Since then, Minerva always specified how long Blampa was to wait before returning uncalled for.

“That will be all, Blampa. And thank you for the tea. It is very good.”

Blampa Apparated away in the midst of jumping for joy at her Professor’s praise.

Minerva leaned back again, sipping the tea and relaxing into the warm bath water. Talking with Poppy had helped a lot, she thought, but she still didn’t know what she would say or do the next time she saw Professor Dumbledore. Albus, she corrected mentally. Shortly after she’d left Hogwarts, he had insisted that she address him by his first name. He had suggested it before, during her sixth year, saying that he wouldn’t mind her using his first name when they were in private – after all, he’d reasoned, she was of age, and they were working closely together on several projects. She had politely declined at the time, for reasons that she didn’t give him, saying instead that she didn’t believe it to be a good habit to get into when she would need to remember to address him properly in public for the next year and a half. He hadn’t pressed the issue, although he did seem a little disappointed.

Minerva sighed and stretched in her bath. It was a lovely bathtub, charmed to keep the water at its original temperature without its occupant having to keep casting warming spells. Nonetheless, Minerva rarely soaked for long. She finished her first cup of tea, then poured another, again adding a dribble of honey. After a few sips, she thought that tea with honey and a warm bath did help one to relax enough to deal with one’s problems. Just as she thought that, however, her words mockingly rang back at her, _Fuck Albus Dumbledore. And fuck his stupid beard, too!_

Her eyes filled; she pressed her lids shut, and hot tears trickled down her cheeks. How could she have said such a thing? She set her teacup back on the tray and let out a sob. Despite what she’d said to Poppy, she knew very well that it was not only about respect. She never allowed herself to think about _It_ , to consider It, to examine It, or, God forbid, develop any hopes about It, but _It_ was there. _It_ was the way she felt about Albus. _It_ was the way being near Albus made her feel. _It_ was the way just knowing him made her feel. _It_ had never been clearly defined, not since she’d first become aware of It. She avoided It – avoided not only _thinking_ about It, but also feeling It, as far as that was possible. Whenever It emerged, she would tamp It down vigorously. As she’d grown older, that had become easier – until she’d arrived at Hogwarts to teach. Over the previous ten years, It had never gone away, although It did seem to slumber occasionally; but then she would see Albus again or receive an Owl from him, and Minerva would become acutely aware that _It_ was still there, no matter how much she wished It weren’t.

Over the first years that Albus was her Transfiguration teacher, she had got to know him as well as any student could know her teacher at Hogwarts and better than she knew any of the others. He nurtured and encouraged her. Under his tutelage, she had been able to explore all of the topics in Transfiguration that fired her imagination and excited her intellect, and, with his guidance, she had made continuing leaps of progress. As the years went on, the Muggle war in Europe raged hotter, and the wizarding war escalated to the point where even the most isolationist British wizard recognised that not only was the Continent threatened by the mad wizard Grindelwald, but England was, as well. Not to mention that as the Muggle war continued, wizarding Britain was becoming affected by it, too.

It was during her fifth year, then, that Minerva first saw Albus as something other than just another grown-up and her favourite Hogwarts teacher. He had cancelled their Friday afternoon tutorial meeting, explaining that he had business away from the school to attend to, as much as he would prefer to stay and meet with her. She nodded her head, eyes round, thinking of the rumours whispered amongst the students: _their_ Professor Dumbledore was involved in the War Effort, and the Ministry was relying on him to find Grindelwald and stop the War. The first time that Minerva had heard that rumour, her heart had swelled with pride that it was _her_ Professor Dumbledore upon whom the Ministry was relying. After a while, however, that pride had become worry as she saw him arriving in the classroom looking ever more weary. He was rarely seen at breakfast or dinner anymore and was never to be found on weekends, even when there was a Quidditch match; although he hadn’t yet missed a Gryffindor game, and he cheered just as enthusiastically as ever, he always arrived just as the match began and left as soon as it was over.

So when he told her that their Friday afternoon tutorial was cancelled, she swallowed bravely and said, “That’s all right, Professor. I’ll revise on my own. And there are some second-years who have been asking me for my help on their Transfiguration homework. May we use your classroom?”

“Yes, you certainly may, Minerva,” Albus twinkled. “In fact, I doubt that we will be able to continue our Friday afternoon sessions for a while. Please feel free to use the classroom. I shall set a password for you, so you may use it at other times, as well. What would you like the password to be, my dear?” he asked with a smile.

“ _Spero et expecto_ ,” Minerva replied, thinking of her hopes for the War and her worry for her professor. It, to hope and to await, seemed appropriate, both the end of the War and the return of her Professor Dumbledore.

“Very good, my dear; _spero et expecto_ it shall be. I trust you to use the classroom responsibly, of course, but do try not to miss curfew, if at all possible,” he said, smiling at his star pupil.

Minerva blushed, thinking of the time a few days before when he had found her at two o’clock in the morning, slumped over a book in the library. She had promised Madam Perlecta that she would only be a few minutes, and the genial old librarian made her promise to close the door tightly before she left, in order to reset the overnight wards. She really hadn’t meant to stay so long, but when Minerva became engrossed in a book, a blasting curse wouldn’t disturb her; she was like her father that way. So it was that, at two o’clock in the morning, she woke to a very dark library, Professor Dumbledore gently brushing her hair from her cheek and calling her name softly. He had escorted her back to Gryffindor tower, but only after retrieving some hot chocolate for them both from the kitchens. Once their hot chocolate had been brought, mounds of whipped cream floating on top, Dumbledore dismissed the house-elves.

Minerva had noticed earlier that Dumbledore was wearing a travelling cloak, a dark brown affair with an attached hood of the same colour, and a pair of dark brown boots. What was even more unusual about his attire than the drab hue, however, was the fact that he was wearing trousers beneath the cloak, and when he pushed back the cloak to sit at the kitchen table, she could see what appeared to be a Muggle Army uniform. She couldn’t help but goggle at it.

“So, do you like my choice of outfit, Miss McGonagall?” he had asked softly, but with a gentle smile.

“Um, it’s all right.” Minerva blushed. What should she say? “Did you Transfigure it?” That sounded stupid to her own ears, but Albus answered her quite seriously.

“No, my dear, it is quite genuine. Of course the rank and the right to wear it are somewhat counterfeit, but the Prime Minister believed that providing me the uniform – and the appropriate credentials – would be useful at any times I would need to work with the Muggle forces.”

“ _Who?_ The _Prime_ Minister? You mean _Churchill_?” Now Minerva goggled even more. Even the wizarding world had heard of Winston Churchill, and his speeches were broadcast on the Wizarding Wireless at the same time as they were on the Muggle wireless. There was some speculation about his genealogy and whether he had wizarding blood, for certainly his words were more stirring than one would expect of a mere Muggle.

“Yes; it is not reported in the Daily Prophet as much as one would expect, but the Ministry has been cooperating with the Muggle government more closely in the last few years, as both have come to realise that our fates are bound. Minister Clypeus has asked me to work directly with the Prime Minister since the fewer in the Muggle government who know of the wizarding world, the better; after all, this war will end someday, one way or another.” Albus sighed at that, but then looked up at her and smiled. “Miss McGonagall! You have a lovely white mustache! You should add a beard, however, to complete the effect.” With that, he dipped his finger into the whipped cream melting on his hot chocolate and swiftly reached across the table and deposited a dollop of it on her chin.

Minerva laughed then and wiped her face clean with her napkin. “Although I would like to emulate you in _every_ way, Professor Dumbledore, I fear that a beard and mustache will never suit me as they do you!”

They both chuckled and finished their hot chocolate. Something occurred to her just then.

“Professor Dumbledore, the uniform is a very good idea, but none of the soldiers I’ve seen have beards. Didn’t the Prime Minister think of that?”

Albus chortled. “Indeed, he did, my dear. He insisted I shave and cut my hair.” Minerva was aghast at that. She couldn’t imagine her Transfiguration professor without his long auburn-and-grey beard and his flowing hair. “But never fear! A simple wave of my wand convinced him that such a drastic step was unnecessary.” 

With that, Dumbledore demonstrated, waving his wand. Suddenly, on the other side of the table sat a shaved and shorn British military officer. At first she thought he had used an elaborate Glamour to change his entire appearance, but then she realised that it was still her Professor Dumbledore, just with short hair and no beard. His features were still the same, those twinkling blue eyes, the sharp nose. She could now see that he had a well-formed jaw and a slight cleft in his chin. Somehow, his forehead seemed higher now that his beard was gone and his hair was closely cropped. Minerva stared in fascination.

Dumbledore chuckled at her reaction. “Recognise your old professor, Minerva?”

“Of course, sir! Um, I was wondering, don’t the Muggles usually have hats with their uniforms?”

“Ah, yes, my hat.” He reached into the deep pocket of his cloak and drew out a very small hat. 

Tapping it with his wand first, to restore it to its normal size, he settled it onto his head. He then shed his cloak altogether and stood at attention. “What do you think of the effect, my dear? Do I pass inspection?”

Minerva giggled, then got up from her seat and walked around the table, where she looked him up and down. In as military a fashion as she could muster, she said, “Very good, er – ” she paused. “What’s your rank?” she whispered.

“I’m a general,” Albus whispered back.

“Very well, General Dumbledore,” Minerva continued, circling him, looking him up and down. “Your tie needs straightening. And don’t neglect your boots; an army is only as good as its boots!” Minerva had no idea where that had come from; probably the film she had seen with one of her Muggle-born classmates when she had visited her last year and gone to the cinema for the first time. It had been made to encourage the civilian population and was filled with heroic, handsome English soldiers and nasty, evil Nazis.

They both laughed at that. For a moment, looking at him standing there, broad-shouldered and laughing in his smart uniform, Minerva thought he would have looked well in such a film. He could play one of the experienced soldiers, delivering rousing speeches of encouragement and leading his men into battle . . . that thought froze her where she stood. Her amusement fled. Albus sensed her change in mood as he removed the hat, shrunk it, and pulled his cloak back over the uniform.

“What is it, my dear?” he asked gently.

“You don’t have to go into battle, do you, leading Muggles through trenches or anything?” Minerva tried to remember what she knew of Muggle warfare, and none of it was good.

“I wear this uniform so that I can order Muggle troops to move away if they are in imminent danger of entering an area of wizarding conflict and so that I can be taken seriously when I have intelligence about German troop movements. It would likely be disastrous for me to lead any Muggle troops, as my expertise is not in Muggle battle tactics,” Albus replied quietly.

Minerva tried to feel reassured by his words, and now that he had covered the uniform with his cloak and removed the Glamour, restoring his beard and hair, he looked more like her Professor Dumbledore. It still sounded as though he was not doing anything particularly safe. She had always envisioned him sitting in an office in the Ministry of Magic, telling people what to do and where to go, poring over maps and performing locating charms. This sounded rather different from that.

“But you still have to go into dangerous places, don’t you?” Minerva asked sombrely.

“There is danger all around us, Minerva. And it will only grow if those of us who are able do not do what we must in order to stop it. Come now, it is past time for you to be asleep. I think you should try to sleep late in the morning and skip your first class. I shall inform your professor.”

Minerva giggled at that as they walked toward the kitchen exit. “You _are_ that professor, Professor!”

“Ah, am I? I shall have to have a word with myself, then,” Albus said with a mild twinkle.

They walked silently back up to Gryffindor Tower. Just before they reached the portrait, Albus laid his hand on her shoulder, stopping her. “Minerva – ”

“Professor, thank you for the hot chocolate; I appreciate it. I will be sure not to mention it – or our conversation – to anyone. You found me in the library and escorted me back to Gryffindor Tower.” Minerva hesitated. “Shouldn’t you give me detention, sir?”

“You are the soul of discretion, my dear. I think that I shall be, as well. No need for a detention. But do try not to fall asleep in the library again.”

She promised dutifully and went upstairs to bed, resolving that she would not miss her Transfiguration class that morning. If Professor Dumbledore could be there after being up so late, so could she.

* * *

_**Author’s Note:** As you have no doubt noticed, _ Resolving a Misunderstanding _is a very long story. I could have posted it as sequels, but after consideration, I decided to keep it in one story, particularly as there is a very clear story arc, and the ending chapters contain reflections of the beginning ones._

_This chapter, "Spero et Expecto," marks the beginning of Part Two of nineteen parts. The parts are not all equal in size, but each contains a distinct portion of the narrative. To see the table of contents with the nineteen parts labelled, visit my[Blog](http://mmadfan.com) and the outline/table of contents. If I were to divide RaM into "sequels" of separate books, I'd likely divide it into five, possibly six, books._

_There are time indicators throughout the story, but the outline/table of contents (on my Blog and LJ) has the dates for each chapter, so that you can see that the first few chapters take place on the fourth of July, for example, introducing the characters and their situation at the beginning of that summer, and then many of the subsequent chapters (such as "Spero et Expecto") bring us back to show us the development of Minerva and Albus's relationship. The final full chapter of the story, "Sorted," takes place from the 30th of August through the 6th of September, and the Bonus Epilogue takes place on the 4th of October. So while the overall story covers from October 1937 through October 1957 (with the exception of the bit of Albus's story, which covers events from his youth), the romance story arc for the summer of 1957 covers only approximately two months, three if you include the epilogue._

_The outline/table of contents does contain some spoilers, but not many, and you might find it interesting to take a look at it._

_Thanks for reading!_


	7. Chez Albus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva sees a new side to her Transfiguration teacher after he returns from one of his mysterious trips for the Ministry.
> 
> Characters in this chapter: Minerva McGonagall; young Minerva, Professor Dumbledore, and Wilspy (house-elf)

**VII: Chez Albus**

Minerva reached for a bath sponge, remembering the evening in her fifth year that she had seen Albus Dumbledore as more than the seemingly omnipotent grown-up he had been to her. Dipping the sponge into the water, then squeezing it and watching the water stream back into the bath, she recalled the details.

It was late on a Sunday, not many weeks after he had created the password to his classroom for her. She had retreated to the classroom after realising that she wouldn’t get any work done in Gryffindor Tower and, not wanting to bother Madam Perlecta to keep the library open later than usual on a Sunday, had decided to lug her books down to the Transfiguration classroom to study. She was also a little bit worried about Professor Dumbledore, though she could not share that fear with anyone since she didn’t know who else her professor had trusted with the nature of his work for the Ministry.

Minerva’s view of Professor Dumbledore had been shifting gradually since that night in the kitchen. Her initial fears for his safety when she’d seen him in that Muggle uniform had subsided, only to be replaced by new ones. Always the diligent student, Minerva had studied the various wizarding wars discussed in the History of Magic class, but, as her interest had always tended to the practical application of magic in Charms and Transfiguration, she had not read beyond what was required by Professor Binns. Frankly, she had always found her history class boring – just the recitation of dates, places, and peculiar names; it was nothing like she had expected from her childhood conversations with her father. Her father’s own interests, of course, were not martial, and the stories he had always told her were of witches and wizards who had found amazing new solutions to previously intractable problems or who had done incredibly stupid and dangerous things in search of such solutions.

Now, however, Minerva suddenly became intensely interested in wizarding wars. She read all she could, including several first-hand accounts by wizards who had fought in major battles and lived to tell about it. Minerva knew that the war with Grindelwald was unlike the Goblin Rebellions of the seventeenth century, as there were no battlefields with armies, even small ones, arrayed on either side. In that respect, the current war resembled more the small skirmishes that had arisen at the same time as the Muggle Hundred Years War. Wizarding factions had allied themselves with Muggle factions, or simply manipulated them to their own advantage, and engaged in small, but exceedingly nasty, skirmishes.

On the other hand, the current conflict with Grindelwald was completely different from any the wizarding world had encountered in many hundreds of years because there was a single, powerful wizard gathering forces to himself with the aim of subjugating the entire wizarding world, rather than the multiple power-hungry wizards who had fought amongst themselves for priority during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. It had been fairly easy for the general wizarding populace in those days to ignore what in retrospect seemed like petty internecine rivalries. In much earlier times, prior to the eleventh century, the rise of a power-hungry wizard would also lead to revolt and conflict, but Minerva could learn little of any battles. Such megalomaniacs appeared to be dealt with on a more personal level, with duels to the death (the challenger usually dying bravely and later celebrated in song) or by poisoning – to greater or lesser degrees of success. Reports of wizarding conflicts from before the ninth or tenth centuries were so confused with Muggle wars and obscured by the legends that had sprung up around them, even in the wizarding versions of the stories, that Minerva could glean nothing useful from them.

Despite the fact that Minerva found no exact parallels between the war with Grindelwald and any previous conflicts of the last thousand years, she read with grim fascination and horror all of the descriptions of wizard battles that she could find in the dusty old tomes of the Hogwarts library. The battles she read of ranged from duels between two wizards to large battles with many wizards and witches fighting on each side. Despite the nightmares that began to plague her sleep, she felt driven to discover what terrors faced a wizard in battle. Visions of decapitation, disembowelment, and bodies writhing in pain as their internal fluids boiled, haunted her nights. Finally, being an essentially practical child, Minerva gave up her quest to learn more of such dreadful conflicts and the damage that curses could wreck on the human body. She _did_ need to sleep without constant nightmares, after all.

She turned her attention, instead, to reading the _Daily Prophet_ every morning at breakfast, shutting out the cacophony around her. No one seemed to notice that she had exchanged her class notes for the newspaper, and no one questioned her choice of reading material. She discovered from Madam Perlecta that the Hogwarts library subscribed to the London _Times_ , although it arrived a day late. Apparently it was a rather recent subscription, and generally, Madam Perlecta informed Minerva, only a few of the faculty ever looked at it. Minerva was welcome to read it as long as she didn’t remove it from the library.

The coverage in the _Times_ both enthralled and repelled Minerva. It was with morbid fascination that she read of bombs, fighter aeroplanes, and death. She wondered if the wizarding world was really aware of what the Muggle world was going through, but supposed it must be different in London since it would be difficult to ignore the effects of the Blitz on the large city around them. The siblings of some of her Muggle-born classmates had been moved to the north of England that autumn in order to escape the falling German bombs.

So although Minerva tried to study, sitting there in the dimly lit Transfiguration classroom that spring evening, she thought more of the teacher who usually taught there than of her upcoming OWLs. She was about to give up for the night when she heard a movement outside the door. Instinctively, she felt for her wand. When the door opened, however, outlined by the stronger lights behind him stood Professor Dumbledore.

Minerva could still remember how her breath caught in her throat as she saw her professor sway wearily before he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

“Ah, Minerva! I had not expected to see you here this evening.” Albus’s voice sounded strong, but Minerva could see that he was still leaning heavily on the door handle, and he had let his bag drop to the floor with a thump.

“Professor! Are you all right?” Minerva stood, unsure of whether to hurry to his side or to remain where she was.

“I’m fine, my dear. Merely tired and a little worse for wear.” Dumbledore bent and retrieved his bag, then straightened and walked towards her, coming into the light shed by her single candle.

Minerva thought she’d never seen anyone she knew look so awful without being ill. “Professor, what are you doing here? You should be in bed – or in the infirmary!” Her alarm at his appearance overcame her natural reticence to tell an adult what he should do.

“As this is my classroom, and my office is beyond it, it should not be a surprise that I am here. As to why, I believe that I have forty essays to read before tomorrow, as I promised them to the second-year class last week.” Albus ignored Minerva’s suggestion that he should be in bed.

Minerva went to his desk and pulled his chair out for him. Albus gave her a little smile. “Thank you, Miss McGonagall. I do believe we need more light, however.” He waved a hand, and the sconces closest to them lit up.

“I’m sorry, Professor, but you look awful. I know it’s not polite to say it, but you do. Are you hurt anywhere?” Minerva was determined that, if he were, she would fetch the matron, regardless of her professor’s instructions.

“No, my dear. Well, I did catch a spell or two – now don’t fret, child – but they were glancing blows, nothing to signify. I am only a little tired. I shall be fine once I have some dinner.”

Minerva called the house-elf whom she had seen bring Dumbledore dinner on other occasions. “Wilspy!” 

She only wondered for a second when the house-elf actually responded to her call – she had thought she’d have to call several times since she was a student, and house-elves rarely answered to students.

“Yes, Miss Minerva? Can Wilspy serve?”

Without thinking, Minerva said, businesslike, “Yes, please bring the professor some dinner. He will have vegetable soup, roast beef, creamed spinach, mashed potatoes with gravy, and pumpkin juice; for dessert, you will bring him hot peppermint tea and custard.”

At that point, a somewhat bemused Albus interrupted. “Bring two dinners, Wilspy. I don’t like to eat alone,” he added with a smile to Minerva.

After the house-elf had Apparated away, Albus grinned at Minerva. “So, Mother McGonagall, what determined tonight’s menu? All your favourites?”

Minerva rolled her eyes, suddenly becoming a little girl again. “Of course not! I don’t even really like roast beef much. I just thought it would be good for you, and,” she finished seriously, “bring your strength back. And I have noticed you eat creamed spinach, but never eat it when we have it plain, and my mother always says spinach is revitalising. After a heavy meal, you shouldn’t have a heavy dessert; custard also has eggs in it, so it’s good for you.”

Albus chuckled softly. “I am fortunate, then, that you were here upon my return, or I might have eaten something unsuitable, such as cheese toast and chocolate biscuits.”

Albus was teasing, but Minerva never minded it when he teased, and he did seem to appreciate her ordering dinner. 

“Well, sir, you should wash up now since she’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Right you are, Mother McGonagall,” he replied with a smile. 

Albus rose and went through his office to the small washroom Minerva had known was there, but had never used. She never even attempted to enter the professor’s office when he wasn’t there, let alone use his washroom. Instead, if she needed to go to the loo, she would close up the classroom and walk to the far end of the corridor to the girls’ bathroom, then return.

Albus stepped out of his office, drying his hands on a linen towel. There were certain things he still preferred to do without magic; washing his hands was one of them. His face was pink and slightly damp, and Minerva thought his hair looked less tousled, as well.

“Well, what are you waiting for, Miss McGonagall? Wash up! You don’t need an invitation, you know. It’s not a four-star establishment.” Albus grinned at her impishly.

Minerva smiled and walked past him into the tiny bathroom. There was a toilet to the right of the door and a small sink to the left of it. Several clean towels hung on the wall, courtesy of the Hogwarts’ house-elves, no doubt. Minerva washed up quickly and rejoined her professor in the classroom to find that he had Transfigured a classroom desk into a small dining table, and two of the chairs into ornate dining chairs with cushions and arm rests. Apparently the linen towel was now a tablecloth, and one of the sconces had become a candelabra.

Albus stood when she entered the room and pulled her chair out from the table for her. “It may not rate four stars, but we do what we can to make a lady welcome at le Restaurant chez Albus!” he joked as he pushed gently on the back of the chair.

Minerva giggled softly. She wondered when Wilspy would return with the food. She felt a little awkward, despite the fact that she had studied with Professor Dumbledore for almost four years and had eaten more than one meal with him in this very classroom. 

“Um, Professor? May I ask you a question?” Minerva didn’t generally preface her questions with a request for permission, especially not when in a classroom, but she could see that her teacher still looked weary and distracted.

“Of course, my dear, always.” Albus paused. “I may not always be able to answer them, though.”

“It’s not that sort of question, at least I don’t think it is,” Minerva said. “It’s just that, even as a prefect, I usually have to call a house-elf a few times before one responds, and it is usually not the one I was calling. Why did Wilspy come when I called her?”

“Ah, other than the fact that you are a charming witch?” Albus asked. “I asked her to keep an eye on you while you were in the classroom.” At Minerva’s expression, Albus could see that she was on the verge of taking offense. “Only to keep an eye out for you, not to report on you to me. I just wanted to be sure that when I’m not here, my dear, there’s someone who knows where you are, just in case anything happens – an accident or such.”

“Oh, that’s all right, then, I guess,” said Minerva. “But I’m very careful. And I wouldn’t do anything in here while you’re away that you wouldn’t approve of.” Minerva blushed, thinking of the kind of advantage some of the girls would take of an empty, password-warded classroom.

“I know that, Minerva, that’s why I trusted you with your own password.” At that, their dinner arrived, unaccompanied by any house-elf, just popping into place before them. “You know, don’t you, that you may also access my office with the same password.”

“Really? I never tried that,” said Minerva, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice.

“No? Well, please feel free to use the washroom, or to read any of the books. I don’t keep any of the dangerous ones in the office. I trust you not to remove them without permission, of course, nor to give others access, or I wouldn’t have let you use the classroom at all, my dear.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

Their conversation subsided as they ate. Minerva wasn’t particularly hungry, having had her own dinner earlier in the evening. Albus, on the other hand, ate steadily, but seemingly without enjoyment. Minerva watched him as he ate and thought how tired he looked and wondered what curses had grazed him and who had cast them. Would they have a lasting effect, despite his nonchalant attitude?

After Albus had started his dessert, eating with the same silent concentration with which he had eaten everything else, Minerva poured him some peppermint tea.

“Thank you, Minerva. I am sorry I haven’t been particularly good company.”

“Oh, don’t be, sir! But really, I can’t help but worry a little about you.” Minerva hesitated, not sure how much to say. Well, he hadn’t taken offense yet. “Do you know what curses, um, grazed you? Are you sure that you aren’t injured?”

“Yes, and yes. Do not worry about me. Worry about your OWLs. I assume that was what you were studying for this evening?”

“Yes, Professor. But I am still concerned. You know that you could return the essays later in the week. I doubt that more than a few of the students are that concerned about them, anyway, and you look as though you could fall asleep on your feet.”

“I am tired, but I shall at least start reading them. They aren’t long.”

“Perhaps I could help you, then? I’ve been helping a few second-year students with their work, so I’m familiar with what you’ve been covering with them. Please let me do something.”

Albus looked at her speculatively, then said, “All right. I shall give you a few of them to read. On a separate sheet of parchment, you will write the name of each student, followed by comments on their work. As I said, it’s only a short essay, ten inches, on the difference between the intention required when Transfiguring natural inorganic substances and that required when Transfiguring an inorganic artifact.” 

Rising from the table, he Transfigured it back into a student desk, sending the candelabra back to the wall to resume its duty as a sconce. He picked up the towel, which had also returned to its original form, and disappeared into his office. When he reappeared with a sheaf of parchments, he handed her five of them.

Without further conversation, the two set to work. Minerva actually enjoyed writing comments on each essay. She finished the third student essay, then looked up at Albus, ready to share an amusing error she’d just read. Instead, she stopped as she drew her breath, unsettled by what she saw. Her professor was simply sitting, gazing into space, eyes unfocused and clouded over, quill held loose and idle in his right hand. Minerva stood, went to him, and removed the quill from his hand.

“Professor, Professor. You should go to bed. Really. I will finish these and leave them for you in your office. It won’t take long, and it will be fun.” She saw that there were bright tears gathered in his eyes, unshed. Tentative, she placed a hand on his shoulder and said even more softly, “You need some sleep if you are to teach tomorrow, sir.” Minerva wished she could say something comforting, but she had no idea what that might be. Any circumstances under which he would have been grazed by multiple curses could not have been good.

Albus turned toward her slightly. “Thank you, Minerva. I believe you are right.” He stood then, and she let her hand drop. “I am sorry, my dear,” he said.

“Sorry? Please don’t be, Professor. After all you have done for me, the least I can do is read a few essays for you,” she said briskly, trying to behave as though she hadn’t just seen tears in the eyes of her favourite professor. She didn’t want him embarrassed. “Besides which, by helping you, I’ll feel as though I’m doing what I can for the war effort.”

Albus’s eyes brightened again, this time without tears. “Ah, contributing to the war effort – well, Miss McGonagall, I shall deputise you, for tonight, anyway, to assist me. But you must not neglect your studies – your OWL results will determine which classes you may take at NEWT level, and you know that I believe it important that you continue in Arithmancy, as well as Transfiguration, Defence, and Charms. And any others of your choice, of course.”

Ah, here was her Professor Dumbledore back again.

“Yes, sir. I’m studying hard; don’t worry about that.”

Albus wrote something on a scrap of parchment and handed it to her. “In case you are not back to Gryffindor Tower before curfew, as I believe you are not on the Prefect Patrol list for tonight.” 

With that, he picked up his bag, bade her good-night with a small smile, and left. Minerva worked diligently for the next few hours, writing her comments for each essay on a separate parchment and adding recommended grades at the end of each set of comments. When she was done, she looked at her results and thought a moment. She took out the note that Dumbledore had written for her and examined it, refreshing her memory. Minerva then picked up her wand and went through the student essays, transferring her comments to each parchment and charming her hand-writing to look like her professor’s. She did not add any of the recommended grades, however, deciding that this operation had been risky enough, as it went far beyond what he had asked her to do. She then pulled a fresh parchment from her bag and wrote him a note:

_“Dear Professor Dumbledore:_

_“I hope you had a restorative sleep. I have taken the liberty to charm my comments onto the student parchments in your hand. It is a simple charm, and I am sure you will have no trouble reversing it if my comments are inappropriate; I hoped to save you some time, however, so please forgive me if I have made any more work for you by doing this. I have included suggested grades on the original sheet that contains my comments. I do not vouch for their accuracy._

_“Please let me know if there is anything else I can do to help._

_“Sincerely,_

_“Minerva M. McGonagall”_

She placed the corrected parchments on his office desk, her letter on top of them, then closed the office door, gathered her books, and left for Gryffindor Tower. She had no need to use the note that Professor Dumbledore had given her, for she met no one on the way. She slipped it into her Transfiguration textbook when she got to her room. As she fell asleep that night, she remembered the unshed tears in Professor Dumbledore’s eyes and resolved to do what she could to make his life easier, recognising with a yawn and a sigh how little that probably was.


	8. Minerva's Project

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva recalls how Albus proposed a special project at the end of her fifth year.
> 
> Characters in this chapter: Minerva McGonagall; young Minerva, Professor Dumbledore

_VIII: Minerva’s Project_

Fifteen years later, Minerva stretched in her bath and wished that she still felt only that youthful desire to assist her favourite professor. She shook her head, stood, and stepped from the bathtub, reaching for one of the fluffy white towels Blampa had brought her. Distractedly, she dried her legs, then drew the large towel around her loosely. The ends of her long black hair were wet from floating in the bath. Summoning her wand, Minerva dried it reflexively.

Minerva served herself the last cup of tea from the pot, this time with no honey. After taking a sip, she set her cup down on the bathroom vanity and looked at herself in the mirror. Even after her bath, she could see how Blampa had known that she was not herself that morning. Somehow, between the time she had left her rooms and headed to the Headmaster’s office and the time that she had returned, she had developed puffy circles under her eyes, and she was sure that her face must have been blotchy red. Although she hadn’t cried much, the tears she had wept and those left unshed had made their mark on her face.

Minerva wet a flannel with cold water from the sink and patted her face and eyes with it, wanting to have her face return to normal as much as possible before taking any more drastic measures. She drank a swallow of tea and brushed her hair out, regretting the drying charm that had left so much static in it. As she finished brushing her hair, she saw the plates of biscuits that Blampa had brought. Well, she was feeling a bit shaky, still, and had only had tea and a crumpet for breakfast. A biscuit might do her good. She reached for the shortbread, her favourite, then hesitated and picked up one of the ginger newts that Blampa had claimed tasted “happy.” Good to have something happy here since she wasn’t, Minerva thought acerbically. She bit into the biscuit, discovering it to be crisp on the outside, but chewy with molasses on the inside. Hmm. As she chewed, the spices warmed her tongue and tickled her palate. Sweet, but warmly spicy, and both hard and soft. Was that what Blampa considered a “happy” taste? She had eaten them before, of course, but had never developed a particular liking for them. Munching on a second ginger newt, she carried it and her teacup into her bedroom, where she set the cup and saucer on her dressing table and considered what she should wear.

As she removed knickers, chemise, and stockings from the drawer in her wardrobe, she thought again of the words Albus had overheard her say that morning. Now, she had moved beyond merely being mortified that he had heard them and worrying about what he would think of her, to worrying even more about how he had reacted and whether he had been terribly hurt. She sat on the edge of the bed, putting her underwear down beside her. The towel slipped from her shoulders, and she pushed the damp cloth to the floor. She didn’t usually simply drop her clothes or towels on the floor, heedless, but today she was too tired and preoccupied to banish them to the laundry basket.

Minerva flopped back, legs dangling from the edge of the bed, and thought about Albus. Albus, who had been nothing but good to her since she was a child. Poppy said that when she had uttered those now-despised words, Albus had looked like a little boy whose pet Crup had died and who was trying not to cry. Those thoughts undid any good the cool flannel may have done, as tears welled up in her eyes. She turned her head and looked at the afghan that lay folded at the foot of her bed. The afghan had no particular home: sometimes on her bed, sometimes on the settee in her small sitting room, sometimes draped across the back of a chair, but always nearby.

Minerva reached out a hand and gently stroked the soft wool of blues, greens, and greys. It had been a very thoughtful present, typical of the giver. They had had such a nice evening when he had given it to her. She sobbed, thinking that she had probably ruined their friendship that morning with her inability to hold her temper and with her extremely ill-chosen words. Pulling the afghan toward her, Minerva hugged it to herself; great, racking sobs began to shake her body. Rolling to her side, she pulled up her knees and wept as she hadn’t wept in many years. How could she have hurt him like that, the man she loved so much?

Her tears subsided. She _Accio’d_ a handkerchief, scrubbed at her face, and blew her nose loudly. Less than a half hour until lunch. She couldn’t arrive in such a state. Remembering Poppy’s words about looking like an accomplished, composed witch, she dragged herself off the bed, shaking out and refolding the afghan, sniffling only a little as she did so. 

She pulled on her underwear, grateful for the Automagically-Adjusting Support Charm on her chemise. Initially, she had thought it an extravagance – what witch worth her wand can’t cast a Support Charm? – but it had been a gift from Melina. Minerva soon grew to appreciate the convenience of not have to cast the Charm every time she dressed and had since acquired a few more. This one was the prettiest, though: a thin white batiste with enough lace and eyelet to be feminine, but not so much as to be gaudy, and tiny mother-of-pearl buttons all down the front. It was also cut low enough so that she could wear it with any of her robes, not just her teaching garb.

Sitting at her vanity, Minerva summoned her wand from the bathroom. Looking at her blotchy, swollen features, she decided she’d deal with her face last. With a few waves of her wand, she had her hair pulled back and twisted into a tight bun at the back of her head. Minerva sighed. Too tight, too severe. And Minerva had a splitting headache. Another wave or two and she had done away with the bun and replaced it with a very loose French twist held in place with a few charmed hairpins. It wouldn’t stand up to a Quidditch match, even in the spectators’ stands, but it would stay in place well enough for lunch in the Great Hall.

Minerva went to her wardrobe and pulled out a lightweight robe of a pale, mossy, greenish-grey. The loose sleeves, which belled slightly at the wrist, and sweetheart neckline made it more comfortable at this time of year than most of her teaching robes, which she’d bought in the dead of the Scottish winter. The skirt fell fairly straight from the waist, then gently flared below the knee. Over this, Minerva drew on a sleeveless red tartan over-robe. She fastened the three braided frogs across the bodice, then turned to look in the mirror. No, no, all wrong. Tossing that one on her bed, she chose instead a sleeveless overrobe of green tartan linen with no fastenings in front. Almost as long as the other robe in the back, in front, it fell open across the breast then cut away from the waist in a sweeping curve. It would have to do, she thought, looking in the mirror. She raised her wand and cast a few quick charms, reducing the puffy redness of her face and then concealing what couldn’t be eliminated.

Perched on the edge of her bed, Minerva pulled on her stockings, which were charmed to stay up without garters, then Summoned her soft, pale brown shoes. Slipping them on, she decided that she couldn’t afford to think about _It_ at the moment since she would be seeing Albus shortly. With a long, shaky sigh, she realised she would _have_ to think about It sometime soon, though. She did not want to. But it now seemed that the ramifications of _not_ dealing with It were worse than whatever conclusions she might draw at the end of her examination.

She might need to leave Hogwarts, one way or the other, but Poppy was right: she couldn’t simply flee in a panic. If she were to leave, it had to be for very good reasons. One uncontrollable outburst was simply not enough. Unless Albus thought it was. Remembering again Poppy’s description – like he was “trying not to cry” – brought a lump to Minerva’s throat again. She doubted that Albus would fire her for what she said – or even for his hurt feelings – but what if he decided that he couldn’t work with her after that? What if every time he saw her, he remembered what she’d said and was hurt all over again?

Minerva could curse herself for having injured him and for possibly having done irreparable harm to their friendship. If only _It_ hadn’t insinuated Its unwanted, inconvenient, and inappropriate presence so many years ago, and then had the ill-grace to settle down and make Itself at home, all because of a special project . . . . 

Minerva had passed her OWLs with flying colours, achieving an “Outstanding” in Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Defence, Herbology and, of course, Transfiguration, and an “Exceeds Expectations” in Arithmancy, Astronomy, History of Magic, and Potions, as well as a rather disappointing “Acceptable” in Divination, which, once she got over being miffed about it, didn’t bother Minerva, as she didn’t want “to waste time with such rubbish” during her NEWTs years, anyway. Although her exam results would not be available until mid-summer, Professor Dumbledore had met with her at the end of her fifth-year to discuss her NEWT-level courses. It also happened that he had a special project that he hoped she would take on, as well.

After discussing which subjects Minerva would continue with in her sixth-year and deciding that, if her OWL results were as expected, she would take Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Charms, Defence, and Transfiguration, and possibly Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, and Potions, as well, Dumbledore made his suggestion.

“An Animagus? You think that I could become an Animagus?” Minerva didn’t know whether to be excited, flattered, doubtful, or possibly even frightened – everyone had heard stories of witches and wizards who tried to turn themselves into an animal and who only ended up in St. Mungo’s, sometimes for a very long stay. Studying the rudimentary theory of Animagus transformation in class had intrigued her, but Professor Dumbledore had steered her toward other special projects when she had suggested that she’d like to read more about Animagi.

“I certainly believe that it is worth working on. You have an innate sense for Transfiguration, Minerva; you also have an excellent grasp of theory, as well as the practical skills and diligence required. Few possess all of these qualities in sufficient measure to actually achieve an Animagus form. They may grasp the theory, but have no intuition, no _feeling_ , for Transfiguration. Or they may possess the innate sense and theoretical basis, but lack the skills necessary. But even all of that is insufficient without diligence, care, motivation, and hard work. I believe you possess all the requisites to become an Animagus. But only if you wish to,” Albus added. “It is a great deal of work and will require time and energy from you that you could spend on other pursuits. I leave it up to you.”

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore!” During his speech, Minerva’s fears and doubts disappeared, leaving only excitement – and pride that Professor Dumbledore believed in her.

Albus beamed at her. “Wonderful! I have some books for you to read over the summer, and a few exercises for you to do – they do not require a wand, so they are perfectly acceptable to practice. I do want you to promise only to do the exercises that I prescribe, and none others of which you may read. If you truly wish to try a different technique, please owl me, and do _not_ attempt _anything_ before you hear back from me. I may be gone for a good bit of the summer, but I promise that if you have a question, I will respond as soon as I am practically able. I do not want to find it necessary to visit you in St. Mungo’s!”

“Of course, sir! And I will try not to bother you during the holiday – I know it will not be very much of a holiday for you.”

“You would not be a bother, Minerva, and it would be nice to have a friendly letter waiting for me on return from my trips. Besides, I will actually be at Hogwarts for a few weeks at the end of July and the beginning of August, and although I will be occupied with school business during that time, I would welcome correspondence from you.”

“All right, sir! Do you have any recommendations for what I should read first?”

“ _Fundamentals of Animal Transfiguration_ would be the one to begin with, although I know you have read it already, probably more than once. But now you will read it with an eye toward becoming an Animagus. You may also read _Taming the Mind, Finding the Beast_ , but bear in mind that it is non-standard and Virgil Vortmun was rather an eccentric. I do not suggest that you try his methods! This book, however,” Albus said, pulling one from the pile that he had taken from the shelf behind him, “this book you will likely wish to read and re-read throughout your project.”

Albus handed her _The Emergent Creature: Focussing the Human Mind to Evoke the Latent Animal Within_.

Minerva glanced at the cover, then flipped to the front of the book. She giggled, then put her hand over her mouth.

“Something amusing, Miss McGonagall?” asked Albus, quirking an eyebrow.

“Um, sir, would you happen to be acquainted with the author?” Minerva asked, trying to keep a straight face.

“Well, as a matter of fact, yes, we are acquaintances of a sort. Although that is not why I believe you will find the book valuable.” Albus grinned. “Why do you ask?”

“Hmm, the name is just a bit familiar, that’s all, sir. ‘Apiarus B. White,’ sir?”

“Yes, well, I suppose it is a bit transparent, but at the time I thought it clever. I was young.” Albus said with a shrug and a smile.

Minerva smiled and replaced it on the stack. There were about a half dozen books there, and Minerva was itching to read them.

“And the exercises you want me to practice? Are they in these books?”

“There are variations on them in _Emergent Creature_ and _Occlumency: From Clearing to Clouding_ , but I want you to do the specific exercises that I have written out for you.”

As Albus reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a sheaf of parchments, Minerva was struck by something he’d said. “Occlumency, sir? I thought I was learning to be an Animagus.”

“The preparatory work to becoming an Animagus shares similarities with some of that required to become a true Occlumens, which goes beyond merely closing one’s mind,” Albus replied. “I think you will understand better how they are related after you have studied the other books.”

“I can hardly wait to begin, Professor!”

“I have one other project that I want to discuss with you. I wish to make clear that your Animagus training will not hinge on whether or not you agree to the second project, although I could only present the second one after you had agreed to the first.”

“You are confusing me, Professor. What do you mean?”

“I will not go into details right now; they can wait. I hope that the little I have said does not torment your curiosity too badly, Minerva. I only raise this issue now in order to emphasise the potential importance of the studying you will do this summer. One cannot force the Animagus process – not without ending up in St. Mungo’s – however, one _can_ speed it up. By diligently reading and practising the exercises, you can create the proper conditions for achieving your Animagus transformation in as short a time as possible. Please be assured, my dear, that I will not ask you to do anything that will bring you into danger. I do not want you to try to transform too soon and cause yourself any injury. Do you understand?”

“I think so; at least, as much as I can without your telling me more about this secret project. Why not tell me now, Professor?”

“Two reasons. The first is that, although I do want you to study diligently, I do not want you to feel any overblown sense of urgency about it. Truly, Minerva, although the project with which I would like your help is somewhat pressing, it has waited a long time to be addressed, and it can wait some time longer. The second is that I promised Headmaster Dippet that I would not reveal the nature of the second project to you until it became clearer that you are likely to achieve an Animagus form.”

“Headmaster Dippet? What has he to do with this?” Minerva felt slightly rude as she asked the question, but Professor Dumbledore had always spoken openly with her and encouraged her to ask questions.

“Ah, in a way, although it is my project, it is also Headmaster Dippet’s, although it is unlikely that he will be involved in it. Therefore, I discussed it with him before presenting it to you. I also think that it is wise to wait since, although I have every faith that you are capable of becoming an Animagus, in the event that it takes a longer time than we hope or you do not achieve it, I do not wish you to feel burdened by the prospect of abandoning the other project. If you are diligent, we should have a better indication of your Animagus ability by the end of the summer.”

“How long do you think it will take, Professor?” Minerva asked, already feeling pressure, despite not knowing what the not-urgent-but-pressing second project was.

“I do not know. Most who are successful take two or three years to accomplish the complete Animagus transformation, if they have a competent teacher. Without one, it is unlikely to be achieved in under three or four years, if at all.”

“Three years!” exclaimed Minerva. She was sure that she had read something of the sort before, but hearing it now, in this context, seemed daunting.

“Hmm, do you not believe me to be a competent teacher, Miss McGonagall?” Albus asked with an impish grin.

“Oh, no, sir, not at all! You are better than competent!” It may have sounded like weak praise, but Minerva blushed internally at the thought of telling him that he was the best teacher anyone could ever have. She would sound like a three-year old, she thought.

Albus laughed loudly at Minerva’s declaration, and she smiled. “Well, my dear, since I am a better-than-competent teacher and you are a better-than-competent student, we just may accomplish it in a better-than-competent time. Let’s see if we can – no rushing! Just diligence!”

Minerva dutifully studied her Animagus-project texts over the summer. She practised her exercises every morning and evening, and a few in-between times, as well. When her OWL scores arrived in the post, Minerva ran her finger along them, making sure she had done well enough to take the courses she’d decided on. She scoffed at the foolishness of Divination, wondered whether she really needed to take Potions just because everyone else in her family had, put the parchment with her scores on her mother’s desk, then retreated to her bedroom to study.


	9. A Father Worried, A Father Reassured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva begins preparing for her upcoming Animagus training, and her father has concerns about it. Merwyn and Albus meet in the Three Broomsticks to discuss Minerva’s training. Merwyn teases Minerva about “unrequited love.” (Summer 1941)
> 
> Characters in this chapter: young Minerva McGonagall, Merwyn McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore.

**IX: A Father Worried, A Father Reassured**

Her family wondered that Minerva now spent her time studying in her bedroom, rather than in the library as had been her habit. She remained ensconced in her room except when she would go outdoors and sit with her back to an old oak tree, eyes closed. She also took more walks than usual, and when asked why, she just mumbled something about appreciating Nature and took a large mouthful of potatoes so that she wouldn’t have to discuss it. For some reason, she didn’t want to tell her family what she was doing until she was sure she’d be able to transform. Minerva felt that talking about it would somehow dilute the energy she was putting into it. They also wondered at the number of owls she sent off and how she would jump when the post came, quickly snatching away any letter for her before anyone else could see it.

Morgan’s opinion, when he came for a visit in late July, was that “the girl’s suffering from unrequited love.” Malcolm’s thought was that she was just growing up. Murdoch expressed the belief that she was simply being Minerva, only more so. Her mother was afraid that she had come under some bad influence and was reading Dark Magic texts and corresponding with someone unsavoury; her father had dismissed that notion as being as unlikely as Morgan’s. Nonetheless, one day when Minerva was out strolling along the high cliffs near her parents’ home, Merwyn took a look at the books piled on the desk in her bedroom. Flipping through them quickly, he saw that most were Transfiguration texts dealing with Animagus transformation. For Merwyn, this was almost as alarming as if he had found Dark Magic texts littering her room. He was uneasy about invading his teenage daughter’s privacy and looking for her correspondence, but that might be the next step he would have to take.

When Minerva returned from her walk, all aglow from the brisk wind that blew in off the sea, Merwyn asked her to join him in his study for a moment. When they had each taken a seat, Merwyn asked her if she had enjoyed her walk. After she replied in the affirmative, he asked her what she did on these walks of hers.

“I just enjoy Nature, Dad, that’s all.”

“Just enjoying Nature, communing, one could say?” asked Merwyn.

“I suppose.”

“And you aren’t doing anything else?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your mother’s been concerned you’ve taken up with some Dark Wizard who’s leading you astray and having you read Dark texts and meet him out on the cliffs.”

Minerva’s mouth fell open. “ _What?_ ” She began to laugh and laughed until tears streamed down her face. She finally caught her breath and said to her smiling father, “That’s one of the _most_ ludicrous suggestions I’ve heard in my entire life, Dad!”

“Well, at first she only thought that you were reading Dark texts, but then after hearing Morgan proclaim you no doubt had some unrequited love interest, she came up with that new idea.”

“I hope you told her how silly she was being!”

“Yes, but I had to promise to look at the books you are reading, Min.”

“I’d really rather you didn’t, Dad. It’s a special project.”

“I see. And would your walks have anything to do with this special project?”

“In a way. They . . . are calming.”

“Min, I’m sorry, but I looked at the books on your desk.” Attempting to forestall Minerva’s outrage, he added, “I only glanced at the ones on your desk; I didn’t look in any drawers, or under your pillow, or anything like that.”

“I can’t BELIEVE you would do that! You COULD have ASKED! I _didn’t_ hide them because I didn’t think you’d _sneak_ in and look at them – and it’s _not_ as though they are some kind of _Dark_ texts that I should be _ashamed_ of reading!” Minerva ranted for several more breaths.

When it appeared she had finished, or that she had at least tired herself out for the moment, Merwyn got to the point. “Min, I haven’t said anything to your mother, but I am worried. I need you to tell me that you are not trying to become an Animagus.”

Minerva just stared stonily at him, furious.

“Oh, God, Min, do you know what _happens_ to witches and wizards who try to become Animagi without proper training? We could take you down to St. Mungo’s and show you some examples, I’m sure.”

“Who said I _wasn’t_ having proper training? You all just jumped to conclusions, didn’t you? You, Mother, Morgan, who else? Did Malcolm and Murdoch come to such equally outrageous and inaccurate conclusions?”

“No, Min. In fact, Malcolm said you’ve grown up, and Murdoch said you were just being yourself.”

“Hmmpf, at least _some_ people in this family don’t think I’m a lunatic,” Minerva huffed. “Dad, did you really think that I’m so stupid or ignorant or irresponsible that I would just wander out onto the cliffs alone and try to transform into an Animagus?”

“No. I had hoped not, anyway. I just didn’t know. You are usually bubbling over with excitement when you have a new project, and you never said anything about this one.”

“All right, Dad, let me tell you what I’m doing, and then just drop it, okay?” After a nod from her father, Minerva continued, “Professor Dumbledore believes that I have the capacity and the diligence to become an Animagus. He gave me those books to read over the summer, with instructions on what to read first, and he also gave me some special exercises to perform. He was adamant that I not do any exercise I find anywhere else, even in the books he gave me, without consulting him first. He was quite clear that my safety was important to him and gave me the whole ‘St. Mungo’s lecture,’ too, but it sounded quite a bit friendlier coming from _him_ than it just did coming from you. He’s going to evaluate me in the autumn when I get back to school to see what progress I’ve made and decide what to do next. I can’t _believe_ you all thought that my letters from Professor Dumbledore were from a mysterious Dark Wizard or some kind of unrequited love interest.” Minerva rolled her eyes.

Merwyn still looked uneasy. “I am content that you are receiving instruction, Min, and I believe you when you say that nothing you have done this summer has been dangerous. I also don’t doubt that Professor Dumbledore is concerned for your safety.”

“But?” Minerva asked, knowing her father had some kind of reservation.

“But it is still very dangerous; it is not an ordinary part of the curriculum – and with good reason. I am somewhat alarmed that he would consider guiding you in this project without obtaining our permission first.”

“First, Dad, I have had special projects with Professor Dumbledore since second year. You know about most of them since I wrote rather voluminous letters home, most of which were about my projects. You never complained before that he hadn’t sought your permission.”

Her father interrupted, “Those were different, Min. Those were still within, well, not the standard curriculum, but they were logical extensions. I was grateful you had someone like him to guide you since I was sure that you would have been off experimenting on your own, otherwise, with who-knows-what results! Animagus transformation, on the other hand, is very risky, and it is usually not attempted until a witch or wizard begins an apprenticeship in Transfiguration – and their masters usually make them wait a year-and-a-day to begin studying for it. I care about you, Min, and don’t want you trying to jump into something you aren’t ready for. I simply find it all very puzzling and a bit worrying that Professor Dumbledore would undertake something of this kind with you. You’re only going into your sixth year.”

“You _really_ don’t understand. Professor Dumbledore would not do this with me if he did not think that I am prepared. He told me that. He said I should not feel any pressure about achieving the transformation by any particular time. And for your information, Dad, that year-and-a-day is as much for the master as it is for the Apprentice, because there is greater assurance of success if there is a bond between the two before they undertake the Animagus training. Professor Dumbledore has been my teacher for four years. He is very responsible and an excellent teacher. And he cares about me, so don’t try to imply that because you’re my father and you care about me, that means that he doesn’t. Besides, are you forgetting that I’ll be of age in October?”

“I do forget sometimes that you aren’t my little Minnie-girl anymore.” Merwyn sighed, removed his glasses, and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Listen, I’m going to tell your mother that it’s just a particularly entrancing Transfiguration project and leave it at that.” Minerva breathed a sigh of relief. “However,” Merwyn said, and Minerva’s heart sunk, fearing her father was about to forbid her from studying, “ _however_ , I do want to talk to Professor Dumbledore and perhaps get his recommendation of a book I can read so I can understand it all better. I don’t want to hold you back, Minerva. When I read your letters about some of the extra credit work you are doing in Transfiguration and Charms, I am frankly amazed. Some of that isn’t even covered in NEWTs, you know. It never would have surprised me if you had come to me a few years from now and told me you were training to be an Animagus, and I suppose it should come as no surprise now. Nonetheless, I look at you, and I still see my little Minnie-girl.”

“Oh, well, that sounds okay with me. In his last letter, Professor Dumbledore said he’d be at the castle until sometime during the second week of August, then he’d have to leave until term starts, so if you want to owl him, you should do it soon.”

So it was that Merwyn McGonagall found himself at the Three Broomsticks, sitting across a table from Albus Dumbledore. Everyone knew who Albus Dumbledore was, if only because he had discovered the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and everyone knew someone who knew him personally. Murdoch had mentioned that he had become a regular customer at the Egidius Apothecary in recent years. Merwyn, however, had never met him before that day.

“I must apologize for meeting you in such a public venue, Mr McGonagall, or do you prefer _Magister_?” Albus asked, aware of Merwyn’s academic accomplishments and the archaic form of address that masters in the field of Ancient Runes usually retained.

“That always makes me feel as though I’m at least two hundred years old, so ‘Mister’ will do just fine, although I prefer ‘Merwyn.’”

“Very well, Merwyn, then; you know that I am ‘Albus.’ Still, I apologise that I can’t meet you up at the castle, but we are doing some general ward maintenance, and a visitor would cause us to have to retune the perimeter wards again. Shall I, however, with your permission, cast a light privacy charm around our table?”

“Does my daughter’s extra credit project really require such a measure?” asked Merwyn, bemused.

Apparently having taken Merwyn’s question for consent, Dumbledore flicked his wand discreetly, and Merwyn felt a tingle of magic wash past him.

“I do like to maintain the privacy of our students’ academic records and pursuits, particularly when they are somewhat unusual, as they are in this case. I understand from your letter that you are concerned, and curious, about the training that Miss McGonagall is about to undergo. I have brought you two books. One is an autobiography by Felix Fletcher, an Animagus who died a few years ago at the ripe-old age of one hundred sixty-eight. He wrote the autobiography when he was a mere youth of one hundred-ten, but that does not concern us, as you will find chapters eight through ten recount his Animagus training. He does mention his Animagus abilities in other chapters, but those three are the essential ones. I do ask that you not share this book with Miss McGonagall, as it may colour her expectations for her own training. The second book is representative of the texts that she has been studying.” Albus handed him the two books.

Merwyn flipped quickly through the first one, glancing at a few pages in chapter eight, then put it down and picked up the second. He looked at the spine, then the front cover, then turned to the title page. 

“Hmm, no picture. Fellow must be an ugly bugger.” Merwyn looked up and grinned at Albus. “He’s hopefully improved with age. So, what’s the ‘B’ stand for? Brian, if I remember correctly?”

Albus laughed, delighted. “My word, Minerva certainly came by her perspicacity and sense of humour honestly!”

“So, you’ve come to know my daughter’s sense of humour, have you? She keeps that well-hidden if she doesn’t trust you. You must be doing something right.”

“I believe that the first time I really saw her sense of humour in evidence was one night my first year here when I brought her to my office supposedly to scold her for a serious infraction of the school rules.” Albus proceeded to tell Merwyn the story of Minerva’s Transfigured textbook.

“Oh, my,” laughed Merwyn, “that does sound like Min at that age. ‘Stubborn’ wasn’t the word for it. Even ‘obstinate’ seemed too mild at times. And those books – we’d have to tear them away from her, and this in a family that thinks that a book belongs at the breakfast table! She seems to have grown into being more ‘determined’ than simply stubborn over the last few years, though,” Merwyn mused.

Merwyn and Albus continued chatting about Minerva, then moved on to the subject of ancient curses and were in animated conversation over their tea – both had agreed that it was too early for a drink – when a somewhat irritated Minerva made an appearance.

“ _Da-ad_! You said you’d come get me when I could join you. I’ve been in every shop in Hogsmeade, _twice_! I was beginning to think I’d have to go find lunch on my own. And then I come in to see you two laughing away behind this, this, whatever this ward is,” she said, frowning and waving her hand, obviously wanting to figure out what unfamiliar charm she had just crossed, “and you’re talking about potatoes and leeks! Are you both _mad_?!”

The two wizards looked at one another, then looked away, then looked back and began laughing again.

“So, that’s what your little privacy screen, does, eh, Albus?”

“Yes, well, I find that when people think you’re having extended discussions about vegetables, they don’t pay much attention to anything else you say.” The two wizards laughed again.

Minerva shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I think Mother’s right: men never really do grow up.”

“My apologies, Miss McGonagall,” Albus said, standing and pulling out a chair for her. “I was regrettably unaware that you were here, or I would certainly not have detained your father any longer than necessary. And I certainly would not wish to keep you from your lunch!”

“That’s all right, Professor. It’s not your fault. I hope you’re not leaving!”

“No, no, I will take my lunch with you and your father, if I may. I was just fetching the waitress to tell her we will be ordering food.”

“Oh, that’s good, then,” said Minerva, turning to her father as Dumbledore walked toward the bar. “So I take it you don’t think he’s a Dark Wizard about to lead me astray into some Peculiar and Perilous Transfigurative Art?” She smirked.

Merwyn grinned. “No, but I’m still making up my mind about the unrequited love angle. If I could only figure out which side was unrequited,” he teased.

“Dad! That’s awful! You’re embarrassing me!” Indeed, Minerva was turning quite red.

“Everyone probably believes we’re discussing the relative merits of rutabagas and radishes or some such,” her father replied with a grin. “Yes, Minnie-girl, to answer your unasked question, I do like him. And I see why you trust him, as well, I think. He seems to be a genuinely good man, through and through.”

“He is. So everything’s all right now?”

“Yes, lassie, everything’s all right now. I’m sure accidents happen, but I’m also sure that Professor Dumbledore is equal to any chaos you might cause.” Merwyn winked at her and smiled.

Minerva pretended to be injured. “I’m _not_ Murdoch, you know. I don’t think that my wand’s a rod for stirring potions!”

“Let me see, I remember him mistaking his stirring rod for his wand once, but I don’t think he’s mistaken his wand for a stirring rod yet. . . . Probably because he forgets it on his dresser in the morning!”

They were laughing at this old family joke, based on an incident Uncle Perrin had related to them during the first year Murdoch worked in his apothecary, when Albus returned to the table.

“I do hope you aren’t offended, but I have taken the liberty of ordering our lunch. There are certain dishes at the Broomsticks that are, shall we say, better than others. I hope that there is nothing you will be unable to eat, Merwyn.”

“I have a stomach like an iron cauldron, Egeria always says.”

The three had a delightful lunch, and Merwyn said he would owl Albus with a list of the books he’d mentioned to him and send any on to Hogwarts with Minerva if Albus were unable to locate copies for himself. Thus, Minerva’s Animagus project received her father’s blessing.


	10. A Smooth Apparater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortly before her sixth year, Minerva receives an invitation from Professor Dumbledore. 
> 
> Characters this chapter: young Minerva McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, Merwyn McGonagall, Egeria Egidius, Armando Dippet.

**X: A Smooth Apparater**

The warm days of August passed quickly for Minerva, and September first was fast approaching when she received an Owl from Professor Dumbledore.

_“Dear Miss McGonagall,_

_“I trust that this letter finds you and your family well. Please thank your father for me; the texts he recommended have proved most useful. I was, however, unable to locate one of them,_ Archaic Syllabaries and the Power of the Veiled Grapheme. _If he would be so kind to loan me his copy, should he possess one, I would be quite grateful._

_“From your recent letters, I discern that you have made steady progress in your exercises, and I am pleased with your evident grasp of Animagi-theory. I will be returning to Hogwarts in a few days to prepare for the start of classes, and hope that you will be able to join me there three or four days before the beginning of term so that we may conduct an evaluation and determine what next steps we should pursue. Please share this letter with your father and ask whether you might return to Hogwarts on the morning of Friday, August 29. I shall be happy to come and retrieve you and your luggage so as to minimise any inconvenience to you or your family. It has been, however, quite some time since I have visited the McGonagall residence, and I would appreciate it if your father were to kindly supplement my memory and forward Apparition co-ordinates to me. It would be most embarrassing to arrive Splinched!_

_“With hopes of seeing you soon,_  
 _“I remain,_  
 _“Sincerely yours,_

_“Albus Dumbledore”_

Minerva’s father agreed quite readily to both of the Transfiguration Professor’s requests, taking _Archaic Syllabaries_ from his shelf and wrapping it carefully in a soft cloth. From what he had gathered, Dumbledore had been researching ancient curses and malevolent wards in an effort to locate Grindelwald and break down his magical shields. Neither wizard, of course, had explicitly discussed Albus’s work for the Ministry, nor mentioned Grindelwald by name; but everyone knew that Albus had been enlisted to help find and destroy the tyrannical wizard. When Albus had spoken of his most recent researches into ancient language systems and warding methods, and their modern application, Merwyn had put two-and-two together and mentioned several little-known texts that might be useful in Dumbledore’s research. He was pleased to learn that there were a few that were unfamiliar to the learned wizard, and so had offered him the use of his own copies, should he need them.

Merwyn was also not averse to Minerva’s early return to Hogwarts, knowing how much her own research meant to her. Although he was quite adept at charms himself, his interest had always lain more in the theoretical underpinnings of uttered spells, rather than in their practical application. His wife, on the other hand, didn’t care whether anyone knew why a spell worked, as long as it was useful and positive. In Minerva, he could see aspects of both himself and his wife.

As Minerva packed her trunk, her father joined her in her bedroom.

“Not having Fwisky help, I see.”

“No; she always wants to shrink everything, and I still can’t reverse the charm on my own.” Minerva sighed with exasperation at the Restrictions on Underage Sorcery.

“You’ll be at Hogwarts, though; you should be able to use your wand when you get there. And if not, you could ask Professor Dumbledore – ”

“I am _not_ having any of my _teachers_ see my _underclothes_!” cried Minerva. “And I would feel uncomfortable asking for permission to use my wand; it’s enough of an inconvenience for them to have me arrive days early, I’m sure, without having me requesting special privileges.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest that you have Professor Dumbledore unpack your ‘unmentionables,’” teased Merwyn. “I was thinking more along the lines of him sending a Hogwarts house-elf to assist you. And, Min, from what I remember of Hogwarts, you will need your wand to light your candles, unless you want to ask for matches, like a first year.”

“Your memory is outdated, Dad. The first-year rooms all have Automagical Candles. You don’t need a wand – or matches – to light them.”

“Hmm, well, I suppose you could borrow one of those, then. But I still think you should shrink your things. Your trunk is full, and you’re stuffing a second carpet bag. Think of Professor Dumbledore, Min – he’s already doing you a favour by fetching you himself. Do you want to break the poor old fellow’s back or, worse, have him Splinch trying to Apparate all that?”

“For your information, Dad, Professor Dumbledore could Apparate with all the contents of this house and never Splinch!” Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration. “And I’m sure he knows a good feather-light charm or two.”

“I’m just taking the mickey, lass; don’t be so serious!”

“Hmmpf,” grunted Minerva, thinking about what her father had said about Apparating. “Say, Dad? I was wondering something. Professor Dumbledore said something in his letter about not having been here in a long time, but I don’t remember him ever visiting. What did he mean?”

“Ah, yes. He was friends with my father, as I understand it. Of course, I was too young to remember if he ever visited after I was born.” Merwyn’s father had died in an accident when he was two years old. His mother had always seemed equally as disturbed that he had died “like a Muggle” when he had fallen from a cliff near the house, as she was by his actual demise. The fall hadn’t even been what killed him; one of the large rocks that had followed in his wake had struck him in the head with such force that even a wizard could not have withstood it. “He was friends with your mother’s Uncle Perseus, as well, I believe, although I don’t know if they have stayed in contact over the years.”

Minerva had always known her professor was old, but somehow she had never realised quite how old. He was practically _ancient_! What was the Ministry thinking, sending him off to find Grindelwald? Then she smiled to herself and shook her head. Compared to her Great-great Aunt Matilda, Professor Dumbledore was a mere youth. Besides, he had more energy than most of her other, much younger, teachers; Slughorn came readily to mind. 

Albus arrived punctually the next morning at eight-thirty to find Minerva and her parents waiting for him. At the crack of his Apparition, Minerva stood from her seat on the trunk.

“Ah, all ready to go, I see, Miss McGonagall! And you must be Madam McGonagall! Albus Dumbledore at your service,” he said as he bent over Egeria’s outstretched hand and lightly brushed his lips against her knuckles in approved Continental fashion. “Miss McGonagall.” Albus reached for Minerva’s hand and repeated the gesture. 

Minerva blushed. No one had ever seriously kissed her hand in greeting before. Murdoch did so sometimes in jest, planting a sloppy wet kiss on the back of her hand. Not that it was an uncommon gesture, but everyone always saw her as Egeria and Merwyn’s little girl, not as a lady worthy of such a greeting.

Albus quickly turned and shook hands with Merwyn. “Merwyn! You look well. It is good to see you again.”

“Good morning, Albus. I have given the book you requested to Minerva. It’s packed in her blue carpet bag. I tell you that because it’s rather old, and I don’t know how well it would withstand a shrinking charm, though I do recommend both shrinking and lightening charms for the rest of her baggage,” Merwyn suggested.

Minerva rolled her eyes at her father, hoping he wouldn’t go into the whole wand-use issue. Fortunately, he didn’t. Albus simply shrank the trunk and her dark brown carpet bag with a wave of his hand, cast lightening charms on them, then picked them up and put them in one of his pockets. He cast another wandless lightening charm on the blue carpet bag and hefted it in his left hand.

“Yes, that will do nicely, I think,” he said. “So, Miss McGonagall, are you accompanying your luggage today, or will you follow on tomorrow?” he asked with a twinkle.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Minerva stepped a bit closer to her professor.

“Now how are you with Side-Along-Apparition, my dear? Any nausea or dizziness?”

“Um, it depends, sir. I never have trouble with my dad or Murdoch, but, well . . . .” Minerva had avoided thinking about the embarrassing prospect of vomiting all over her professor’s robes, although she had taken the precaution of having only ginger tea and dry toast that morning.

Egeria chimed in. “You might want to take a step back when you arrive, Professor. The last time we Apparated together, I had to use a strong Scourgify on my shoes.”

Minerva blushed at her mother’s words. Why did parents have to be _sooo_ embarrassing! Professor Dumbledore had greeted her as though she were a full-grown witch, and her mother had just ruined it.

“Well, let’s see what we can do about that.” He turned to Merwyn, held up his wand, and said, “With your permission, sir?” Merwyn hesitated only a moment before nodding. Dumbledore was known to be a quirky old coot, but he wasn’t dangerous – at least, not to him, he thought.

Dumbledore passed his wand over Merwyn’s head and chest. Little blue, gold, and green symbols drifted gently from the wand. Egeria looked on with interest.

“That looks like a variant of the Magical-Reserve Diagnostic, but I don’t recognize the symbols,” she said.

“Yes, indeed, it is similar,” replied Albus, adding no further clarification. He then turned to Minerva, raised an eyebrow in question, and she nodded quickly. He then repeated the procedure with her. “Hmm, yes,” he mumbled, gazing at the symbols, which were completely cryptic to the others, even to Egeria with her medical training, and to Merwyn with his knowledge of ancient runes. “Yes, I do believe we can compensate for the variance.” His words were as incomprehensible to Minerva as the symbols had been.

Albus picked the blue carpet bag up again and motioned for Minerva to draw closer. “You’ll need to stand a bit nearer than usual, Miss McGonagall, for this to work.”

She hesitated only slightly, thinking of the last time she had Side-Along-Apparated with someone other than her father or brother. She _really_ didn’t want to be sick all over Professor Dumbledore’s beautiful robes.

“Come now, a bit closer. Mm-hm, that’s right. Now, with your permission, I will place my right arm around your shoulders. Good girl. Now, if you would like to help?” Dumbledore looked down at his protege’s upturned face.

“Yes, sir. But I don’t know how to Apparate, even if I were of age.”

“No worries. I would like you to do two things. First, you may place your head against my chest and listen for my heartbeat. Second, envision, as clearly as you can, the front gates of Hogwarts, as though you were standing and facing them from the outside. After you have found my pulse and have the gates firmly fixed in your mind, just nod.”

Minerva did not hesitate to follow her professor’s latest instructions. She stepped in closer to him, closed her eyes, and lay her head on his chest. She listened for his heartbeat, and she could almost imagine that she could feel the thrum of his magical core behind it. That accomplished, she envisioned the front gates in detail, the exercises she had been performing over the summer making it easy for her to create a crystal clear picture in her mind. She nodded against his chest. It seemed that as soon as she had nodded, he was speaking to her.

“Well done, Minerva! I hope you have not fallen asleep!” Albus chuckled at her expression when she lifted her head from his chest and saw that they were at the front gates of the castle. He dropped his arm from her shoulders, and she stepped away.

“But I didn’t feel anything but you!” Minerva exclaimed in wonderment. She had never in her life felt such a smooth Side-Along-Apparition. “I didn’t even hear a crack!”

Albus chuckled. “Oh, I only make a bit of noise so that people aren’t disconcerted by my silent arrival or departure. I must apologise to your parents next I see them. I ought to have given them some warning before popping off with their daughter.”

“Oh, I’m sure they won’t mind,” Minerva said, reaching to take her carpet bag from her professor. “Dad, of course, will want to know how you do it and read everything he can find about silent Apparition, and Mother might be concerned that it’s not healthy, but I’m sure they won’t mind otherwise.”

Albus took his wand from a pocket and waved it at the gates, which opened to them. He would not relinquish Minerva’s bag to her, though, saying, “What sort of gentleman would I be, to make a lady carry her own bags?”

Minerva giggled a bit, but then expressed her concern about what other people might think of her if they saw.

“Minerva, you would do well not to be overly concerned with the opinions of others. Although if we are considering them, I do believe that if you were to carry your own bag, they would think, ‘ah, poor Dumbledore, finally admitting he’s old and decrepit and letting that sweet young lady carry her own bags,’” he teased.

Minerva laughed. She didn’t think she ever laughed as much as she did when she was with Professor Dumbledore, whatever the seriousness of the subject at hand. She was very glad to be back with him at Hogwarts.

“I truly doubt that anyone would think you _decrepit_ , sir. You have more energy than the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, although I suppose that’s not saying much after their performance last year. No, they’re probably looking on, thinking, ‘ah, there’s that snooty McGonagall girl, thinks she’s so high-and-mighty she even gets her teacher to carry her bag for her.’” Minerva smiled when she said this, but there was a slight bitter edge to her words.

“I don’t believe that anyone who knows you could possibly believe that you are snooty or conceited, Minerva. You do not allow many people the privilege of getting to know you, however, and that is to their loss,” Albus replied.

Minerva said nothing in response, but cast a disbelieving look in her professor’s direction. They were nearing the great front entrance to the castle, though, so she said, “Well, sir, be that as it may, you will need to give me my bags soon since I will need to bring them to my room. Could you unshrink them first, though?”

They walked into the cool Entrance Hall. “Of course I could, Miss McGonagall, but I was unaware you had left your wand at home. Perhaps we should return and fetch it,” he suggested with a twinkle.

“Of course I have my wand, Professor! I just wasn’t sure I’d be allowed to use it.”

“Yes, those pesky Restrictions. Do not worry about them while you are here, Minerva. They are not in effect on Hogwarts’ grounds. Besides, you are in my care for the next few days; you are my responsibility, and as a teacher at Hogwarts, I am qualified to supervise an underage witch’s or wizard’s wand use regardless of location or time of year.”

Minerva grinned. She didn’t mind being in his care for a few days. Somehow it didn’t seem as demeaning as being in the care of some other person. She pulled her wand from her pocket and, with a quickly uttered spell, restored the trunk and carpet bag that Albus had placed on the floor in front of her. Then she flicked her wand and nonverbally levitated both carpet bags and the trunk.

“Well done, Miss McGonagall! Well done, indeed. You must continue to practice your nonverbal spells this year. Begin, as I have said, with the manipulating charms, as they are the easiest to perform nonverbally. Then we will see what others you may wish to master.”

Her professor’s words warm in her heart, Minerva began up the stairs, her luggage bobbing along after her. Albus walked with her to the first floor, then bade her a good morning, asking that she come find him in his office when she had settled. Minerva was just about to run up the second flight of stairs when she turned to him.

“Oh, Professor, the password to the dormitory, what is it?”

“ _Spero et expecto_ , my dear. Just until the first of September, of course.”

Minerva smiled and fairly sprinted up the next few flights of stairs, which were co-operating with her for a change, and swinging into place before she reached them. By the time she’d reached the fifth floor, however, she was somewhat winded, despite her long, vigorous walks along the cliffs that summer, and she slowed to a more leisurely pace. As she continued her walk up to Gryffindor Tower, she considered her morning thus far, and shook her head in amazement. She would never cease to be in awe of Dumbledore’s magical prowess, she thought. While she was aware that, in theory, silent Apparition was possible, she had never heard of anyone who could actually do it. On top of that, he had Apparated her so smoothly, she hadn’t even noticed their arrival. It was as though she had been enveloped in a cocoon of warm Dumbledore-ness, was the only way she could think to describe it.

Of course, she wouldn’t be describing it for anyone. If her parents asked, she would simply tell them that she hadn’t become sick or dizzy. She blushed thinking of the way she had leaned her head against his chest. Minerva was somewhat reserved with her expressions of physical affection. She thought she took after her mother that way. Not that she didn’t hug her mother or father, of course, and Murdoch had been carrying her about and playing with her since she was a baby, so it felt quite natural to run into his arms whenever she saw him. And there was little Melina. Who could resist hugging and cuddling such a sweet, curly-haired, pink-cheeked child? But Minerva was used to the stiff, half-embraces of her aunts and uncles or the quick, one-armed squeezes that Malcolm and Morgan would give her occasionally. She always almost had to force herself to hug her friends good-bye at the end of the year, knowing it was expected of her and that they would be hurt if she didn’t. Yes, overall, Minerva was what she considered “selective” about whom she embraced and under what circumstances.

She reached Gryffindor Tower and smiled happily at the Fat Lady, who was fanning herself with a bored expression on her face.

“There you are, finally. Professor Dumbledore said to be expecting you. I do hope you won’t be expecting my services at all hours. There are only a few days left before the students return, and I do like to get in as much visiting as possible before that.”

“I shall try not to be a bother, ma’am,” replied Minerva politely. She felt it more than slightly ridiculous to have to be polite to a bit of enchanted oil and canvas, but she had seen the consequences suffered by other students who had insulted the Tower portrait.

“Password?” prompted the portrait.

“ _Spero et expecto_ ,” Minerva responded.

After making the final climb up to the dormitory room she normally shared with four other girls, Minerva began unpacking her bags, setting aside the carefully wrapped book for Professor Dumbledore. She thought again of their brief trip and blushed. She wasn’t sure what she was blushing about. It hadn’t really been an embrace, after all. Professor Dumbledore had put his arm around her and she had leaned against him simply so that he could ease the Apparition for her. She hadn’t even hesitated at the time, nor looked at her mother or father. Minerva felt her face grow even warmer at the thought of her parents looking on as she had put her head on his chest, closed her eyes, and listened for his heartbeat.

Minerva began to shove her clothes into the wardrobe with a little more energy than strictly necessary. She would have to learn some good packing and unpacking charms, she thought. Her mother and father rarely used any since Fwisky or one of the other house-elves usually took care of it for them.

She moved her trunk to the foot of her bed, shrunk the carpet bags and placed them in the bottom, then, with a quick wave of her wand, levitated her books to the shelves beside her wardrobe. She would worry about putting them in order after her meeting with Professor Dumbledore, she thought. Her stomach growled, and she wondered about meals and whether she would have to eat alone in the Gryffindor common room or something. That thought was unsettling.

Making a quick trip to the bathroom to use the loo and run a brush through her hair before returning it to its ponytail, she considered whether she should wear her school robes. She decided against it and, examining the pale blue robes she had put on that morning, thought that what she was wearing would be fine. She hadn’t seen anyone else in the castle yet, and who knew when she would see anyone other than her professor. She did want to appear presentable for him, however.

Minerva fairly flew down the stairs, worried that she had taken too much time unpacking. When she arrived at the Transfiguration classroom, the door was open. As she walked in, she could hear Professor Dumbledore speaking with someone else, Headmaster Dippet, from the sound of it.

“ . . . Armando, very pleased, indeed. You will see.”

“I hope so, Albus. This is a sticky problem, and I trust you to resolve it to the best of your ability, of course. I still don’t quite understand the – ”

Dumbledore interrupted the Headmaster. “Miss McGonagall, please, come in. We have been awaiting your arrival.”

Minerva took the last few steps toward the office. “I hope I haven’t interrupted anything important, sir. I can come back.”

“No, no, not at all. We were just discussing your project. Headmaster Dippet, I am sure you are acquainted with Miss Minerva McGonagall.”

“Yes, yes, indeed,” said the Headmaster warmly, although accompanying it with a rather limp, moist handshake. “We were all most pleased with your OWLs results. Most pleased.” Headmaster Dippet looked Minerva up and down. Minerva wondered whether she should have changed into school robes, after all. “He tells me that you are to be trusted. That you are – how did you put it, Albus? – the soul of discretion. I do hope we can rely upon that discretion, Miss McGonagall.”

“Er, yes, sir, I shall always do my best,” she replied, somewhat confused about the role her discretion was to play in her Animagus training. “I won’t let you and Professor Dumbledore down, sir.”

Headmaster Dippet smiled and patted her shoulder. “Yes, I believe you will do well.” He turned to Dumbledore. “Well, Albus, I shall leave you to it. I am placing the entire matter in your hands. You may deal with it as you see fit, as always.” Smiling avuncularly at them both, he took his leave.

After Dippet had gone, Albus waved a hand, closing the classroom door. “Well, my dear, let’s go over some of your reading first, then I believe it will be time for lunch. Apparition always works up a good appetite.”

* * *

_**Author’s Note:** I apologize for the truly terrible title for this chapter, but I just couldn’t resist!_


	11. The Special Project

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva has an unusual discussion with Professor Dumbledore as they picnic by the lake, and he tells her about a problem at Hogwarts and how she might be able to help. He tells her about the wards and why he was originally asked to join the Hogwarts staff.
> 
> Characters this chapter: young Minerva McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, Wilspy (house-elf)

**XI: The Special Project**

Minerva and Albus reviewed her grasp of the reading she had done. She discerned no particular pattern to the questions he asked her, but he seemed pleased with her answers. Unlike other occasions on which they had discussed her reading, Albus did not ask her for her opinions of what she had read nor did they engage in any speculative discussion. Minerva thought it felt far more like an examination, but she didn’t mind. She was glad to be able to please him.

After an hour or so, Minerva’s stomach rumbled loudly.

“Sounds as though someone is hungry,” said Albus. “Perhaps this is a good point to stop for lunch.”

“I’m sorry, Professor. I can go a bit longer, if you like.”

“No, no need. Wilspy!” he called.

Wilspy popped in immediately. “May Wilspy serve Professor Dumbledore and his Miss?”

“We are ready for lunch, now, Wilspy.”

“Very good, Professor Dumbledore, sir.” Wilspy popped back out.

Albus stood, pushing his chair back and stretching. He motioned for Minerva to follow him, and he led her from the office and the classroom, closing the doors behind. Minerva could feel the wards shiver back into place.

“Sir, where are we going? Do we eat in the Great Hall?” Minerva tried to imagine eating in the cavernous room, alone with her professor, he at the high staff table, she down at Gryffindor table.

“No. During the summer, if there are more than a few staff in residence, we do take our meals there, at a single table, but when there are very few, we generally eat lunch and dinner in the staff room. Most of the staff are taking this last day off before term begins and will return tomorrow. Normally, they are in residence the entire week prior to the start of term; however, Headmaster Dippet decided that a few extra days holiday would be appropriate under the circumstances.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Professor! I’m interrupting your holiday!”

“No, no, my dear,” he said as they began down the stairs to the main floor. “It was my suggestion, in fact. I had a few experiments to do the last few days, which are better performed with as few people in the castle as possible – I shall tell you of them later – and today, well, you shall see,” he said enigmatically.

As they reached the Entrance Hall, Minerva looked toward the Staff Room. Before she turned towards it, however, Wilspy appeared with a small pop, a covered basket almost as large as she hovering above her.

“I fix lunch for Professor Dumbledore and his Miss like Professor asks. I hopes lunch is good for the Professor and his Miss.”

“Thank you, Wilspy. I am sure we will enjoy it.”

Wilspy popped away without another word from Albus, leaving the basket hovering in front of them.

“Well, Miss McGonagall, I hope you enjoy picnics!”

“A picnic, sir?” As many meals as she had eaten with her professor over the last few years, somehow she had never envisioned picnicking with him. “Of course. Picnics are fine.”

With that, the two set off out the doors of the castle and across the grounds. They did not stop by the large oak tree, as she had first anticipated, nor did they head toward the grassy lawn near the lake, where students often brought snacks and tossed bits of sandwich to the Squid. Instead, they turned toward the Forbidden Forest, passed the greenhouses, and then continued on until they were behind the castle, between the lake and the Forest. Minerva could just see a bit of the wall that surrounded the Hogwarts’ grounds when they reached their intended picnic ground.

“This will do nicely, I believe.” Albus turned to the basket, which had floated genially behind them like a well-trained butler, and with a wave of his wand, unpacked it all at once. Everything must have been shrunk quite cleverly, thought Minerva, although she saw no evidence that anything was unshrinking as it popped out of the basket. Seeing Minerva’s curious expression, Albus explained, “Spatial charm, my dear. Bigger on the inside than on the outside. Quite handy. I have a carpet bag like this, a gift of an old friend. She would appreciate this picnic basket, I believe.”

When Albus was through, Minerva looked about in astonishment. She had grown up with magic and seen many things, but she couldn’t imagine that a single wizard could co-ordinate anything like this so quickly and easily. A large blanket was spread out on the ground, and several large pillows rested on two sides. Platters, plates, bowls, and utensils had arrayed themselves neatly upon the blanket, and a large pitcher of cold lemonade had settled down beside two glasses. A bouquet of wild flowers sat in a vase, adorning the very centre of the blanket. But most astonishing of all, some kind of flowered settee with a canopy over it had appeared a few feet from their picnic spot.

Albus smiled amusedly at Minerva’s reaction. “I see that I shall have to speak to your parents about widening your horizons. You have evidently not been on a picnic before!”

“Sir!” Minerva restrained herself from rolling her eyes at her favourite professor. “It’s just that it all popped out so fast and arranged itself. It didn’t look as though you did anything. And that seat!” Minerva shook her head.

“Ah, well, I cannot take all of the credit. The basket, after all, is very large, and Wilspy did pack it for us.” Albus gestured toward the picnic blanket. “Please, Miss McGonagall, be my guest. Do not stand on ceremony. Have a seat and help yourself.”

Albus sat down on one side of the blanket, settling himself on one of the large pillows, folding his legs in front of him. Minerva joined him, sitting on the edge of the blanket and leaning on a pillow. They spent several minutes selecting their food and eating, interrupted only by occasional exclamations of, “Did you try this? It’s delicious.” After their initial appetite was satisfied and their thirst quenched by the fresh lemonade, Minerva asked the question that had been at the back of her mind since Albus had expressed approval for their picnic spot.

“Sir? Why are we having a picnic, and why here?”

“Picnics are enjoyable, don’t you think, Minerva? And it’s good to enjoy the fine weather while we may.”

“But, sir, why this spot?”

“I believe the answer to that question will wait until we have sampled some of Wilspy’s desserts.”

Minerva didn’t really want desert, but picked out a small elderberry pastry and nibbled at it.

Dumbledore sighed, put down the bowl of trifle he had been eating, then stood and stretched. “I see that I have tested your patience sufficiently.” He looked down at his trifle. “Ah, well. I need to watch my waistline, anyway,” he said with mock regret.

Minerva smiled and stood, as well. Albus waved his wand, and everything began returning itself to the basket, with the exception of the lemonade, the blanket, and the settee – which Minerva wasn’t sure had come from the basket in the first place. Albus picked up his glass of lemonade and strolled over to the flowered seat. As he settled on it, Minerva noticed that it seemed to rock, or swing, with his movement.

“Care to join me?” he asked.

“A swing, sir?”

“A glider, my dear.” Albus demonstrated the gentle back-and-forth motion of the seat.

Minerva sat next to him, somewhat carefully. When she had settled into the seat, Dumbledore waved his wand for several seconds, making a complicated pattern in the air, and leaving trails of red and gold. A rush of magic flowed across her.

“What was that, Professor?”

“Just a bit of warding, my dear. I have decided to tell you about the second project you might care to assist with, if you choose, despite not having completed our evaluation of your progress. The rest of the faculty and staff are returning tomorrow, and it is best that my explanations be made before then, so that you may feel completely free to ask any questions that may occur to you. All right, Minerva?”

“Yes; but I’m very confused, Professor. What Headmaster Dippet said earlier, and what you’re saying now – and that ward you just cast – why all the secrecy? And there was the ward in the Three Broomsticks when you met with my father. And – ”

Albus interrupted. “All will become clear shortly, I hope, Minerva. First, I want you to remember that no matter your decision about the project I’m going to describe to you, your Animagus training will proceed apace. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Minerva seriously.

“Good. I also want you to promise me that you will not give me your decision now. I want you to think about it this afternoon. We can talk again after dinner. All right?”

“Of course!”

“Very well. One other thing, Minerva. I do not want you to choose to do this simply out of loyalty to me. If you do choose to help us, then I will rely on that loyalty, as I know I am able to, but please consider everything carefully before you decide.”

“Yes, sir. I will make any decision very carefully.” Minerva felt serious, grown-up, and, truth be told, rather nervous. She wished he would just tell her what the project was.

“All right, then, Minerva. I know that you are discreet and can be trusted, however, I need your explicit promise that you will not repeat any of what I tell you now to anyone but myself or Headmaster Dippet without my express permission, unless there is an extreme, dire, life-threatening emergency and then only what may be necessary to avert or remedy the immediate crisis.”

Minerva blanched at his words, and swallowed hard. “I will take a wand oath, Professor. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“Your promise is sufficient, Minerva. Please do remember the conditions to the promise – you may speak freely with Headmaster Dippet about what I tell you today, and also about your Animagus project, but if he asks a great many questions about it, I expect you to become suspicious and confirm his identity before continuing. Understood?”

“Yes,” replied Minerva, eyes round. What could he possibly be about to tell her? “Just one question, before you tell me everything, sir. What if Headmaster Dippet isn’t the Headmaster anymore and a new Headmaster or Headmistress questions me?”

“Excellent question, my dear. In the event that there is a new Headmaster, do not speak freely with him – or her – without first having discussed it with me. If I am unavailable, well, I will rely upon your judgment in that event. So, do I have your solemn promise not to reveal to anyone, other than myself or the Headmaster, the nature and contents of what I am about to disclose to you without my permission, unless extreme emergency requires it, and then only to such an extent to avert or remedy the crisis?”

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore, you have my solemn promise.”

For the next two hours, Albus told Minerva of the school wards, of his on-going work to repair the damage done following the neglect and abuse of previous generations. He patiently explained the nature of the foundational wards surrounding the castle and grounds, the structure of the ward lattice, and the proper methods for adding new wards and disabling or removing old ones. He then told her of the changes made in the 17th and 19th centuries and the damage that had been done both to the ward lattice and the wards themselves, with even the foundational wards being affected. Several times he stopped, Summoned more lemonade, drank deeply, then continued. Minerva was silent, absorbing all she could of what Professor Dumbledore told her, only nodding occasionally to indicate her attention.

“Minerva, when I arrived here, I thought to be done with the task in a few years, six or seven at the very most. But I discovered that the situation was more dire than anyone had previously realised. Part of the function of the wards, as I explained to you a little while ago, is to protect the developing magic of the students, keeping them from harming themselves by expending too much magical energy or, especially for the younger ones, keeping them from performing accidental magic when their emotions run high.” Minerva was well aware of the accidental magic a young witch could perform when she was upset; once, when she was eight, Minerva was very angry about not getting her own way about something – she couldn’t even remember what, anymore – and she had exploded her mother’s favourite china tea set so completely that there was nothing left but chalky residue on everything within ten feet of it.

“Unfortunately,” continued Albus, “one of the peculiar wards layered on during the seventeenth century was an ill-advised and ineffective attempt by the Board of Governors to, how shall I put this . . . keep the students on an even keel, with no emotional outbursts, or highs and lows; another, similar ward, was placed on the castle to try to reduce the, er” – Albus turned faintly pink – “reduce the libidinous urges of the young men in residence.” He cleared his throat, and Minerva tried to appear as though this were no more startling than any of his other explanations. “Apparently, the Headmistress at the time thought these measures as idiotic as we do today, and she therefore deliberately did not integrate them into the primary warding system, thinking that reasonable times would return and the wards could be more easily removed if they hadn’t been integrated. The lady’s thinking was only slightly flawed in that regard, although she was correct in that, had it not been for the changes made by Nigellus in eighteen seventy-four, I would have been able to remove those peculiar wards with relative ease even today.”

Dumbledore paused to drink some more lemonade, casting a chilling charm on it. Minerva spoke for the first time since he began. “It doesn’t seem as though those charms have had any effect, judging by the behaviour of the students. Not that there’s a lot of accidental magic, but I think that’s more because the students developed some self-control prior to coming to Hogwarts. And as for the other, well, it seems as though that would have been a futile attempt to control behaviour. Not to mention that they didn’t consider the girls in their equation. I think I see what you meant about the wards being ineffective, but why were they disastrous?” she asked.

“I was just getting to that, my dear. Although I think that it would have been a bad idea to place those wards even if they had been effective since the students need to learn to control themselves and their emotions without the artificial imposition of restraining wards, and who knows what kind of havoc would have been wrecked when the boys left for the summer and were suddenly beyond the ward’s control . . . but that is neither here nor there, Minerva. The disastrous thing is that the changes Nigellus made in the re-warding process integrated and mutated those layered wards in such a way that they not only diverted energy from the main, safety-oriented wards, but such that they also drained both magical and emotional energy from whomever co-ordinated the wards and, to a lesser degree, from any witch or wizard who was connected to the ward triggers.”

Minerva stared, shocked at what she had just been told. “You mean the Headmaster and the Heads of the Houses, don’t you?” Fear sprang up in her; fear, to be sure, for all whom were affected, but especially for Professor Dumbledore. “Do you mean that whenever you’re here, you’re being drained?” she asked, slight panic rising in her voice.

“Hush, my dear, don’t you worry. You are correct in identifying the Headmaster and the Heads of the Houses as those affected, but I was able to identify and disable that effect early on – before you even returned for your second year, in fact.”

Minerva relaxed back into her seat, the glider rocking gently as she did so. “Oh, well, that’s good, then. They are very lucky you are here.”

“I believe that Headmaster Dippet’s health was seriously imperiled, and no one had identified the source of his decline. Everyone merely thought he was getting older and the strain of running the school was too great. Once I relieved him of the wards that first summer, he began to improve immediately, even before I disabled the draining effect.”

Minerva processed what he had just told her. “So, are you saying that you control the wards now? I thought you said it had to be the Headmaster.”

“It does not have to be the Headmaster who is the Keeper of the Wards; in fact, there is a mechanism by which the wards are passed to a designated Head of House whenever the Headmaster leaves the grounds. He can also transfer them deliberately, if he chooses. As far as the wards are concerned, however, I have been the ‘Headmaster’ since June of thirty-seven. When I leave the grounds, they are passed back to Armando, and when I return, they are passed to me. There have been occasions, of course, when we both have been absent from the school, and I transfer them to the Headmaster so that he can pass them to another Head of House.”

“Why, sir? Can’t you just pass them directly since the wards seem to believe you are the Headmaster or, at least, the acting Headmaster?”

“I could, but unless Armando were already absent, it might raise some questions. You see, my dear, you are the only person, apart from Armando, myself, and Professor Gamp, who is aware that I am the Keeper of the Wards. Although the other three Heads of House are aware that I am repairing the wards and that is why I was hired here in the first place, they believe that I only control the wards when Armando passes them to me during the ward renewal or when I am doing experiments or tests on them. They don’t realise that I conduct frequent tests, and often make small adjustments, on an on-going basis. Also, although the original wards are not designed to drain the Keeper’s magical energy, they do function best when there is a magically fit wizard serving as the Keeper.”

“This is all very interesting, Professor, but I do not see what any of it has to do with me or my Animagus project.”

“I’ll get to the point, then, shall I? Although I have made significant progress in realigning the wards, repairing the ward lattice, and retuning each of the individual wards properly, as well as putting into place a few new security measures, such as the anti-Apparition wards, there are still several problems that I have not resolved. In fact, I think that I could work on the wards for decades and still not be able to return them to the condition they were in in eighteen seventy-three. Without the assistance of Professor Gamp, I doubt I would have got this far.”

“Professor Gamp? That was another thing I was curious about, Professor. She isn’t a Head of House, but you mentioned her as the third person who knows that you are the Keeper of the Wards. Besides me, now, of course.”

“Yes; she knows because she has been assisting me with the Arithmantic calculations I’ve used in realigning, or even in redesigning, the wards. Her help has considerably reduced the amount of time it has taken me to bring the wards into reasonable shape.”

Minerva bit back her initial reaction, Wasn’t she in Slytherin? If Professor Dumbledore believed her to be trustworthy, she must be. And it wasn’t as though she were anything like some of the nasty little Snakes in school with her now. As prefect, she’d had to stop a Slytherin from tormenting some little Hufflepuff or Gryffindor on more than one occasion. Then there was that infuriating Riddle boy, who didn’t seem to discriminate amongst the Houses, but who seemed to like tormenting everyone equally – even boys older than he. She didn’t understand how he had any friends at all – but they were more like little sycophants, she thought scornfully.

“I still don’t understand what I have to do with this, or how I can help you. Professor Gamp is a mistress of Arithmancy, I’m just a fifth-, sixth-,” she corrected herself, “year Gryffindor.”

“I have a very particular problem, you see, and if you decide to help me, I may be able to find a solution. The foundational wards included a small but very clever charm designed by Rowena Ravenclaw, who was responsible for the initial design of the castle, that allows the Keeper of the Wards to see who is present in the castle or on the grounds – not literally see them, although I suppose it could be modified to perform such a function – but, for example, to draw on the ward in order to charm a parchment that would create a list of everyone currently present at Hogwarts. The list could be charmed to change as people came and went, and so forth. If such a charm worked properly, it would greatly enhance the security of the castle. Unfortunately, the ward has been degraded over the last decades, and no charm I have been able to cast has the full intended effect. I have repaired the ward to the point where I can charm a parchment to list the names of everyone in the castle, but only if they are there in their own forms.”

“I think I see. Do you mean that if an Animagus were in the castle, he wouldn’t appear on your list?”

“Precisely. In fact, as soon as an Animagus transforms, his name disappears from the parchment. Initially, anyone who had taken Polyjuice – disgusting stuff, Minerva, I don’t recommend it – appeared on the list as the person whom they are Polyjuiced to be and not as themselves. This indicated to me that the ward was not properly tuned to witches’ and wizards’ magical signatures. I was able to correct the problem, insofar as the Polyjuiced person now appears as himself, not as the person whose appearance he took, but I have not been able to make the adjustments necessary to detect someone in Animagus form. If you achieve the Animagus Transfiguration, I would like you to assist me in making those adjustments.”

“But why me? You’ve never said, but I assume you are an Animagus. And somehow you were able to discover this was a problem with the wards.”

“Because I must conduct tests and experiments on the wards while someone is Transfiguring themselves back and forth between their ordinary form and their Animagus form, or entering and leaving the grounds; this is something I cannot do – it is not possible to be both a participant in this test and its conductor. As to why you in particular, Miss McGonagall,” Dumbledore looked at her very seriously, “because I trust you. There are only a handful of Animagi in Britain – or even in Europe, if we were to look further afield. There may be some of whom we are unaware, of course, but of all the Animagi of whom I am aware in Europe and in North America, there are only one or two whom I might have trusted with this. One of them is, however, over one hundred and fifty, and tells me that she hasn’t transformed in more than sixty years. The other, a younger man, disappeared two years ago in Austria. He is believed to have been killed, either by Grindelwald because he would not join him, or even possibly by the Nazis, as he was a Gypsy. It can be difficult even for an accomplished witch or wizard to escape the Muggles if they have no wand and have also possibly suffered injuries. Other than those two, you are looking at the only other Animagus in Europe who could be trusted with this project. Unfortunately, I cannot be both myself and my Animagus form at the same time . . . well, I could be, but it would confuse the wards so much, no tests would be reliable,” Albus finished enigmatically.

“All right, Professor. I know that you told me to think about it and let you know my decision after dinner, but it is almost time for dinner, anyway, and I can assure you that I won’t change my mind. I will – ”

Albus interrupted her. “You will tell me of your decision after dinner, right?” he asked with a smile.

“Right. That’s what I was about to say,” Minerva said with a grin.

“Well, I suppose we should be going back now; as much as I would like to sit here in a swing with a pretty girl, we do need to consult with Wilspy about dinner.”

Minerva laughed, blushing a bit, and watched as her professor returned the remaining picnic items to the basket and Vanished the glider seat. Together, they walked back up to the castle, not speaking, just enjoying the cool breeze blowing in off the lake.


	12. An Unexpected Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva agrees to help Dumbledore with the wards; she comes of age, Abus gives her a very old copy of The Book of Taliesin, and her sixth-year Animagus training is interrupted after an accident in the Transfiguration classroom.
> 
> Characters this chapter: young Minerva McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, Wilspy

**XII: An Unexpected Arrival**

“Sir, why do we need to consult Wilspy about dinner? Don’t the house-elves just serve it like normal?” Minerva asked as they approached the double oak doors leading to the Entrance Hall.

“If we wish to eat this evening, we must consult Wilspy. All of the other house-elves have been confined to the kitchen and other house-elf-appropriate places for the day; in addition, as we are the only residents of the castle until tomorrow morning when Headmaster Dippet will return and the rest of the staff will begin trickling back from holiday, it seemed foolish to have the house-elves serve their normal dinner.”

“You mean we’re the only people in the castle?” Minerva asked incredulously as they entered the cool entry way. “Is that exactly safe?”

“Oh, yes, my dear, quite. We renewed the wards just a few weeks ago, as I mentioned earlier, and now that we have finished our conversation, I can tell Wilspy that the other house-elves have the freedom of the castle again.”

“It’s just, just, well, creepy, sir, this huge empty castle, and just the two of us and the Hogwarts house-elves.”

Albus stopped midway up the stairs and turned to Minerva, who had been walking up beside him. “I am sorry, Minerva. I had not thought. I am so used to so many things that I have forgotten, perhaps, what it might be like for you,” he said gently. “If you would like to return to your parents for the night, or even for the rest of the weekend, I would be happy to escort you there after dinner – or sooner, if you are bothered.”

“No, no!” Minerva did not want to have to go home like a little girl who had cried when left with her aunt and uncle for a few hours. “I didn’t mean it like that. I want to stay. Really, sir.”

“Are you sure, my dear?” asked Albus, still not moving from the stair on which he had stopped. “Would you feel more comfortable if Wilspy stayed with us during dinner? She could even spend the night in your room, if you like.”

Minerva suddenly understood Albus’s concern. “Oh, no, that would be even weirder. I don’t mind it if you’re here, Professor. What I mean is, it wouldn’t matter where we were, I’d feel safe if you were with me. Even if we were in the middle of Grindelwald’s camp,” she said.

“Hush, now, don’t even think such things,” responded Albus.

“All I’m saying is that it’s just the castle that bothers me, not being here with you. In fact, if I had to be alone in the castle with a bunch of house-elves, I’d rather you be with me than anyone else.” Minerva felt slightly embarrassed at the sentiment she expressed, but she didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable being alone with her, either.

Albus started back up the stairs to the Transfiguration classroom. “Well, that’s settled, then. I don’t think I had ever been at Hogwarts when it was this empty until after I’d come here to teach. I stayed over Christmas holidays one year, and there were only three students staying in Gryffindor Tower, but that was practically crowded, compared to our current, though highly temporary, situation.”

“Professor, what about the ghosts? What I mean is, Headmaster Dippet had everyone leave the castle and grounds, and the house-elves were confined – although I don’t understand why; I thought they had to be loyal to their House or family – what did you do with the ghosts? And what about the portraits?”

Albus chuckled as he let them into the classroom. “My, I suppose that after hours of listening to me talk, and saying so little, the urge to ask questions has asserted itself again. Well, the ghosts have willingly bound themselves to the wards and its Keeper, with the exception of Peeves – who, it turns out, is one of the unintended by-products of those seventeenth century wards meant to keep the children in check – and the portrait network is also tied into them. Although you may have noticed a distinct lack of portraits in our picnic area! The elves, although bound to be loyal to Hogwarts, can interpret that loyalty in whatever way they wish. They do have their own internal structure for dealing with miscreants” – Minerva thought of Fwisky’s discipline when he said this – “but I thought it best to take the added security measure of eliminating the possibility of being overheard by them, or the portraits, which, although a part of the ward structure, are not completely controlled by it. Does that answer all your questions?” he asked with a slight smile.

“Yes, but why is Wilspy free?”

“Do not let her hear you say that she is free, my dear, although she has the freedom of the castle, of course. It is because she is a Dumbledore house-elf; she has a deep-seated loyalty to me personally, not just to the school and its ever-changing population. Besides, she packs a lovely picnic basket!”

Minerva smiled broadly at that.

“Well, Minerva, why don’t you avail yourself of the washroom, and I will ask Wilspy about dinner. Do you have anything you’d particularly care for? No?”

Through the closed door of the loo, Minerva could just hear Dumbledore speaking in low tones to Wilspy, presumably releasing the other elves from their confinement – they must have been driven to distraction without being able to “serve” – and ordering dinner. She walked out of the office just as Wilspy Apparated away with a gentle crack.

“I have ordered a light supper for us. I hope that suits you. If you are hungry later, or at anytime this weekend, call Wilspy, and she will be at your service.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

“I also had an idea that I spoke with Wilspy about. If it meets with your approval, she can make the arrangements necessary. As Deputy Headmaster, and, of course, in my other roles here at Hogwarts, I have somewhat grander quarters than most of the other teachers. They include a small guest room with its own loo and a separate entrance to the corridor. If you would feel more comfortable there than in Gryffindor Tower tonight, you are welcome to make use of it. There is no bath, only a somewhat cramped shower, but it is at your disposal,” Albus finished.

“That’s very generous of you, Professor, but I don’t want to disturb you, or have Wilspy go to extra trouble.”

“You know that Wilspy would be glad to serve, as would I. Please stay wherever you feel most comfortable. I would suggest the library, but my recollection is that one’s slumber is never particularly restful there.” Albus grinned at her.

“I really don’t know. I am used to my room in Gryffindor Tower, but, well, I hate to admit it, it sounds so childish, but it feels different when there’s no one else there. Can we eat supper first, before I decide?”

“Of course; and I understand. Why don’t we stop by the guest room on the way to Gryffindor Tower, that way you can see it and decide then.”

Wilspy appeared with their supper at that moment, which consisted of some kind of pickled fish, bread, cheese, tomatoes, a bowl of grapes, and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. Minerva thought she’d avoid the fish, as it looked rather disgusting, but Albus helped himself to it and ate it with such a relish, that she tried a little and decided it wasn’t too bad, but she wasn’t going to be calling Wilspy for more.

After finishing their meal, Albus walked with her along the first floor corridor to one of the narrow flights of stairs that she’d always thought led nowhere, which they climbed upward past several landings until they reached one that opened onto a wide corridor. Finally, they turned into a narrower hallway with large windows along one side and several portraits along the other. Stopping at the third portrait, Albus clearly said, “Chocolate Frog,” and the portrait and the door it was guarding swung open.

“‘Chocolate frog,’ Professor?”

“Mmm, a new sweet. They have them at Honeydukes. You should try one! Don’t worry, no frogs involved. They just look like them and have a tendency to try to hop away until you bite their legs off.” With that explanation, he gestured for her to enter.

The room was almost a precise square, which was quite surprising for any room at Hogwarts. There were two windows along the opposite wall, with a typical Hogwarts four-poster bed between them. There was a small desk along the wall to the right and a wardrobe across from it. Each of the two side walls featured a door. Albus stepped in behind her and opened the door on the left, showing her a small but efficient bathroom, with toilet, shower, and sink. He went to the door opposite the bathroom, and explained to Minerva that it led to his sitting room and that his bedroom was beyond that.

He opened that door for her, and she peeked through to see what appeared to be a combination study and sitting room decorated in deep burgundy, moss green, gold, and cream, and furnished with a desk, a few chairs, a couch, a small table, and a fireplace. Along the walls were bookcases; they even stood in front of the windows, blocking out what light was left in the evening sky. There were also stacks of books and parchment everywhere, although they were in neat piles, and it seemed that they had been placed in some kind of order.

“My bedroom is through the door on the other side of that rather crowded room,” Albus said. “It would only be for the one night, but if you suddenly needed me, I would be close at hand. Of course, if you stay in Gryffindor Tower, you can always call Wilspy, and she will come.”

Minerva was torn. On the one hand, she didn’t want to seem a little girl who couldn’t spend one night alone in the dormitory. On the other, she thought she would feel a little more at home in the small bedroom next door to the comfortable, Dumbledorish mess. On the third hand, if she had a third, she was used to the Tower room, but on the fourth hand, she felt honoured that he would allow her to stay in his guest room.

“Well, do you mind if I fetch a few things, then? If it’s really all right for me to stay here?”

“Of course, come, we will walk to Gryffindor Tower together, and then you won’t have any trouble finding your way back. After you’re settled in, we can have some tea, and you can tell me your decision.”

Soon, Minerva was sitting comfortably in an armchair in Albus’s study, drinking chamomile tea. “I’ve decided to help you, Professor. And not just because you asked, but because it’s important for the future safety of Hogwarts, even if there’s no immediate threat. From what I’ve read in the _Daily Prophet_ , Grindelwald has only conducted a few attacks here in Britain, and he seemed to focus on specific people, rather than on places. But if he ever were to launch an attack in Britain, Hogwarts might be a target. Even if he only did enough damage to lower the morale of the wizarding world, people – children – might still be hurt. And if one of the holes in our security is the Animagus identification problem, then we must address that. Even if he does not know of or exploit that weakness, someone else might, someday. I am willing, Professor, and will put all of my efforts into achieving the Animagus transformation.” Minerva gazed earnestly at her professor.

Dumbledore smiled at the end of her speech. “Thank you, Miss McGonagall,” he said softly. “But you must put some effort into your other schoolwork, as well. Do not forget your NEWTs are less than two years away!”

Minerva furrowed her brow. “Of course not, but isn’t this more important than how well I do on my NEWTs?”

“It would be only if I thought you were disposable, Minerva, only if I valued your life solely to the extent to which you might benefit me in this moment. Even then, a longer view might prove that wrong. But your life is important; whatever we may be able to accomplish with the wards, with your help, is not to be compared with all that you may achieve throughout your life. Your NEWT-level classes are the foundation for that life. I also want you to be happy, my dear. Once your part in the warding project is over, do you think you would be happy to find that you have lost the opportunity to study subjects other than the Animagus Transfiguration? No, my dear, you must apply yourself to your extra credit project, to be sure, but not to the exclusion of all else.”

Minerva thought about what her mentor had just said. It made sense, and it warmed her heart, as well, to know that he appreciated her, Minerva McGonagall, not just some useful, trustworthy potential Animagus. She smiled at him then, her affection for him bubbling through, and said, “Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. I will follow your advice. But I am still honoured to be able to help you.”

Shortly thereafter, Dumbledore managed to convince Minerva to retire for the night, pointing out that yawning three times in as many minutes was probably an indication that she needed her sleep. He reminded her that he was just one room away and that she could call Wilspy at any time.

Minerva didn’t remember falling asleep that night, and when she awoke, it was bright morning and Wilspy was calling her name. “Miss Minerva, Professor’s Miss! Wake up! It is time for Miss to have breakfast.” When she saw Minerva stirring, Wilspy popped away.

Minerva sat up and swung her feet over the edge of the bed, then padded into the little bathroom to wash up and use the toilet. As she dressed, Minerva wondered where she was supposed to go to have breakfast, and she was just buckling her shoes when she heard a rap on the door that led to Dumbledore’s sitting room.

“Yes?” she called. “Professor, is that you? You may come in. Wilspy woke me up a while ago.”

The door opened, revealing Professor Dumbledore, who apparently was not at his best first thing in the morning. He was wearing a long brocade and satin dressing gown over what appeared to be a long night shirt, and his feet were clad in peculiar fuzzy slippers with wiggling ears.

“Good morning, Minerva. I haven’t dressed yet, as you can plainly see, but I wanted to let you know that when you are ready for breakfast, you can just come into the study and call for Wilspy. I will join you when I am more properly attired.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

After they had eaten breakfast, Minerva packed up the few things she’d brought from her dormitory the night before. When she stepped into the study to tell Professor Dumbledore that she was returning to the Tower and to ask if he wanted to meet with her later that day, he was engrossed in what looked like Arithmantic calculations, but with symbols she had never seen used before. That reminded her of the book that her father had sent for him. The two agreed that they would meet at two o’clock for a few hours and that she would bring the book with her then.

On her way back up her dormitory, which was surprisingly close to Professor Dumbledore’s rooms, she encountered, separately, both Professor Gamp, who did not seem startled to see her, but who simply nodded a curt greeting, as usual, and Professor Dustern, who _did_ seem surprised to see her. At the explanation that she had arrived early in order to prepare for a special project in Transfiguration, Dustern seemed miffed, Minerva thought, that the project was not with her. Shaking her head at the oddness of adults, she gave the password to the Fat Lady’s portrait and entered the common room. In the middle of the day, having just run into two teachers after having had a nice breakfast with Professor Dumbledore, she did not find the empty Gryffindor Tower at all creepy or weird and settled down with a book, luxuriating in the peace and quiet.

Thus, Minerva spent the few days before the rest of the students arrived back at the castle Monday evening, reading, thinking, and having tutorials with Professor Dumbledore. Taking lunch and dinner at the round table in the Great Hall wasn’t nearly as strange as she’d thought it would be, and she enjoyed talking with the different teachers, although she always preferred to sit by her Head of House.

At the Welcoming Feast, when other students, chiefly fellow prefects, asked her why she hadn’t been on the train, she explained, “Family business,” in such a tone as to forestall any questions, even from her friends. The new school year started, but to Minerva, it felt anticlimactic after her long conversation with Dumbledore about the Hogwarts’ wards.

And so the weeks went by, and late summer faded as cold autumn winds blew in off the lake, and the days grew shorter. Minerva’s birthday came, largely unremarked, although her parents sent her a lovely necklace that had been her Great-grandmother McGonagall’s, and her three brothers had each sent a book, which was what they usually gave her for her birthday, with their congratulations on coming of age. Professor Dumbledore also gave her a book, a very old copy of _The Book of Taliesin_ , saying “Felicitations, Miss McGonagall!”

It was clear that the volume he gave her had at one point been comprised of separate parchments that had later been cut apart and sewn together into its current form. Looking through it, Minerva recognised that there were poems there that she had never seen before, and others that she did expect to see were not there. Her Welsh was very rusty, Minerva having studied it with her father before she came to Hogwarts but not having used it much since. She got the feeling, holding and examining the book, that this was not something one could pick up in Flourish & Botts for any price.

“Professor,” Minerva said slowly, “where did you get this? It’s very old. . . .”

“It was in my grandfather’s library, and in his grandfather’s library, and as far as I remember being told, in his grandfather’s grandfather’s library, as well. You needn’t worry it’s stolen,” he teased.

“It’s not that,” Minerva said, gently closing the book, “it’s that I don’t think I can accept it.”

“Minerva, I will be very disappointed if you don’t. I wanted to give you something special; you have come of age, but you have also been working very hard to achieve a part of the Art that Taliesin is said to have attained with no effort. You deserve to receive something special to acknowledge that hard work. It seemed that this book would find a good and worthy home with you.”

After that speech, Minerva could not refuse the gift, but she did keep it wrapped and in a locked, warded drawer in her wardrobe, only taking it out to look at when no one else was present.

Some weeks later, Minerva was sitting in the Transfiguration classroom late one evening. She had advanced in the exercises that she was able to practice without supervision and was in the midst of one that required particularly intense concentration, when she was startled by the opening classroom door. She had the impression that she was trying to stand, when suddenly, everything went black and cold.

“Minerva, Minerva! Here, now, can you open your eyes, my dear?”

Minerva slowly became aware that, although she had apparently fallen to the floor, she was being held in someone’s warm, strong arms. She knew it was Professor Dumbledore calling to her, and she could tell by the feel of the arm around her shoulder, and from the slight aroma of lemon and sandalwood wafting down, that it was he who held her. She knew she should open her eyes for him, but she was comfortable, and just wanted to stay there. Just stay there forever . . . .

But he called again, “Minerva, Minerva, please, my dear, open your eyes. Now is not the time for sleep.”

Her eyes fluttered, then she closed them again, relaxing even more deeply into his arms. “Don’t want you to let go . . . ,” she mumbled.

“I won’t let go, my dear, but you need to open your eyes for me. Open your eyes!” The last sounded like an irresistible command, and so Minerva obeyed.

“Professor?” she whispered.

“Yes, my dear. I am so sorry to have caused your accident. It seems that my entrance caused you to switch your magical focus from internal to external too quickly. It’s not a common occurrence, but not unexpected, either. Rather like the magical equivalent of fainting when standing up too quickly if you haven’t been eating right.”

“I don’t faint,” murmured Minerva blearily.

“Now, don’t close your eyes again just yet. That’s right, just look up at me. That’s good, Minerva, my dear . . . .”

Minerva scarcely heard any more of the reassuring words he said: she was aware only that she was resting across his lap, cradled in his left arm, head resting against his chest. She could feel his right hand gently stroking her forehead, long fingers softly stroking her temple then caressing her cheek, and in the flickering candlelight, she saw his blue eyes, filled with concern, focussed on her face, focussed on her alone. But what she was most aware of was the beating of his heart, the thrumming of his magic, and the answering throb of her own pulsing life. Minerva wanted to stay in his arms forever, to have him hold her; to kiss him, to have him return her kisses. She felt the steady beat of her own heart increase, and the heat of her blood spread upward to fill her breast with an almost painful new passion. And then the heat spread lower, heavy, flowing, swelling, throbbing, inexorable, filling her with a desire she’d never known before, but which, even in the haze of her acute awareness of him, she recognised.

Some part of Minerva was appalled at the unexpected arrival of these intense feelings for the wizard holding her, some part was ashamed, but the part of her that was melting into her professor’s arms – that part of her never wanted to let him go and never wanted to let go of the feelings that his embrace engendered in her. Need, want, and desire bubbled through her. A giving, grasping, needing, embracing passion leapt in her chest.

The passion rising up in her body and soul merged gladly with the love for him already in her heart. Unable to help herself, Minerva turned her face further towards him, not wanting to lose sight of his brilliant eyes, nor of his sensitive lips, but nonetheless wanting to bury her face in his warm beard and burrow closer to the beating heart that throbbed an echoing call to her own pulse.

Albus, unaware of the emotional turmoil his young Gryffindor was experiencing, continued stroking her forehead and caressing her cheek. “There, there, Minerva, you’ll be all right soon. All will be well. There, there, stay awake for me, Minerva, my dear.”

She was _his_ dear, _his_ Minerva, some part of her thought muzzily. And she would be his forever.

Abruptly, another awareness broke through her sweet content and assaulted the warmth that had settled in her soul. A cold, clenching, acute pain encircled her heart with a cruel realisation: She was a student. She was _his_ student. That was _all_ she was, and all she could ever be, whispered a voice within her.

He was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore: hero, renowned Alchemist, Keeper of Hogwarts’ Wards, Deputy Headmaster, Head of Gryffindor House, and Transfiguration master. She was Minerva McGonagall, sixth-year Gryffindor Transfiguration student. Perhaps he valued her for herself; but there was no denying that what she was . . . well, that wasn’t much at all.

She began to weep, almost silently, against him, tasting the salt of her tears on his beard as she opened her mouth to draw a gasping, choking breath. _It_ would never go away. It would _never_ go away. She knew that, as surely she knew that the sun rises in morning. _It_ was lodged in her, bound to her soul. As her tears continued to flow, hot and silent, Minerva knew that hers was not even to dream, never even to dream. Never even to dream . . . . It had consumed her rapidly, completely, and left her with only a taunting glimpse of what she could never have.

She would die of It, she was sure. Yes, she would die of It.


	13. Lunch in the Great Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva sees Albus during lunch, and neither of them speaks of what he overheard her say earlier that day. Gertrude Gamp tells Minerva she should take a holiday, and she’ll feel “right as rain.”
> 
> **Beginning of Part Three.**
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Gertrude Gamp, Rubeus Hagrid, others

**PART THREE**  
 **XIII: Lunch in the Great Hall**

Having finished dressing and casting a few discreet Glamours to conceal the redness and puffiness of her face, Minerva went into the small loo to relieve herself of some of the tea she had drunk. She had always liked having her loo separate from her bathroom. The tiny room had three doors: one led to the bathroom, one to her bedroom, and one out to her sitting room. She exited through the latter and sighed when she looked at the clock that sat on her mantlepiece. Fortunately, it was an ordinary clock, with ordinary chimes and, to Minerva’s way of thinking, the correct number of hands. She really didn’t like being told, “Almost time for lunch!” or “Time to teach Transfiguration!” or “You’re going to be late if you don’t leave NOW!” This more civilized timepiece merely informed her, when she glanced at it, that it was four minutes before noon. She would technically be late, even if she were to leave now, although staff drifted in any time between noon and twelve-thirty during the summer; generally, she arrived no later than five past the hour.

Minerva sat down on her small sofa and gazed at the clock, not really seeing it. If she left now, there would still be many chairs left to choose from. She would likely have to leave at least one chair free beside her. If Albus came in after she did, as she presumed he would since he usually arrived between five and ten minutes later than she, he might choose to sit next to her. Minerva didn’t think she could bear that just yet, sitting beside him in public, trying to behave as though everything were normal, when it was not. At least, it was not to her. For all she knew, the injured expression Poppy thought she saw in his face had never been there, or if it had been, any hurt was as fleeting as the expression had been. Not that Minerva believed that Albus had forgotten what she had said, but perhaps he had simply dismissed it from his mind. Perhaps . . . no, Minerva was not going to go ’round and ’round again, tormenting herself with thoughts of her own inadequacy or of her relative unimportance in Albus’s life.

She couldn’t pretend to believe that she was completely insignificant to him any more than she could bring herself to believe that she held a special place in his life. At one time, she had thought that they were becoming good friends – despite _It_ and the dangers she believed that It posed to her ability be near him – and she had imagined that being at Hogwarts together again would strengthen and deepen their friendship. Her hopes had risen after he had come to her house-warming party – late, but it hadn’t mattered at the time – all that had mattered was that he had come, and he had stayed for hours. No, Minerva told herself firmly, she must not think of that lovely evening, nor of her disappointment when, over the ensuing weeks, she rarely saw the Headmaster alone . . . or even in an informal setting in which they could simply talk together.

Minerva gritted her teeth and watched the clock. The hands moved slowly; finally, Minerva judged it late enough to be able to reach the Great Hall before there was only one chair left – possibly beside Albus – but early enough to be able to sit between two other people, in the event that Albus hadn’t arrived yet.

Minerva didn’t know whether to be happy or disappointed to see that Albus wasn’t in the Great Hall yet, but she was pleased to be able to sit between Professor Gamp and Hagrid. She and Gertrude got on well enough, she supposed. They were never overly friendly with one another, but neither of them was the effusive type, either. Back then, during the summer between her sixth and seventh years, Minerva had always appreciated both Professor Gamp’s silent acceptance of her as a quasi-colleague and the teacher's matter-of-fact attitude about her inclusion in the wards project. She never seemed to have trouble distinguishing between Miss-McGonagall-the-student and Miss-McGonagall-the-wards-tester. Minerva had been grateful that Professor Gamp had never treated her with condescension, as though she were a mere pupil, on the occasions she had joined Albus and Minerva in their work. 

Gertrude had to be the most blunt, forthright Slytherin whom Minerva had ever met. Not that she was particularly talkative, of course, and Minerva sometimes wondered about what was going on behind those sharp eyes of hers. Nonetheless, Minerva could hold nothing against her, personally, although she sometimes envied Gertrude her access to the Headmaster.

Minerva greeted everyone as she took her seat between Gertrude and Hagrid, nodding particularly to Gertrude. Apparently, Professor Gamp took this as a sign that Minerva wished to begin a conversation.

“Did Albus find you this morning?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” Minerva’s stomach clenched. She really couldn’t get into a discussion of Albus, or this morning, with Gertrude right now.

“He and I left his office together this morning after we’d met,” she said between chews. “He told me he was going to look for you. He seemed to think you might be in the hospital wing if you weren’t in your rooms. Did he find you?”

“Yes, he found me,” Minerva mumbled, stuffing a lettuce leaf in her mouth.

“So you were able to meet, then? Good. I know he had wanted to. Asked me whether you had arrived or not when I fetched him from his bathroom.” Gertie shook her head, grinning slightly at the memory, and ate a bit of her quiche.

“No, we didn’t meet,” Minerva answered distractedly, thinking of Gertrude finding Albus in his bathroom. She supposed that was where a wizard would condition his beard, but still, it seemed a bit intrusive to her.

“No? Unfortunate,” Gertie clucked. “He was so sure he’d find you.”

“Well, he did find me, and I was in the hospital wing. It wasn’t a good time for us to meet,” Minerva answered curtly.

“Not feeling well, Minerva? You do look a bit peaky, come to think of it.” Gertie squinted at her. “You could do with a holiday. First term of teaching is always the hardest. Take a little holiday, and you’ll feel right as rain.”

Minerva had never understood what was so “right” about “rain,” and she really didn’t want to discuss her health or well-being with the older teacher, but she recognised that Gertie was trying to be helpful, so she simply said, “Thank you, Gertrude. I may do that.”

Gertrude, thankfully, then turned to Grubbly-Plank, who was sitting beside her, and interrupted a rather loud conversation about the mating habits of the Norwegian Ridgeback that she was having with Hagrid from across the table. Several staff members were clearly grateful not to have to listen to Hagrid discuss a particular dragon appendage that was, as he put it, “as long as me arm and as big ’round as me thigh,” and Minerva was simply grateful that she could begin playing with her food in silence.

Minerva knew she should eat, but her stomach felt as though she’d swallowed a Bludger, and her throat was still constricted and dry, despite the tea she’d drunk earlier. She picked at her food, trying to chew and swallow a few fresh vegetables, washing them down with cold strawberry lemonade. As she drank the lemonade, Hagrid asked her how she liked it, and when she replied that it was quite good, he regaled her with his new fertilising method and how fantastically the strawberries had done that spring as a result; in fact, they were still producing well – some of them as big as his fist, he said, demonstrating by making a fist and holding it in front of her face.

Albus entered the Great Hall and headed toward the table just in time to see Hagrid make a fist and apparently shove it in Minerva’s face. His eyebrows rose at that, but his pace didn’t alter.

When he reached the table, he stopped to stand between Hagrid and Minerva. “So, Hagrid,” he said, “are you threatening one of my valued staff members, then?” Albus smiled brightly at the amiable half-giant.

“Oh, no, P’rfesser Dumbledore, sir, I’d never do that, oh, no, sir! I was just demonstratin’ ter Miss Minerva here, er, P’rfesser McGonagall, I mean – ”

Albus interrupted then. “No worries, Hagrid, no worries. I was only joking. I presume you were discussing your prize strawberries with Professor McGonagall,” Albus said, remembering having a similar conversation just last week, although as they had been standing in the garden at the time, Hagrid’s fist had remained a more respectable distance from his own nose.

Gertie chose to get up from the table at that moment and come around to stand behind Minerva. “Albus, I must be going now. Thank you for taking the time to see me this morning. I am aware that it was not the most convenient time for you. And I will think about your request while I am on holiday, as I promised you; however, I do not believe that I will change my mind.”

From her position, Minerva could not see the interaction between the two without being very obvious and turning around. She could see, though, that the Headmaster’s left arm rose toward Gertrude, while his right hand remained resting on the back of Hagrid’s chair.

“Very well, Gertie. I will expect an owl or two from you, as we discussed, and you can be certain to be hearing from me, as well!”

Minerva could tell from Albus’s tone that he was smiling. She would not allow herself to be curious about the content of their conversation. As she had so often said, she did not run the school, and Albus’s life was his own, and so nothing they were discussing could be any of her business. Nonetheless, it seemed that the Bludger in her stomach grew heavier.

Minerva continued to listen and pretend to eat as the Headmaster and his Deputy concluded their short conversation. Minerva’s stomach clenched as she heard Gertie’s parting words.

“Well, Albus, it seems the house-elves have already cleared my place; since I’m leaving, why don’t you take my seat?”

“No; thank you, Gertie, but I’ve really needed to speak with Professor Birnbaum about the state of the Madragoras. I think I’ll take the opportunity now. Have a safe trip, my dear.”

Minerva ran through such a gamut of emotions in those few moments, she was surprised she was able to remain upright and maintain her grip on her fork. First, she was terrified that Albus was going to sit beside her; her fear was quickly followed by disappointment that he wasn’t going to, then injury from the apparently disingenuous excuse. The final blow, though, was Albus’s parting “my dear.”

Certainly Minerva had heard Albus call many others “my dear” over the years. She recognised that, for him, it was an almost automatic form of address he used for anyone with whom he had more than a passing acquaintance and of whom he was at least slightly fond. Still, there had been a time when she had imagined that he used that particular appellation more frequently with her than with any other, often combining it with her name: “Minerva, my dear.” That wasn’t “my dear Minerva,” of course, but during her final years at school and those years between her NEWTs and her return to Hogwarts as a teacher, she thrilled despite herself each time she saw him and he used those sweet words.

Minerva continued to play with her food for a while, disguising her lack of appetite by pouring a second glass of lemonade, all the while trying to eavesdrop on Albus’s conversation with the Herbology teacher over Hagrid and Wilhelmina’s renewed conversation about dragon mating rituals. Throughout lunch, Poppy had been shooting her sympathetic and curious glances from across the table where she sat on the other side of Johannes Birnbaum. Minerva wished she had noticed earlier that there had been another empty chair between Poppy and Hagrid, for she would have preferred to have sat there, but it had been hidden by Hagrid’s bulk. Minerva had just taken the first available seat. She would not only have been sitting next to Poppy – although they couldn’t have discussed anything about the events of the morning, at least she was a warm and friendly face – but she would have been slightly closer to the conversation she was now trying to overhear. Were they really discussing Madragoras? Remembering the privacy ward Albus had cast in the Three Broomsticks so many years ago, she wasn’t sure if she would know whether they were actually talking about Herbology or whether it would only sound like it, even if she could hear them.

Minerva sighed and gave up pretending to eat. Sitting here was torment. He had said they would speak during lunch, and now it appeared he was ignoring her. Perhaps he would have said something to her earlier, when he was joking with Hagrid, had it not been that Gertrude had stood at that moment to leave. Minerva made an attempt to relax and unclench her jaw. Gertrude hadn’t even finished her pudding! It was almost as though she had wanted to interrupt the conversation before Albus could speak with her. That would be a Slytherin thing to do, after all. No, that was absurd, Minerva decided. After all, she had then offered Albus her vacated chair. But perhaps she knew he wouldn’t take it? Minerva almost groaned aloud at her convoluted and paranoid thinking. This was not like her at all.

Deciding that she had better leave before she suffered any more self-inflicted torture, Minerva rose from her seat, and nodded to Hagrid and Wilhelmina, who didn’t notice, so engrossed were they in their current discussion of the length of a dragon’s tail relative to its other appendages and how it varied by species. Minerva glanced at Poppy, who now appeared to be speaking with Birnbaum and the Headmaster about something to do with the greenhouses and didn’t seem to notice that Minerva had risen from the table. The three other staff who had been present when Minerva had arrived had all left when Hagrid and Grubbly-Plank had begun discussing certain dragon effluvia a few minutes earlier. Feeling a bit as she had during the first months as a student at Hogwarts, Minerva wondered dolefully if she should begin bringing a book with her to meals, and she turned to leave.

She hadn’t taken more than a few steps, however, when suddenly Albus appeared at her side. “Professor McGonagall, I believe we need to reschedule our appointment.”

Well, if he was going to be formal, so would she. “Yes, Professor Dumbledore. I am available this afternoon to review the curriculum, if you like.”

Albus smiled at her slightly, but said, “As much as I would like to meet sooner, I believe that later in the afternoon would be more suitable. Will you still be available at, say, five o’clock?”

Five o’clock? Was he putting her off? And that wouldn’t leave them much time . . . but, of course, if they were only going to discuss the sixth- and seventh-year curricula, perhaps they could be done in an hour or so. Minerva quickly replied, “Five o’clock would be fine, Professor Dumbledore. I will see you then. Would you like me to come prepared to discuss anything other than the curriculum?” she asked, thinking it Gryffindor of her to raise the subject, even so obliquely, and feeling her hands go numb with anxiety at the same time.

“Just bring along the lesson plans, as we had agreed, and any other books or parchments you may think useful in our discussion.” Albus looked at Minerva, perhaps expecting another question, but when she merely nodded, not quite meeting his eyes, he added, “I look forward to seeing you at five o’clock, then, my dear Professor.”

Minerva didn’t have time to blink, and he was gone, returned to his conversation with Birnbaum and Poppy. As she walked slowly from the Great Hall, then climbed the stairs, she thought absently that she ought to ask Poppy what she and the two wizards had been discussing so intently. She no longer cared very much what they had been talking about, however, as she turned Albus’s last words over in her mind, savouring them. “My dear Professor.” Perhaps she was making too much of it, but she hadn’t ever heard him put those words together in that particular way before, not when speaking with her, not when speaking with anyone, in fact. Certainly, whatever else it meant, it must mean that he had not held her own words against her. How different, she thought as she approached the portrait guarding her door, how very different from the last words he had heard from her mouth that morning in Poppy’s office.


	14. To Train a House-Elf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva tries to teach her house-elf a few new things, then lies down for a nap. As she falls asleep, she remembers one of her first successes in her Animagus training.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Blampa (house-elf), young Minerva, Professor Dumbledore.

**XIV: To Train a House-Elf**

On entering her sitting room, Minerva removed her outer robe and draped it across the back of an armchair. Perversely, she now felt hungry. She went into her tiny kitchen, measured tea leaves into a pot, then filled the kettle with cold water from the tap, waving her wand to bring it up to just a boil. After pouring the hot water over the tea and leaving it to steep, she went to her bedroom, where she was pleased to find that Blampa had not cleaned up. In her bathroom, she found the two plates of biscuits, sitting on the still-hovering tray. Not caring, really, whether the plates had a freshness charm on them or not, she took the plates and their contents back into the sitting room with her.

Discovering she had no milk in her cool cupboard for her tea, Minerva sighed and resigned herself to having to call Blampa again. She wondered if she had been given the most annoying house-elf at Hogwarts and, if so, if it were deliberate.

“Blampa!”

With a loud snick, the little elf appeared. “Yes, Miss Professor Minerva ma’am! May Blampa serve?”

“Yes, Blampa. First, I need some fresh milk for my tea. Then I need you to come back, and I will tell you how else you may serve.”

“Yes, Miss Professor Minerva ma’am!” cried Blampa happily before she whisked away to fetch her Professor her milk.

She returned promptly, and Minerva asked her to please clean the bathroom and take care of the bedroom – but not to touch the sitting room or the kitchen, please.

“Also, Blampa, there is one more thing I’d like you to do for me,” said Minerva seriously.

“Oh, yes, Miss Professor Minerva!!!” Blampa hopped up and down. Minerva thought she might pee in her excitement.

“Well, Blampa, it’s something I would really like you to do, but it’s very difficult . . . .” Minerva trailed off dramatically.

“Oh, Blampa is hard worker, Miss Professor! Blampa try very very hard!”

“Well, I don’t know. It’s so difficult. It may not be fair of me to ask you. It might be too hard for you to do.”

“Oh, but Blampa wants her Miss Professor Minerva to be happy, Miss Professor! Please let Blampa serve!” Blampa now seemed anxious that she would not be asked to perform this difficult task for her Professor.

“Well, Blampa, it would make me very happy . . . .” Minerva could see that Blampa was quivering with house-elf excitement at the prospect of making her Professor happy. “But . . . .” Minerva paused dramatically, shaking her head. “No, I just don’t think it would be fair of me to ask this of you, please forgive me, Blampa.” Minerva tried to maintain her attitude of utter dejection, which wasn’t difficult, given the day she was having.

“Oh, nooo!” wailed Blampa. “Oh, Miss Professor Minerva, Blampa try very very hard to make Miss Professor Minerva happy. Blampa want to serve Miss Professor!”

“Well, if you really think you could try . . . you see, Blampa, when I was growing up, we had house-elves serve our family, too. Oh, and they were very good house-elves, and they all still serve McGonagalls. Yes, they were very good house-elves.” Minerva sighed. She could see that Blampa was quivering with desire to be as good a house-elf as a McGonagall house-elf. “But you’re not a McGonagall house-elf, Blampa. You are a Hogwarts house-elf.” Minerva shook her head again, as if discouraged by the thought.

“But Blampa can be a good house-elf just like Miss Professor wants. Blampa promise!”

“Well, you see, Blampa, that’s just it . . . well, it’s not everything, but, well, you see, what you just said, ‘Blampa promise,’ you can’t make a promise that way, Blampa. No, if someone promises, even a house-elf, they have to say ‘I promise,’ or, well, I just can’t believe them.”

“Well, Blampa try hard.” She looked very confused by Minerva’s last speech. “Blampa say for Miss Professor, Blampa, I, promise.”

“Well . . .” Minerva looked dubious. “I don’t suppose you could say, ‘I, Blampa, promise,’ can you?”

“Ah, very easy, Miss Professor! I, Blampa, promise Blampa try hard.” Blampa looked pleased with herself.

“That’s not bad, Blampa, but shouldn’t you say ‘I, Blampa, promise I try hard’?” suggested Minerva.

Blampa blinked a few times, then said, “I, Blampa, promise I, Blampa, try hard.” Good enough, thought Minerva.

“Now Blampa promised Miss Professor,” said the house-elf, “how can Blampa serve Miss Professor and try hard?”

“Blampa, all of the McGonagall house-elves use the word ‘I’ as you just did when you made your promise to me. It would make me very, very happy if you would also use the word ‘I’ and stop always calling yourself ‘Blampa’ every time you speak of yourself to me. You may continue to do so with others, but it would make me so happy if you would just say ‘I’ instead of ‘Blampa.’ I will think you are a very good house-elf, then, and find more ways for you to serve me. Wouldn’t you like to do more for me?”

“Yes, Miss Professor.” Blampa looked stunned and as though she didn’t know what to say if she couldn’t refer to herself in the third person anymore.

“Well, that’s good! You know, you can also find ways to say things without referring to yourself at all. For example, you could say to me, ‘Does Professor McGonagall require anything?’ Do you see, Blampa?”

Blampa nodded, ears flapping, but still struggling for words.

“And Blampa, if you could address me as ‘Professor McGonagall,’ or at least ‘Professor Minerva,’ I would be very pleased. I don’t like being called ‘Miss Professor,’ although I’m sure other teachers probably don’t mind it.”

“Yes, Mi- Professor Minerva, ma’am. I, Blampa, try hard to make Professor Minerva happy. I, Blampa, try very hard.”

Minerva bit her tongue in an effort to keep from laughing. She supposed that “I, Blampa” could be seen as a step in the right direction.

“One more thing, Blampa, then you may go. If you ever don’t understand my instructions, or if you think they don’t make any sense, you must ask me to explain what I mean. I was unhappy when you didn’t clean my rooms for three days that time, but it was my fault because I’d told you not to come back until I called you. If I ever say anything like that again, I would be very happy if you would ask me to explain what I meant. You have a brain, Blampa. I can tell you are a very clever house-elf,” well, actually, Minerva wasn’t sure about that, “and if you use your brain, and are very clever, you can be an even better house-elf for me. That’s all for now, Blampa. Please resume your normal duties.”

After a curtsy, and opening and closing her mouth a few times without saying anything, Blampa popped away.

Minerva sighed and cast a Warming Charm on her teapot. The tea wouldn’t taste as good, but she was glad that she had finally spoken with Blampa. She didn’t know if house-elves could change the way they spoke after so many years of service, and perhaps she would cause Blampa some trouble, if she started using the word “I” in front of the wrong people, or elves, but she assumed that Blampa must have some sort of house-elf-self-preservation instinct that would kick in and keep her from appearing too uppity, except when she was with Minerva.

Minerva drank her tea and ate a shortbread. The shortbread seemed dry and rather tasteless to her, so she picked up a ginger newt and chewed on that, concentrating on the crunchy softness and the warm, sweet, spicy flavour. Perhaps it was a happy taste, she thought, as she finished the last ginger newt.

“Blampa!” Time to reinforce her training, thought Minerva, as Blampa popped back in. This was the most that Minerva had called her in one day since she’d arrived in December and been assigned the rumpled little elf.

“May Blampa serve Professor Minerva?” Well, not a bad try.

“Yes, please, Blampa. I have found the ginger newts you brought me this morning to be very tasty. Whenever you bring me any biscuits, please always include ginger newts with them, if possible.”

“Oh, yes, Professor Minerva! I, Blampa, be sure ginger newts be possible for Professor Minerva!”

“Thank you, Blampa. Now the most important thing I am asking of you is this: I have an appointment this afternoon with the Headmaster at five o’clock. Can you tell time, Blampa?” Minerva was never sure how the house-elves knew when it was time for dinner, or breakfast, or whatever.

“Yes, Mi- Professor Minerva. I, Blampa, knows time. I, Blampa, knows when it is five o’clock.”

“Good, Blampa. So you will know when it is four-thirty?” Minerva asked.

“Yes, Professor Minerva.”

“I am going to take a nap this afternoon, Blampa. I am very tired, but I do not want to sleep too long and miss my appointment with the Headmaster. I need you to make sure that I am awake at four-thirty and that I get up from my nap to get ready for my appointment. Do you understand?” Minerva always felt the Hogwarts house-elves were somewhat dim compared to those she’d grown up around.

“Of course, Professor Minerva; I, Blampa, wakes Professor Minerva for her appointment. Professor Minerva not to worry. Professor Minerva take happy nap with happy blanket and not worry!”

“Thank you, Blampa. That will be all for now.”

Minerva possessed an alarm clock, of course, or she could cast a _Tempus_ Charm to alert her, but she thought it best to actually be awoken by something sentient so that she wouldn’t oversleep. Lengthy afternoon naps were sometimes difficult for Minerva to wake from, unless she napped in her Animagus form, but sleeping in her Animagus form always left her feeling somewhat disoriented after she Transfigured back.

Minerva entered her bedroom, cast a _Tempus_ Charm for four thirty-five, as insurance, then undressed down to her knickers and chemise, carefully draping her mossy-coloured robe across her bench, and laying her stockings next to it. She stepped over to the bed and reached out hesitantly to touch the afghan that Albus had given her. Blampa’s reference to a happy nap in a happy blanket made her think of Albus’s gift. She picked it up and held it to her, resting her cheek against its soft weave. Struggling with what to do next, she closed her eyes. She should just push the bedclothes aside, get into bed, pull up the sheet, and take her nap, she thought. She stroked the soft wool blanket gently, then replaced it on the bed and looked at it a moment, considering.

Minerva picked up her wand from her dressing table and cast a Cooling Charm on the room. She removed her chemise and knickers, setting them on top of her stockings. Naked now, she stood still a moment. Still not cool enough, although her nipples had tightened with the lowered temperature. Minerva cast another Cooling Charm, then one more for good measure. Now she shivered. Reaching for the afghan, it occurred to her that, after this morning, she surely should not be doing this. It would only serve to torment her further. But this was surely a happy blanket, even if she weren’t a happy witch. Perhaps it would do no harm . . . .

Minerva wrapped the afghan around her and, as she had so many times during that cold winter, invoked, “Warm me.” Minerva lay down, cocooned in the large afghan. The warmth of the charm didn’t rush over her, but gently and slowly flowed and spread, until she felt as though she were enveloped in it. Closing her eyes, Minerva remembered that fateful evening, all those years ago in the Transfiguration class when she first found _It_ within her. She had never named It, though she well knew Its true nature, and name. At the time, she had thought that It had overtaken her suddenly, and certainly, It came into her awareness with an unexpected and surprising rush of feeling. She had believed that perhaps It had actually been caused somehow by her magical accident and that It was a mere artifact of that accident, not real except for the torment it caused her.

But then she came to realise that It _was_ real. The accident didn’t cause It to suddenly pop into being, out of nowhere. The “circumstances” of her accident, as she called them – the openness of her senses and her magic following her meditative exercises, combined with regaining consciousness in Albus’s arms, feeling him caress her face, smelling his scent, hearing his heartbeat, sensing his magic – only served to ignite what was already a small spark within her. And if she were being honest with herself all these years later, she knew that it would have only been a matter of time before that spark grew to a flame. She had loved him, she admitted to herself, since she was thirteen years old. He was easy to love, and had times been different, her love of him would have remained the love of a child for her teacher, maturing into the affection of an adult for a favourite former mentor.

But times weren’t different, and the tenor of their tutorials was affected by the events of the time. How could she not feel admiration for him, knowing what he did for the good of the wizarding and Muggle worlds – and for Hogwarts? And how could she not see him as a human being, a _man_ , when she knew what he went through for the sake of others and how it affected him, and then admire him for it all the more now that he was a human being, rather than a seemingly-omnipotent adult. He was human, touched by the evil of the world, and yet still he continued to spend himself for others. Minerva’s care, concern, and admiration for her professor had entwined with her childish love of him, creating a steady, trusting, generous, mature love long before that evening in the Transfiguration classroom.

But what happened in that classroom – Minerva shivered despite the warmth of the blanket – that ought not have happened that way. It should have come as a slow, steadily increasing awareness, one that she could steer and overcome, one that might fade after she had left Hogwarts. She had been feeling slight rushes of awareness of Albus, as a man, before that fateful evening, to be sure. But those small sparks had glowed and faded and reappeared for months, leaving little trace and no pain, not even wistfulness. 

Toward the end of her fifth year, Minerva had found herself wondering idly one day why he didn’t seem to have a wife or – and she had blushed darkly at the word – a lover. He hadn’t been at the school his whole life, she reasoned. Surely he had had some kind of private life before he started teaching. But she didn’t contemplate it long, concluding that he was probably far too busy to be in a relationship of that sort. Shortly after that, however, she decided it was a pity he didn’t have a lady friend, as her mother would say, since he seemed so weary lately, and he didn’t have anyone to come home to after his mysterious, exhausting trips – not unless you counted Wilspy, and even at a rather-sheltered-sixteen years old, Minerva knew perfectly well that a house-elf could not provide what he needed. After their dinner “chez Albus,” when he had appeared depleted and sad, she had considered that perhaps she could help him and provide him some support. Minerva avoided thinking about any implication that she might be taking the role she believed a “lady friend” should have, and she blushed inwardly whenever that thought crept near.

Without doubt, thought Minerva, there was also the occasion on which he had Apparated her from her parents’ home to Hogwarts. She had stepped, unthinking and trusting, into his embrace, later telling herself that it was not an embrace at all, but cherishing it as one, just the same. She would lie in bed at night, thinking of her project, her schoolwork, or one of her friends’ latest predicaments, and then, just as she was about to drift off to sleep, she would remember him holding her and easing her Apparition. Again she would feel the warmth of his arm around her, again, the caress of his silk robes against her cheek, the pulse of his heart, the vibration of his magic, and the soft whisper of his breath on her face. Sometimes, the memory would force her awake, and she would steer her thoughts in other directions until her blush faded and her eyes grew heavy. Other rarer times, she would allow herself to sink into the tactile memory of it until she felt as though she was falling asleep in his arms.

Minerva pulled the afghan closer around her and wished she’d cast one more Cooling Charm on the room. Lying wrapped in the soft blanket like this was as close as she could come to lying in the embrace of its giver. She felt ashamed, then, and pathetic. To need it so much that she would seek out this paltry substitute was pitiable. Her shame was that he could not possibly have any idea of how she was using his gift, and how little he would think of her, if he did – certainly to wrap herself in it for warmth on a chilly winter night was acceptable, but to use it this way, to pretend that she was lying in his arms, surrounded by his embrace and his magic . . . she scorned herself for her need, but capitulated to it, nonetheless.

As Minerva lay there, drowsy from the warmth of the blanket and from the emotional exhaustion of the day, she remembered another early occasion that ought to have warned her that It was coming. It was a Saturday morning, she remembered clearly, just a few days before her magical accident, and Professor Dumbledore had told her recently that he wouldn’t be making any more trips for a while. The wards here were going to occupy him for a time, and there was little more he could do on the Continent at the moment. Apparently, many of his trips had been spent not only in searching for Grindelwald and spying on the Dark wizard’s followers, but also in trying to rescue captives held by Grindelwald in various miserable places, as well as attempting to rescue Muggles attempting to escape from Germany and Nazi-occupied Europe. Occasionally, the two missions would merge since, in certain communities in Europe, Muggle-magic marriages were much more common than in England. Although Minerva was glad that her professor would not be going on anymore dangerous trips for a while, she felt guilty being happy about it since it meant that there was no more hope of him helping any additional wizards or Muggles who were trying to escape. Minerva didn’t even want to ask if it meant that they were all dead already. It certainly seemed possible, after all she had read of the war.

There was a Quidditch game that afternoon, Ravenclaw-Slytherin, so although Gryffindor wasn’t playing, the common room was buzzing with excitement. There was a great debate about whether it was more to Gryffindor’s advantage if Ravenclaw won or Slytherin, and Minerva had had to intervene several times to keep people from jinxing each other in an attempt to emphasise the correctness of their positions. Finally, Minerva gave up, saying that if they wanted to jinx each other and end up in the hospital wing instead of going to the match that afternoon, that was fine with her. Hoping that would provide them incentive to keep their wands to themselves, she had flounced out of the portrait-hole with her book-bag and headed off to the Transfiguration classroom.

Professor Dumbledore was there when she arrived, which pleased her greatly, although she was a little worried that he’d be too busy to let her use the classroom that morning. Instead, he suggested that they work on some of her Animagus exercises. In addition to the type that she had worked on over the summer, which were essentially a series of progressive exercises that helped focus the mind, the magic, or the physical energies of the practitioner – sometimes all three at once, although she hadn’t advanced to those yet – there were other exercises in which the practitioner focussed her mind on a particular quality of a particular animal and then used her wand to cast a transformative spell on one of her body parts, usually a hand or foot. It was a difficult spell since it was completely nonverbal, with no incantation even possible, and it required the caster to concentrate fully on both the essence of the particular animal and on the sensation of the body part in question.

Minerva had tried this twice before, in Dumbledore’s presence, and had rather lacklustre results, she thought. The first time, she had focussed on her left hand and on the quality of a squirrel’s fur since that seemed simple to her and had managed only a smattering of silvery-grey hairs on the back of her hand. The second time, on the same occasion, she had removed her left shoe and sock, crossed her ankle somewhat indelicately over her right knee, and concentrated on a raven’s claw. Those results, although Dumbledore had said they were positive, were even more disastrous, to Minerva’s mind. Instead of either turning into a raven’s claw, which would have been a perfect result, or at least changing her foot black or something normal like that, three of her toes had sprouted extremely long, sharp toenails, which she was unable to get rid of, even after concentrating on what her foot should feel like. Professor Dumbledore had had to cast a spell to force her toenails to resume their normal shape and size.

So this Saturday morning, she sat in a chair in Professor Dumbledore’s office, cleared her mind, and focussed on her hand, then added to that the essence of a dog’s paw, imagining vividly the forepaw of a border collie. She opened her eyes, raised her wand, and cast. To her immense disappointment, only a patch of inky black fur had appeared on the back of her hand and down the length of her fingers.

Impatiently, she waited for Professor Dumbledore to examine her hand, turning it this way and that, stroking the fur the wrong way, then peering at its roots, before she could wave her wand and reverse the spell.

“Well, at least this time I could reverse it,” she said ruefully.

He looked at her thoughtfully. “Explain to me exactly what you were concentrating on before you cast.”

Minerva told him, in as much detail as she could manage, her entire thought process prior to casting. She watched him as he walked in a slow circle, looking at apparently nothing. Suddenly, he turned and said, “Cast it on my hand, instead.”

“But how?” she protested. “The spell requires me to focus not just on the dog’s paw, but on my hand, the way it feels, its bone, muscle, skin, blood, and so on. How am I supposed to cast it on you?”

“It will require a variation on your focus, of course, but that should be a relatively simple matter. Your ability to focus your magic in empathy with other living creatures is excellent, Minerva. The exercises you have been practising since the beginning of the summer have made that part easy for you, wouldn’t you say?”

“I suppose. I guess that’s why this is so frustrating. Using an ordinary Transfigurative spell, I can change my hand into a dog’s paw and back again with no problem. And I did that last week – repeatedly, as you know. But I can’t force my hand to transform itself into a dog’s paw. I don’t know why.” Minerva sighed.

“That’s why I would like you to perform the spell on my hand, first. We know it is not that you don’t know what your hand feels like when it is a dog’s paw since, as you pointed out, you’ve performed an ordinary Transfiguration on it. Clearly, you are also achieving some kind of internal magical effect that drew forth the fur just now, and which we could no doubt diagnose in detail, if we were so inclined, but I don’t believe that such a diagnosis would aid you at this point.”

“But, Professor, your hand isn’t my hand. I can’t use an Animagus spell to Transfigure it!” Minerva, in all her reading, had never heard of anything like that being done.

“Ah, Minerva, but you can! I would perform it on you – and will, later, if you wish – but since you are trying to learn to cast, I would prefer you give it a try first.”

“I have no idea how,” Minerva said, feeling slightly stubborn about it, mainly because she still didn’t know what her professor was getting at.

“As I said, your strength at the moment is your magical empathy. Although it may complicate things a bit to focus both on the dog’s paw and on my hand, I believe that you will be able to. Once you have my hand fixed clearly, cast the dog’s paw. Do not hesitate; the essence of the dog’s paw is at your ready disposal, Minerva. Have faith that you do not need to linger over it. Simply cast.” He held out his right hand to her.

“Um, Professor, I’m not sure this is a good idea.” Albus raised an eyebrow at her, but she continued. “I don’t mean the idea as such, I meant casting it on your wand hand. I know you can use your wand with your left, but I would really prefer not . . . messing with your wand hand, if you know what I mean.”

Dumbledore smiled and dutifully stretched out his left hand to her. She looked at it and hesitated. 

“Go ahead, Minerva, feel free! My hand is yours at the moment,” he said, grinning.

She returned his smile and took his hand in her own two smaller ones. She pushed back the cuff of his robe so that she could see the fine, well-proportioned wrist bones. She rested the palm of his hand in her left one whilst examining it with her right, running the tips of her fingers from his wrist across the back of his hand and down his long fingers. She held his hand closer to her face, seeing all the small, dry lines that mapped the back of his hand, and the short, fine hairs; then Minerva examined his clean, neatly trimmed fingernails, running a finger along those, as well. She could feel a warm, deep vibration coming from him that was clearly not physical, and she felt wonderment that his magic expressed itself so strongly when he was simply at rest in a chair. His hand still cradled in her left one, she moved her examination to his thumb, taking it in her right hand, scrutinizing it, pressing it in toward his hand, then extending it, then letting it lay at rest. She was just about to turn his hand over to examine the palm when, without thinking, she lightly stroked her index finger down the length of his thumb, wondering whether he had sucked it as a child and whether it would help her exploration if she were to raise it to her own mouth . . . . That thought, which not long ago she would have dismissed as pure silliness, created the strangest reaction in her as a warm tingle began low in her abdomen. Shaking herself mentally, she forced herself to return to her focus, and the tingle, ignored, subsided as Minerva turned his hand over and explored his palm minutely. Again, a strange, unbidden thought passed through her mind: how pleasant it would be to sit and hold his hand, stroke his palm, and caress the sensitive tips of his fingers, not because of a Transfiguration exercise, but just because it was his hand and it felt nice. At that distracting thought, Minerva closed her eyes and forced her mind and her magic back to their proper focus.

Eyes shut, she held his left hand between her two palms for what seemed an eternity as she tried to absorb its nature. When she opened her eyes, she said, “Ready?” He simply smiled slightly and nodded, so she released his hand, picked up her wand, and with the knowledge of his hand fixed firmly in her mind, she quickly called up the collie’s paw and cast.

Albus’s hand shivered a moment, like a mirage in the desert, then it slowly seemed to darken and melt. For a brief second, Minerva was alarmed, but she had barely registered her own sense of panic when before her lay a perfect example of a border collie’s paw. True, it was larger than usual since it seemed that it had taken on the size of Albus’s hand, but it was perfect. Almost tossing her wand down on the desk, she reached over and grabbed Albus’s hand, or paw.

Feeling that suddenly snatching up her professor’s hand was rude, Minerva apologised. “Oh, I’m sorry, sir! I wasn’t thinking – may I? Does it hurt? What does it feel like? Did it hurt when it changed?”

“Of course you may, and no, it doesn’t hurt. It feels much as I remember a dog’s paw feeling the last time I did such an exercise. No, the Transfiguration didn’t hurt, precisely, although it was more uncomfortable than when one casts the spell on oneself. And may I take this opportunity to say, ‘Well done, Miss McGonagall’?”

Minerva was thrilled. It was a long way from her Animagus transformation, and she had yet to be able to perform the spell on herself, but it was a major success. Dumbledore called Wilspy and had her bring a pitcher of pumpkin juice and a plate of shortbread to celebrate.

As she munched on her biscuit, Minerva thought of something. “Professor, I was wondering a few things.”

“That comes as such a surprise, Miss McGonagall! I didn’t think you had a curious bone in your body!” he teased.

Minerva just smiled, shook her head at him indulgently, and continued with her questions. “Well, first, why don’t they mention this technique in any of the books I’ve read – even in yours? Second, if I can change your hand into a paw, and I can, eventually, turn my hand into a paw, why can’t I change my hand into your hand, and then just, well, turn myself into you? No Polyjuice needed!”

“Ah, Minerva, I believe that you will find part of the answer to your first question there in your final statement. I do believe that attempting to Transfigure oneself into the likeness of another human being might be possible – it would certainly be possible to Transfigure certain aspects, such as the hand – but such a Transfiguration might have unwanted side effects, upon which one may only speculate. But even were there no side effects, the practical consequences of being able to Transfigure oneself into the likeness of another human being without the use of Polyjuice could be quite negative. Also, remember that whomever you wished to Transfigure yourself into would have to be someone whom you knew intimately. It is one thing to Transfigure a hand, or even a face, but to Transfigure an entire body – well, it seems unlikely that anyone would wish to Transfigure themselves into someone they know that well by happenstance and more unlikely still that someone who they didn’t know well would allow them to gain familiarity sufficient to enable such a Transfiguration. Not to mention that most practitioners . . . .”

Dumbledore went on, discussing the practical, ethical, and magical implications of human-to-human internal Transfiguration, and the differences between an Animagus and a Metamorphmagus, and how both were different still from the kind of Transfiguration they were discussing, but Minerva’s mind had already stopped at his words, “whomever you wished to Transfigure yourself into would have to be someone whom you knew intimately. It is one thing to Transfigure a hand, or even a face, but to Transfigure an entire body . . . .” She thought of her minute exploration of her professor’s hand – a hand that she already knew well after more than four years studying with him. Minerva halted herself from pursuing that thought any further, that thought which questioned: what kind of “intimate knowledge” would she need to acquire in order to know the rest of his body that well? She turned her attention back to what Professor Dumbledore was saying just in time to hear the words, “Dark Magic.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t think I caught what you just said, what was that about Dark Magic?”

“Just that some people would classify what you just did as Dark, although it is not officially labelled so.”

“I’m afraid my mind wandered a bit, why do people think it’s Dark? I mean, anyone from about a third-year up can cast a spell that will Transfigure someone’s hand into a paw of some kind.”

“I see that the excitement of success has distracted you, my dear. As I said a moment ago, it is not the effect of the Transfiguration,” Albus scratched the fur on the back of his paw, “it is the manner in which it is achieved. You forced an internal or essential Transfiguration upon another person – in a sense, you made my hand your own first, and then forced it to Transfigure itself from the inside out.”

“What? I didn’t feel as though I was forcing anything –” Minerva stammered.

“‘Force’ only in the sense of having my hand, the cells of my body, do something that is against their nature – rather like forcing crocus bulbs indoors. And as for the other sense of the word ‘force,’ you might be able to force such a Transfiguration on a Muggle against his will, but to do it on a conscious, aware wizard would require a great deal more power than you expended in your effort here – although I do notice you ate the last of the shortbread without any trouble!”

“So someone could force such a Transfiguration on someone else against their will only if they used much more magical energy than I did with your hand just now?”

“Yes, so you see that using an ordinary Transfiguration spell is a far easier way to turn your friend’s hand into a paw! Of course, doing that requires an incantation, and to perform it nonverbally would take practice. Speaking of turning a friend’s hand into a paw, do you suppose you could . . . ,” Albus said, gesturing at his paw with his right hand.

“Of course, sir!” Embarrassed that she hadn’t thought of it earlier, especially when he kept scratching his fur, Minerva picked up her wand, concentrated on his hand as a hand, prepared to cast, and then hesitated.

“Minerva?”

“I’m sorry, Professor, it’s just that I’m more nervous about this than I was about performing the Transfiguration in the first place. Supposing I do it wrong?”

“Don’t worry about it, just cast away – rest assured that my hand very much wants to be a hand again and will give you its full cooperation!”

Minerva didn’t even smile at that, but furrowed her brow in concentration and then cast as quickly and forcefully as she could, before she could become nervous again. This time there was a smooth transition as the fur rapidly disappeared, the fingers elongated, the palm widened, and his hand reappeared. 

Albus flexed his fingers and said, “Very good, Minerva.”

“May I see? Is it really all right?”

“Yes, my dear, of course. And it certainly feels fine. In fact, I do believe my fingers feel more limber than usual.” Albus smiled at her.

Minerva took his hand and, in contrast to the painstaking examination she had performed before, simply held it, turned it over, then bent his fingers forward and back again. Letting go, she declared, “Well, at least you don’t seem any the worse for it! Was it as uncomfortable as the initial change?” she asked. “It looked like it went more smoothly.”

“No, it wasn’t; in fact, although such a thing always feels peculiar, particularly when the spell is cast by someone else, I barely noticed anything beyond a kind of odd stretching and rolling sensation. You did very well, indeed. I believe you will have greater success the next time you attempt it on your own hand. However, we have already missed lunch, and will miss the Quidditch game if we do any more at the moment. Perhaps we could meet tomorrow afternoon, just before dinner, and resume.”

Minerva readily agreed to this plan and left to join her friends and troop off to watch a very exciting, rather cut-throat, Quidditch match, which Ravenclaw won by only two points after their Seeker made a mad flight after the Snitch, catching it only seconds before crashing, ironically, into the Slytherin section of the stands. It was a clear win, however, and as unhappy as Slytherin House was at the loss, a couple of burly seventh-years pulled the hapless Seeker out by his ankles from the rather large hole he had created, and he was sent off to the hospital wing to be treated for concussion and who-knew-what-else.

Minerva was aglow from the excitement of the match, her success with the Transfiguration exercise, and the prospect of another tutorial with Professor Dumbledore the next day. After dinner – during which she spent more time than usual just talking with her friends, rehashing the game and debating the necessity of the Ravenclaw Seeker’s dive into the Slytherin stands, and hardly any time worrying about her project, or the wards, or whether she should have volunteered for an additional Prefect Patrol duty that evening – Minerva retired to bed early to reread _Emergent Creature_ again. Minerva was as relaxed that evening as ever she had been, with not a clue that in just a matter of days, her internal peace would be shattered.


	15. A Success

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva has another success in her Animagus training and finds something odd during her Prefect Patrol that night.
> 
> Characters this chapter: young Minerva McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, Carson Murphy.

**XV: A Success**

Minerva returned to the Transfiguration classroom the next afternoon, joining Professor Dumbledore in his office. She was still somewhat giddy from her success the previous day, especially since, after a foray into the library, she had discovered that the bit of magic she’d performed was considered extremely difficult, even with the co-operation of the wizard upon whom the spell was being cast. Minerva felt that if she could accomplish that, she could overcome whatever problem was keeping her from performing the Transfiguration on her own hand.

After a brief discussion of the surprising Ravenclaw win, the two settled down to work.

“Yesterday, I told you that I could cast the same spell on your hand, if you wished, once you had performed it successfully on mine. I think that would be a wise place to begin this afternoon. Although the sensation is somewhat different from that felt when one performs the Transfiguration on one’s own limb, it is still sufficiently different from that felt during an ordinary, external Transfiguration as to be valuable for you, I believe. After we have done that, I will give you my thoughts on why you have been unable to achieve the Transfiguration on your own hand, despite having done so well with mine.”

“Yes, that puzzled me. I went to the library this morning, Professor – I hope you don’t mind my doing a little research outside of the texts you have given me – and learned that what I did yesterday is considered to be much more difficult than the Transfiguration that I have been unable to do on my own hand. I was surprised I could do it at all, in that case.”

“It was unsurprising to me, however, Minerva. As I said yesterday, I believe that you are capable of casting the spell on your own hand; there is simply a slight impediment in your way, which we will attempt to remove this afternoon. So, with your permission?” Dumbledore reached for her hand, which Minerva readily gave him.

“Now, my dear, as I do this, it is most important that you trust me and allow me to perform the Transfiguration. As you noted yourself yesterday, casting this spell on an unwilling witch or wizard would require a great deal of energy. And while I could do that, I do not wish to, for two reasons. The first is that I do not want to do anything to you without your full consent; the second is that, although the Transfiguration might be uncomfortable even with that consent, it would likely be quite painful without it. At the first sense of any resistance from you – conscious or unconscious, my dear – I will stop. If necessary, we can make a few attempts, although, I must repeat, I will not perform this spell on you without your permission. All right, Minerva?” Dumbledore looked at her seriously to see if she had taken in all he had said.

“Of course, Professor. And I will try to relax. I do trust you, you know. So if there is any unconscious resistance, it is simply nervousness about the procedure, not about you.”

“Thank you, and I appreciate that trust. Shall we begin?”

With a nod from Minerva, Dumbledore began his examination of her right hand, proceeding somewhat differently than she had with his the previous day, seeming to rely less on visual inspection. First, he held her hand lightly between his, then, her hand resting, palm-to-palm, lengthwise over his left, his fingertips touching her wrist, he began passing his own right hand over hers, not touching it, merely hovering a few centimetres above it. He then turned her hand palm up, and did the same operation as before. Minerva almost gasped at the sudden sensation. Although he was not even in contact with her palm, she could feel the tingle of his magic against her skin, and, she thought, brushing against her own magic. That was sufficiently startling, but then he began to run the tips of his fingers lightly across her palm and down her fingers and Minerva felt a stronger tingle developing in a much different part of her body. When he began lightly brushing each fingertip in turn, Minerva had to swallow hard to keep from gasping aloud. She could feel her face grow warm, although she wasn’t sure whether it was in embarrassment or from something else. Fortunately, she thought, her professor hadn’t noticed her sudden discomfort. Minerva distracted herself from her unexpected physical reaction by reciting to herself the four modes and eight moods of Transfiguration, which helped some, then distanced herself further by clearing her mind as she had learned to do that summer.

Dumbledore, oblivious to anything but his task, took Minerva’s hand lightly between his once more and closed his eyes. A bare moment later, he looked at her and asked, “Ready?” and Minerva, now relaxed and composed, nodded her consent. The entire examination of her hand had taken just a few minutes – far less time than she had taken on the previous day. Minerva hoped that the Transfiguration wouldn’t be too uncomfortable.

Taking up his wand, Dumbledore prepared to cast, then stopped, and frowned slightly. “You’ll need to relax more, my dear. I can already feel a resistance in your hand. I do not wish to cause you any pain.”

“All right, Professor.” Minerva closed her eyes, cleared her mind, then thought of her trust in her professor. She thought of how he had Apparated her from her home three months before, and the fact that she hadn’t felt the slightest discomfort during or after. Minerva opened her eyes, smiled, and nodded at him.

Dumbledore raised his wand once more; this time, he carried through. Minerva watched in amazement as her hand gradually morphed into a perfect example of an Irish Setter’s front paw. She remembered to note the feeling of the transition. Yes, it was different, somehow, from that experienced during an ordinary Transfiguration. It was slightly uncomfortable, of course, but it seemed to her that, rather than her flesh and bone being moulded from without, it was changing from within.

Minerva took her paw in her left hand and ran it over the fur, then turned it over to look at the pads, and the short, tough claws. “Wow.”

“Miss McGonagall, has the transformation affected your ability for human speech?” Albus teased.

“Oh, no, sir! I just, well, it was just . . . .” Minerva was at a loss for words. She stroked the soft reddish fur on the back of her paw, gazing at it admiringly.

Albus grinned at her. “So,” he said, “would you like to keep it for a while? It might interfere with your wand-use, of course. But I’m sure your teachers would understand the innate attraction of possessing such a lovely appendage!”

Minerva laughed. “Oh, that’s perfectly all right, Professor! I think that I prefer my hand, actually.” She stretched out her paw to him, and, with a quick wave of his wand, the paw transformed itself back into her hand. He had been right the previous day, she thought, it did feel strange, but natural, at the same time.

“So, you said you would tell me where I’m going wrong now, Professor.”

“I believe that you are very fond of your hand, my dear,” he explained with a grin, “and have simply been too attached to its ordinary form. Your hand senses your reluctance, one might say, and does not co-operate fully. When you cast, I believe you are concentrating too much on its actual nature, and not allowing the potential paw to be expressed. You need to let go of your hand a bit, if you see what I mean, Minerva.”

“Yes! Yes, I think I do. May I try it again, now?” Minerva was anxious to try it immediately.

“I think that would be wise; in fact,” Dumbledore replied with a smile. “In fact, I would like you to cast it as quickly as possible, without hesitating.”

“All right, then,” Minerva said, taking up her wand. She pointed it at her left hand, felt that it was her left hand, then called up the border collie paw in her mind, and cast rapidly. She almost danced with delight as she saw her hand smoothly transform itself into a perfect paw. She held it out to her professor. “Look at that, Professor! Just look!” As her professor took her paw in his hand, she couldn’t resist, in her happiness, throwing her right arm about him and giving him a quick hug before stepping back, blushing only slightly. “I’m sorry, Professor! I just can’t believe I did it! I actually Transfigured my hand from within! Wow!”

Albus grinned at her broadly. “No need for apologies, Miss McGonagall. Very well done! I believe you have proven yourself a better-than-competent student!”

Minerva laughed at that, remembering their conversation the previous June. “And congratulations to you, as well, Professor! Perhaps we are both better-than-competent!”

After Albus had examined her paw carefully, Minerva picked up her wand and transformed her paw back into a hand. Then, after just a moment’s hesitation, she transformed it back into a paw, then again into her hand. “Sorry, Professor, I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, and that I could do it again.”

“I do believe that you could do it repeatedly, Minerva, and with great ease. I would prefer you not, however.” At Minerva’s incredulous expression, he explained, “We do not yet know your Animagus form. Until we have some indication of what it will be, it is best not to practice this particular exercise, or it could confuse your later transformation. It is one of the errors that witches and wizards often make when they attempt to achieve an Animagus form without the benefit of instruction, and one reason that many turn up in St. Mungo’s. Once we have an indication of what sort of animal-form you will take, you can take up a variant of this exercise. Until then, rest assured in the knowledge that you are able to do it. All right, Minerva?”

“Of course, Professor.” That made sense to Minerva.

“Now, I do believe it is dinner time. And although we could go to the Great Hall, perhaps you might prefer to celebrate with your old teacher?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes, sir, I would like that,” Minerva replied with a smile. Other than the occasional sandwich or plate of biscuits, they hadn’t shared a meal together since she had eaten breakfast with him in his study at the end of August.

The two went into the Transfiguration classroom, and Albus arranged the furniture much as he had the evening of their dinner “chez Albus.” This time, Minerva didn’t hesitate to use his little washroom. When she returned, Albus told her that Wilspy would be bringing dinner in a few minutes. They sat and chatted about her recent Prefect Patrols – she was sure that Riddle boy was up to something, as she had caught him out past curfew twice in the last week – until their dinners popped onto the table in front of them. This time, it was chicken with rosemary roast potatoes and carrots, creamed spinach, and pumpkin juice, with chocolate ice cream for pudding. “I would have requested a bottle of wine, Minerva, as you are of age, but in the event that someone should require my services and drop in on us, it would probably be better that it not appear that I am getting one of my students drunk!” He said it with a smile, but Minerva was made aware once more of the unusualness of their teacher-student relationship.

In class, he treated her the same as he did all of his students, which, given his kind and encouraging manner, was hardly distant. But when in private, he often called her Minerva, and seemed to call her “Miss McGonagall” only when he was stressing a particular point, or when he was teasing her slightly, generally preferring the familiarity of her given name. Although no doubt he had heard her friends calling her “Min,” he never called her that himself – for which she was thankful. She liked her first name, and as she had become older, had tried to impress upon her classmates that she would appreciate if they would use it.

Professor Dumbledore had always treated her ideas with respect, and had guided her and encouraged her to stretch herself and go beyond the mere requirements of her courses. When she was frustrated, whether with one of her projects with him, one of her classes, or with some aspect of her prefect duties, Professor Dumbledore had always listened, and, when appropriate, would make suggestions of things she might do or, by asking her questions, help her find a course of action for herself. She had no doubt that she could confide in him about anything, and that he would listen to her seriously, but she didn’t do so. She felt that he was already helping her so much and that he already carried too many burdens for her to present him with any of her own.

Minerva knew, too, that there were things he could have shared with her, but that he had elected to protect her from. It was only through small hints and indications that she had divined that he had been rescuing Grindelwald’s victims, and she remembered clearly that night the previous school year when he had returned, depleted, from some skirmish, yet had attempted to grade essays as though nothing were wrong. He could have, Minerva reflected, told her what curses had hit him, but he hadn’t, just as he hadn’t told her what he had seen that had left him so affected. No, Minerva was not going to ask any more of him than she already was receiving. As it was, she felt he was closer to her than most of her Hogwarts’ friends. Perhaps closer than any of them, actually. He certainly seemed to understand her better, and he wasn’t constantly trying to cajole her into being a different sort of Minerva than she was, as so many of her school friends did, without meaning to. Yes, she thought, she was very lucky that Professor Dumbledore had come to teach Transfiguration. She was sure she would not have accomplished so much by now if it weren’t for him.

“Professor?” she said as they were finishing desert and he was pouring them more chamomile tea.

“Yes, my dear?”

“I hope you know how much I appreciate all you have done for me. I don’t know how I will ever be able to thank you properly, or sufficiently, for all you’ve taught me . . . and for everything else, too. I hope that I have not been a burden to you.”

“A burden! Heavens, no, Minerva! Please, never say such a thing again – don’t even think it! If I were to say the pleasure has been all mine, it would not be far from the mark, I think. It is very rewarding to teach such an adept student, Minerva, but beyond that, I have enjoyed your company and there have been times when your friendly face has, well, helped me to return to myself, shall we say. I do not believe I would be exaggerating if I were to say that I have benefited from our acquaintance as well, and in unexpected ways. I have, indeed, feared that it was I who was burdening you, my dear, for you are so young, and yet have taken on so much.”

Minerva reddened at his praise and said, “Well, just so that you know that I do appreciate it and don’t take all you’ve done for granted. And I am glad to know that I have been a little bit of a help to you. You mustn’t worry, Professor, that I have taken on too much – I know you wouldn’t let me, for one – and you yourself could never be a burden.” With that final speech, Minerva decided she’d been effusive enough for one evening, and she changed the subject to her Animagus training.

“You said that we need to obtain some notion of what my Animagus form will be,” Minerva said, now quite confident in her use of the word, “will.” “What should my next steps be, then?” She was sure it would involve some kind of meditations, but she wasn’t sure whether they would involve any new exercises or not.

“Ah, yes, your form.” Albus took off his glasses for a moment and looked off into the distance at nothing. “Yes, continue with the meditative exercises that you have been doing, but concentrate on the ones that examine the nature of your mind’s expression and those that focus on the contours of your magic. You may begin performing the combined mind-magic meditations on your own, as well, if you feel confident of them; just be sure you do them when you are well-rested and haven’t overly exerted yourself on other magic-work during the day. Probably best not to do them on the days when you have Charms, Defence, or Transfiguration, unless I am present to monitor you.”

“All right, Professor! I’ll begin doing those exercises immediately” – then, catching his expression – “or tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep. Oh, I have Transfiguration and Defence tomorrow! I guess I’ll have to wait until Wednesday. I only have Potions, Arithmancy, Herbology, and Ancient Runes that day.” Minerva sighed in frustration.

“Wednesday will be soon enough, Minerva. Now, I do believe that you have Prefect Patrol this evening and I have fourth-year essays to read. It is time for us to leave ‘chez Albus’ and return to Hogwarts, my dear,” he said with a smile.

Minerva left then, with another, briefer, thank-you and a good-night to her professor, and performed her rounds. Twice as she patrolled the second floor, she got a prickly sensation that someone else was there, watching her. But even after casting a strong Lumos and opening several doors along the wide corridor, she could find no one, although one of the taps in the girls’ bathroom was dripping. Perhaps that was it, she reasoned. In the quiet, the dripping had likely echoed, creating the illusion in her mind that there was someone nearby. She quickly closed the tap firmly, satisfied with her conclusion, and made her way on to the third floor, where she routed two couples necking in the shadows of separate cases in the Trophy Room. Shaking her head in disgust after sending them off to their respective dormitories and telling them they would appear on her report to the Deputy Headmaster, she continued her patrol, where she met up on the fourth floor with Carson Murphy, a Ravenclaw prefect, and completed her rounds with him.

Carson was a decent fellow, she thought, and a good companion on rounds. She had noticed that he always waited to sign up for patrol until she had done so and, it seemed, always tried to arrange to patrol on the same shifts as she. She wasn’t sure exactly how she felt about that, but he was good looking, with a lanky build and deep auburn-red hair, rather than the carroty colour of his younger brother’s. He was also the Ravenclaw Seeker who had so precipitously crashed into the Slytherin stands just the day before, so she had to tease him and ask if he was sure he’d been Sorted correctly, as he had seemed so eager to join the Slytherins! After that had got a chuckle from him, she went on to tease that it had been a manoeuver worthy of a Gryffindor – bold, but a bit ill-conceived – and he laughed out loud at that, saying that at least there was one Gryffindor with enough common-sense to realise that some moves, no matter how daring, weren’t very bright. Then he grinned sheepishly and told her that, as pleased as his House was with their victory over Slytherin, he had been teased “for a Gryffy” since he had been released from the hospital wing that morning.

They finished their rounds together, and Carson walked her back to Gryffindor Tower. After she’d climbed through the portrait-hole, she wondered whether she should have mentioned the peculiar feeling she’d had when she’d patrolled the second floor, then dismissed the idea. It had only been a drippy tap, after all.


	16. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Albus each prepare for their meeting, each with different expectations.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Blampa, Albus Dumbledore, Poppy Pomfrey.

**XVI: Preparations**

Minerva became aware of a squeaky voice telling her, “It’s time to get up, Professor Minerva! Wakie, wakie! Time for Professor Minerva to get up! Professor Minerva has an appointment!”

Minerva moaned and rolled over. It wasn’t a particularly annoying wizarding alarm clock, she realised, but Blampa, who had arrived at four-thirty on the dot to wake her. Yawning, she said, “All right, Blampa! I’m awake. Thank you very much. Please bring me a cup of coffee, lots of cream.”

Rolling over and swinging her legs off the bed, she threw off the afghan and looked blearily around the room. She hadn’t even been aware of falling asleep. The last thing she remembered was thinking of the way that Albus had Apparated with her to Hogwarts all those years ago. Her emotions of the morning seemed to have dissipated some as she had napped. Now, she felt only slightly muzzy-headed. She still felt regret – and shame – at the words Albus had overheard her use that morning, and she still feared that she had done irreparable harm to their friendship, such as it was, but Minerva no longer felt the agonising pain and grief that had overtaken her that morning. A bite to eat and a nap seemed to have restored her to some semblance of sanity, she thought. Perhaps she would be able to make it through the meeting after all.

Minerva dismissed the _Tempus_ alarm just as Blampa was popping back with a cup of coffee, two ginger newts beside it on the saucer. Was the house-elf going to bring her ginger newts every time she brought her something to eat or drink? Thanking the house-elf and dismissing her, Minerva got up and sipped some of the coffee. She rarely drank coffee, particularly in the afternoon, but long afternoon naps tended to leave her groggy. She dressed in the clothing she had taken off a few hours before, thinking it foolish to change one’s clothes three times in one day. Her hair, which had come undone as she slept, despite the Charmed hair pins, needed brushing out and rearranging, which she did, keeping it in the French twist.

Finishing her coffee and concentrating on dressing, Minerva deliberately avoided thinking of anything but the task at hand. After a quick visit to the loo, Minerva left her quarters and walked over to her office, where she retrieved the parchments she had left there earlier in the day, before she had gone to find Poppy in the infirmary. She supposed she should have taken a few minutes to go over them before this afternoon’s meeting, but she didn’t want to be late. If she were, it might look as though she were doing so deliberately, and Minerva didn’t want Albus to think that she was so childish – nor for him to think that she was still angry with him about the cancelled meeting. Poppy had been right, Minerva knew: her distress hadn’t been about gaining his respect, nor about any apparent slight she may have experienced that morning. It went to a frustration deeper than she could spare the time or emotion to think about just then.

As Minerva walked to the Headmaster’s office, she wondered what she should say to him when she saw him. It would only be right to apologise. She didn’t want to ask his forgiveness, although she desperately wanted it; that seemed too much to ask. He would forgive her, she knew, but perhaps he wouldn’t be _ready_ to do so yet. Lord knew that if she had overheard him saying anything like that about her . . . with that thought, the enormity of what she had said, and of what her words may have done, came back again and hit her like a Bludger in the chest.

Minerva paused, resting her hand on the corridor wall. She had to pull herself together. She couldn’t afford to go back over those words again, nor try to imagine what it would have been like had she been the one to overhear him saying them. She smiled thinly at that thought as she resumed her trip to his office. Albus Dumbledore never would have been overheard saying something of that sort because he never would have presented anyone with such an opportunity. He simply would never have uttered words even remotely similar to hers. And Minerva was certain he would never have even expressed a similar sentiment about her.

Minerva cast a quick _Tempus_ as she approached the gargoyle. Two minutes before five o’clock. “Pixie sticks,” Minerva ventured. Without the slightest hesitation, the gargoyle opened the door to her. As she rode up the stairs, she became determined that she should apologise immediately. It was only right. She didn’t think she could proceed with the meeting if she didn’t tell him how sorry she was.

* * *

Albus spent the afternoon preparing for his meeting with Minerva, both mentally and otherwise. He believed it would be best if they held off on any discussion of what had occurred that morning until after they had discussed the curriculum, he reasoned. Best to start off as though nothing had changed between them, to reassure her, rather than to dive into such potentially emotionally fraught waters immediately. Not that nothing would change between them; no, Albus was determined to be better to her, both as a Headmaster to one of his teachers and as one friend to another. He would need to make that clear to her, and better to demonstrate it to her through his actions first, he felt, so that she would understand and appreciate the sincerity of his words.

His other preparations involved a visit to the greenhouses, discussions with Wilspy, and a quick trip to the infirmary, where he spoke briefly with Poppy. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Minerva had used a rather strong Glamour Charm that noon – which was one reason that he had chosen to sit beside Johannes. He hadn’t wanted to cause her any additional stress by forcing her to make small talk with him as Hagrid on the one side and Wilhelmina on the other held their rather loud conversation about dragon copulation. He really _was_ going to have to talk to them about their choice of polite topics for the dinner table, he thought. It didn’t bother _him_ , but he knew it did put others off their lunches.

Albus knocked rather loudly on the closed door to the infirmary before opening it and making his way across to Poppy’s office. She smiled at him as he approached.

“Making sure I’m not in the middle of discussing the esoteric mating rituals of the Welsh Green with Wilhelmina, Albus?” Poppy asked with a grin. They both knew it was not that sort of conversation he was wary of interrupting.

“Ah, yes, although I do believe that this would provide a more appropriate venue for such a discussion than the Great Hall at mealtime,” replied Albus with a twinkle. “I was just considering speaking with her and Hagrid about the range of acceptable dinner table conversation, in fact.”

“Ha!” Poppy laughed. “You might have some success with Wilhelmina, but Hagrid, well, it’s not that he wouldn’t understand, in theory, and he would likely avoid the topic of dragon genitalia in the future, but there’d be nothing to stop him from choosing an equally unappetising topic the next time he became enthusiastic about something.” Poppy grinned.

Albus sighed melodramatically. “I suppose you are right. We should all learn to look upon these discourses as educational challenges!” They both chuckled.

“Have you seen Minerva this afternoon, Poppy?” he asked, changing the topic.

“No, not since lunch. I thought about dropping by her room this afternoon, but decided it might be best to wait until this evening,” she replied. She was unwilling to discuss her friend’s emotional state in her absence, even with Albus, or, perhaps, especially with Albus, as he was the source of her distress.

“I had noticed this noon,” Albus hesitated a moment, not wanting to be indiscreet in discussing Minerva when she wasn’t there, nor wishing to be seen as gossiping, “she looked a bit . . . under the weather.”

“You mean to say that you thought she’d cast a Glamour, don’t you?” asked Poppy, happier to be straightforward now that she discerned the Headmaster’s own reluctance to talk about Minerva behind her back.

“Well, yes, I did notice that. And she didn’t eat anything.” Albus furrowed his brow. “I’m simply concerned because we rescheduled our meeting for later this afternoon, and, well, I’m just concerned about her; that’s all.”

At this point, Poppy could see that no matter any offense Albus may have taken at Minerva’s words earlier in the day, his overriding concern was for her and for her well-being, not for any slight he may have suffered. “Minerva’s a strong witch, Albus. I’m sure that, whatever may have been bothering her at lunch, she will come to her appointment with you. If you have any concerns, you could discuss them with her then.”

“Yes, yes, you are right, of course. I feel that I . . . I have not perhaps been as available to her as I could have been. I may be able to begin rectifying that error this evening, if she will allow me to.”

“You know Minerva as well as I do, Albus. You must know that if you wish to take the opportunity, she will be glad to give it to you.” Poppy wasn’t sure herself then precisely what “opportunity” she spoke of, although she did know that it went beyond the Headmaster making himself more accessible to one of his teachers. When Albus just stood there, gazing out the window behind her, she added, “You know that you’ve been friends for a long time. She knows that, too. Now, I’m not trying to shoo you out of my office, Albus, but I _am_ trying to finish my inventory and my orders for the autumn so that I can leave for my holiday in a few days. I don’t think my boss would like it if I wasn’t finished before I left,” she joked.

Albus smiled at that, and said, “Well, then, I’ll just have to ‘shoo’ myself – I hear that your boss is something of a tyrannical ogre, and I’d hate to have put you in his bad graces!”

Albus returned to his office, pensive, and completed his preparations for the evening. Poppy was correct, he knew. He and Minerva had been friends for a long time. He had resisted that appellation for a while at one point, though he didn’t know why – no, he wouldn’t admit the reason, he admonished himself. For a time, he had tried to minimise the extent of their friendship and the depth of his feelings for her. And he knew very well why, even if he was still loathe to admit it even to himself.

Albus chided himself then. No wonder she had felt neglected since she came to Hogwarts; in truth, he felt now as though he had been neglecting their friendship for much longer than that. Unforgivably, to his mind, he had only truly begun to distance himself from his feelings following an event that might have, and should have, brought them closer.


	17. Minerva’s Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva recalls a mission she undertook for the Ministry after she left Hogwarts.
> 
>  
> 
> **Beginning of Part Four.**
> 
>  
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Minister for Magic Oliver Ouellette, PM Winston Churchill, Auror Rufus Scrimgeour, Auror Septimus Sprangle, others.

**PART FOUR**  
 **XVII: Minerva’s Mission**

Minerva was up to her elbows in parchment at the Ministry that cold January afternoon in 1945. She wasn’t doing what she would have wanted to, following her NEWTs and leaving Hogwarts. If there had been no war, unquestionably she would have pursued an apprenticeship in Transfiguration. There _was_ , however, a war, and although the _Daily Prophet_ had been predicting its imminent end for the last three years, Minerva knew when she left Hogwarts that there was little chance of the war ending well unless all capable witches and wizards did what they could to bring it to a close – preferably one that did not involve Grindelwald controlling all magical and Muggle governments in Europe. So she had applied to the Ministry, as had so many of her classmates. She believed that with her skills in Transfiguration, Charms, and Defence – particularly the advanced knowledge of wards she had picked up while working with Dumbledore – she would be a valuable asset in the fight against Grindelwald. But she had ended up here, in this little office in the Department for International Magical Cooperation, War Division, researching and recommending charms at the best of times and sorting requisitions for Charmed objects at the worst of time. As she sorted requisitions, she had thought that particular day was one of the worst of times. Then, rather than one of the runty little Scops Owls, which were used by all the other Departments who sent her requisitions, flapping in to make a delivery, she received a purple parchment aeroplane requesting her immediate presence in the office of the Minister for Magic. Her day only got worse.

When Minerva arrived, she was ushered, without a word of explanation, into the large conference room adjacent to the Minister’s office. To her astonishment, it appeared that the actual Prime Minister was in the room, as well as three people who appeared to be Muggle officers – or were they wizards in uniform? – and four Aurors, one of whom Minerva recognised as young Scrimgeour, who was fast making a name for himself as a dedicated and fearsome opponent of all those who supported Grindelwald. They were dressed in muted red cloaks and rusty-coloured trousers and blouses, wartime dress that had been adopted in the last year to ease the Aurors’ ability to pass back and forth between the wizarding and Muggle worlds. Minerva thought they still would seem rather conspicuous walking down a Muggle street, but no one had ever asked for her opinion on the subject.

At her entrance, the men who had been standing and examining a map on the far wall, turned, and those who were seated at the table, including Minister Ouellette and the Prime Minister, stood.

The new Minister for Magic, Oliver Ouellette, whom Minerva had met twice in situations in which she thought she would be highly forgettable to someone in his position, greeted her, “We are very glad you could join us, Miss McGonagall.”

He came around the table and motioned to one of the Aurors to pull out a chair for her. The chair he indicated was to his right and across from the Prime Minister, who still stood by his chair, chewing an unlit cigar, waiting for her to be seated.

“ _This_ is who we’ve been waitin’ for?” asked one of the uniform-clad men. Minerva thought he had an American accent, but maybe it was Australian. “They’ve brought us a _schoolgirl_?! We don’t need somebody makin’ us coffee! This is a serious –” He was interrupted by a glare from the Prime Minister, and he ceased his protest immediately. _Well_ , thought Minerva, _at least this Yank is well-trained, even if he is disgustingly rude._

“Colonel, Miss McGonagall is a graduate of one of England’s finest educational institutions. True, it may be a slightly _unorthodox_ school, but I have been assured by the Ministry for Magic that she is fully qualified, and not a schoolgirl. And if your invective was aimed at her gender rather than her qualifications, I suggest you reconsider. My mother was an American woman, therefore I doubt, sir, that you are unacquainted with the many strengths, as well as the virtues, with which a woman may be endowed. And may I also remind you that you are here as a courtesy to General Eisenhower, which courtesy may be withdrawn at any moment. And I will not hesitate to have these gentlemen in red _Obliviate_ you before you leave.” A lesser man would have asked if he had made himself clear; Churchill merely gazed at the American from beneath a stern brow.

Minerva looked on as the Colonel turned beet red, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and was surprised when he turned toward her.

“My apologies, Miss Mc- . . . um, apologies.”

“Now, if we are done wasting time here, let’s get down to it,” said Minister Ouellette, nodding curtly to the colonel, who Minerva could now recognize was wearing a different uniform from the other two men, whose uniforms appeared to be from the British Army and the Royal Air Force, respectively. When she had begun working at the Ministry, Minerva had been given a pamphlet with pictures of all the different uniforms worn by Allied troops and explanations of the various ranks, but she hadn’t looked at it very carefully. Her menial job never brought her into contact with any Muggles, so it had seemed rather pointless at the time.

Minerva had barely got over being startled by the company in which she found herself and the peculiar reception she had received, when she found out why she had been summoned to the Minister’s office so precipitously.

“To put it briefly, Albus Dumbledore is missing.” Minerva went cold at the Minister’s words, but forced herself to pay attention to what the Minister was saying. She would let herself react later, she thought.

“From what we know, he had successfully completed a mission in co-operation with American and British Muggle forces. Two Aurors had accompanied him. They were supposed to be a sort of guard for him, although we all know how well that usually turns out.” There were a few grins around the table. “Your Professor Dumbledore has a tendency to leave his Aurors behind if he believes them unnecessary, or inconvenient, since, as he once expressed it to me, he’s ‘an old coot’ and it was better to leave the young men out of any danger, if possible. It is clear that he left the British camp in the company of the two Aurors and two British soldiers, a Lieutenant – what was his name? – Rogers, and a private, who was driving the vehicle.”

“A jeep,” added the British Army officer, unhelpfully.

“Yes, just so. Well, perhaps at this point, Auror Scrimgeour might be able to recount the details better than I.”

“Ah, no, sir, you are doing very well,” replied the Auror, although he proceeded with the narrative. “We know that Professor Dumbledore and the four men he was with inadvertently entered an area in which there was some German troop movement. At the time they had left camp, the most recent intelligence indicated that their route was clear. By the time they went missing, this was no longer the case. We also know that the jeep in which they were riding either drove over a landmine or was hit by a mortar. From the damage to the jeep, it appears to have been the former rather than the latter. That evidence also accords with other information that we have received.”

“For heaven’s sake, man, get to the point!” The RAF officer was clearly restless at the recitation of facts he already knew.

Without missing a beat, Scrimgeour continued. “The plan in place was that the driver and the officer would drop Dumbledore and the two Aurors near a particular crossroads, where, ostensibly, they would meet up with other members of a special, secret force – that is the cover that we normally give to explain the presence of Aurors in Muggle battle zones – in actuality, the three wizards would wait until the jeep was well out of sight and then Apparate to our headquarters outside of Amiens, where they could then Apparate or Portkey to their next assignment or, in Professor Dumbledore’s case, back to London.

“We know that is not what happened. It looks as though the three wizards left the jeep just before the two roads intersected. It appears to have been fortuitous that they did so since the jeep was destroyed as it entered the crossroad.”

“How do you know the three got out before the jeep . . . exploded?” asked Minerva. “If they are missing, isn’t it possible that they were all . . . .” Minerva couldn’t continue with that thought.

“We know because of certain evidence, Miss McGonagall,” said Churchill, evidently also impatient with Scrimgeour’s long-winded explanation. “First, we found the jeep and the remains of the two British soldiers. Those remains make it clear that they were in the jeep when it exploded. We also know that Dumbledore did not Apparate away, because we received a message from him. Dumbledore always carried one of those Portkeys with him, in the event that he were ever unable to Apparate.” 

Minerva marvelled at the ease with which the Muggle Prime Minister used these wizarding terms – he seemed to have familiarised himself with the wizarding world to a greater extent than she’d thought possible. 

“It was imperative to our government – and by ‘our,’ Miss McGonagall, I speak of His Majesty’s entire government, not just the Ministry for Magic – that Dumbledore fall into the hands of neither the Germans nor of that rogue wizard, Grindelwald. Your Professor Dumbledore, however, is truly the best of the best of men that this small Island produces: brave in facing whatever lies ahead, unwavering in his conviction to follow the path of Right, and without peer in his readiness to sacrifice his all for the sake of freedom, and the hope of freedom, not for himself alone, but for his comrades and for us all.”

As the Prime Minister spoke of Dumbledore’s “readiness to sacrifice his all,” dread grew in Minerva’s heart. They had said “missing” when she had arrived; was that a mere euphemism for “captured” – or worse? And why would they want her here? To be sure, her interest in his well-being was great, but these men had no way of knowing that, nor would they waste their time with such long explanations if they merely wished to inform her of her mentor’s disappearance or capture. Minerva felt she was scarcely breathing as she waited for Churchill to finish his explanation, which seemed to her as long-winded as Scrimgeour’s.

“I am no wizard, Miss McGonagall, but from what I understand of these things, the Portkey in Dumbledore’s possession was created so that only he could activate it, and none other, and only he could actually be transported with it. It also has the capacity to carry only one person. These measures were taken in order that, should it fall into the wrong hands, it could not be used to infiltrate our secret wizarding headquarters in France.”

Despite his limited understanding of Portkeys (although how many wizards actually understood them?) – after all, a Portkey doesn’t “carry” you like a motorcar – Minerva was struck that Churchill spoke of the wizarding world and the wizarding government as though they were a mere off-shoot of the Muggle world and as though he actually exercised some authority over them or as though he at least had some interest and influence on them. This was highly unusual, from what Minerva understood.

“But apparently when the jeep exploded,” the Prime Minister continued, “Dumbledore and the two Aurors were still very close to the vehicle and were caught in the blast. One of the Aurors had been badly injured. Somehow Dumbledore altered his Portkey to allow it to transport someone other than himself. He did not, or was unable to, alter it to allow more than one person to travel with it, however. The injured Auror appeared in British wizarding headquarters outside of Amiens approximately,” the Prime Minister drew out his watch, “five hours ago. On his person, in addition to the Portkey, was a note from Dumbledore, written with a biro on a scrap of paper. It indicated his current position, but noted that the explosion had drawn the attention of German soldiers in the area. We believe he may have come under fire, although we do not know that. We do know that some of the blood on the paper, according to your medical wizards, belonged to him and not to the young Auror whose life he saved by giving him the Portkey.”

Minerva had thought she was cold before, but at these final words, her blood seemed to turn to ice in her veins.

At that point, the sandy-haired American colonel picked up the story with his peculiar drawl. “As soon as we got word that he was missin’, we sent out a search party, bein’ as we were the closest. Our platoon found the jeep with the two dead Brits, but no sign of General Dumbledore or the other man. We were only able to make a brief search since it was daylight, and the jerries were too thick on the ground. There was evidence that the area had come under fire recently – my men found bullets and shell casings – though nothin’ that would tell us whether the men fought back, or whether they escaped or were captured.”

“At least Dumbledore must have been injured, that was clear enough from the blood,” continued Scrimgeour, taking over again, “and probably fairly badly, because he didn’t Apparate. Although, of course it is possible that the second Auror was too injured to transport by Side-Along-Apparition and Dumbledore wouldn’t leave him behind.”

Minerva, finding her voice now, at what appeared to be the end of their story, said, “You keep referring to the two Aurors who were with him, but haven’t said who they were. Who were they? And are they trustworthy?”

The oldest of the Aurors, a short man with a small mustache and a round belly, spoke for the first time. “They are completely trust-worthy, Miss McGonagall; I believe you know them both. The one to whom Dumbledore gave his Portkey is a young man named Alastor Moody.” 

Minerva nodded; she remembered him well. He’d been a year behind her at Hogwarts, but was almost two years younger than she. She was shocked they would have sent someone so young into such a dangerous situation. 

“The other, whom I believe you also know,” he continued, “is named Murphy – Colin? no, Carson – Murphy.”

“Carson?” Of all of the people who could have disappeared with Albus, to Minerva’s mind, he was both the best and the worst. The best because Minerva knew him to be intelligent, brave, and true; the worst because she was already sick with worry about Albus. She now had another friend whose unknown fate made her stomach roil.

“I thought you would know him – you were both the same year at Hogwarts, weren’t you?” he asked.

“We were both prefects,” she replied, nodding, aware of how little that said of their friendship.

“Let us get to the reason that we brought you here, Miss McGonagall,” said Minister Ouellette. “We know of your Animagus ability.” 

_Of course you do_ , thought Minerva, _it was on my application to the Ministry! And you stuck me in a windowless office sorting requisitions._

“We had thought to make use of it prior to this, but, well, perhaps the time wasn’t right. . . . Are we correct in believing that you” – here the Minister consulted a parchment in front of him – “become a domestic cat?” At these words, all three of the Muggle officers goggled at her. Churchill’s expression did not change.

“Yes, sir, a tabby cat.”

“We really must make Animagus registration _mandatory_ when this is all over,” Ouellette muttered to himself, making a note on the parchment. “Am I also correct in understanding that you worked with Albus Dumbledore on a special, shall we say, _classified_ project?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir, unless you mean the extra credit Transfiguration projects I did with him.” Minerva had never forgotten her promise to her mentor that summer before her sixth year never to reveal the nature of the warding project to anyone. He had never included the Minister of Magic, the Prime Minister of England, or any of these other men, as exceptions to that promise.

“Capital, my dear, capital,” Churchill said, with the closest thing to a smile that Minerva had yet seen from the man, nodding to Minister Ouellette. “Yes, she is to be trusted.”

Minerva had hoped that when Dumbledore had recommended her to the Ministry, he might have made some mention of her work with him on the wards. She thought it might have got her a better job, one where she could really make a contribution. She had always believed he hadn’t said anything to anyone at the Ministry, and, given the nature of the warding project, she hadn’t blamed him. Now it seemed that at least one or two of the people in the room might already know about her participation in it. Nonetheless, Minerva wasn’t going to say anything more.

Ouellette gazed at her hard for a moment, then asked, “Is it fair to say, however, Miss McGonagall, that you are familiar with Professor Dumbledore’s magic and perhaps with some of the ways he might use it in such a situation?”

“After studying with him so closely, and after training with him to become an Animagus, I can certainly say that I am familiar with his magic. As to any ways he might use it in this situation . . . I am not an Auror, sir, nor have I had any training from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement or the Department of Mysteries in battle tactics or espionage.” Though not for want of trying, she thought, considering all her applications for transfer to another division.

“I understand that in your Animagus form, you take on some of its unique characteristics, such as improved night vision and a heightened sense of smell, that sort of thing,” questioned Ouellette.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, then, Winston,” he said, turning to the Prime Minister, “I believe we have the answers we need – other than the final one, of course. What do you think?”

“Winston,” who did not appear to appreciate the familiar address, bared a canine after the manner of the bulldog so many likened him to, and replied curtly, “Yes, she will do well, I believe.” He turned to Minerva. “Miss McGonagall, may I ask that you serve your country, and your mentor, by entering German-occupied France and searching for – no, _finding_ – your Professor Dumbledore?”

“Of course, sir,” Minerva said without hesitation. “I am ready to leave at this moment.” An entire hour had passed while they had been discussing the situation. Anything could have happened to Albus – and to Carson – in that time.

“It is still daylight, Miss McGonagall,” said the unidentified pot-bellied Auror who had spoken earlier. “We have arranged a Portkey for you for dusk, which will bring you close to the crossroads where they were last known to be. You will be accompanied by an experienced Auror – sorry, Scrimgeour, not this time,” he said in response to that Auror’s slight cry of protest. “In the meantime, I suggest you eat and study these maps. There are both Muggle and wizarding maps of the area surrounding the crossroads, covering a three mile radius.”

“Only three miles?” Minerva interrupted.

“Yes. First, it is unlikely that, given the presence of the Muggle enemy troops and the fact that one or both of them is injured, they could have made it any further than that. Second, you will Portkey in after having Transfigured, and you will stay in your Animagus form until they are found, except for brief periods when you may need to speak with Auror Frankel. As a cat, there is a limit to the distance you can travel.” _Hmmpf_ , thought Minerva, _he evidently doesn’t know the first thing about cats._

“Third, we have intelligence that suggests Grindelwald may be active in the area just to the south of that. Unless they had no other choice or had become badly disoriented, I do not believe Dumbledore or Murphy would have headed in that direction. This surmise also narrows your focus. Let me make clear, Miss McGonagall, that Auror Frankel is in charge of this search. Unless he tells you otherwise, you are to cast no spells, and you are to remain in your Animagus form at all times unless it becomes necessary to communicate with him. Are you clear on this?” the little man asked.

“Of course, sir,” she responded, thinking, _Until he gets in the way of finding Albus, he can be ‘in charge.’_

“We chose Frankel not only because he is an experienced Auror, but also because he speaks fluent German, having German grandparents. He will be dressed in Muggle civilian clothes. In the unlikely event that you meet any Germans, you must remain in your Animagus form and stay hidden. He will communicate with them.”

“And what if we meet any French?” asked Minerva, “Does he speak French, as well?”

“Only a little, but unless they are collaborators, that should pose no problem. He is also authorised to _Obliviate_ anyone, as necessary, or to eliminate other ‘obstacles’ in whatever way he sees fit. I am more concerned with the possibility of your being discovered by any of Grindelwald’s followers – or any witch or wizard, for that matter, since he utilises somewhat extreme tactics to gain information from reluctant witnesses; thus, even coming to the notice of an innocent wizard could have negative consequences for both you and the witness.”

As the little pot-bellied Auror was finishing his speech, Churchill began to rise from his seat. The other men around the table did so as well, and as Churchill approached her, Minerva got to her feet.

“His Majesty’s government thanks you for your readiness to serve your country in her hour of need, Miss McGonagall. It is with pride that I extend this thanks, pride that you have risen to take this challenge which, unlooked for, Fate has presented you. It is the youth of our nation who expend their lives in defence of us all; the bloom of youth has not yet left your cheek, and, loathe though we are to send our young women where must needs we send our young men, that loathing diminishes neither our pride nor our gratitude. I wish you the strength and courage that God gave to you and Britain made in you, Miss McGonagall, and may Fortune, sister to Fate, lead you to your goal and then home again.”

With that, the Prime Minister and three Muggles left the conference room. Minerva barely had a moment to wonder where they were going or how they would get there from the Ministry, when she was aware the Minister for Magic was speaking to her again.

“I shall leave you, then, in the capable hands of Auror Sprangle, and I will have my secretary send in some food for you. This is as good a room as any for you to prepare and wait for the Portkey.” Sprangle must be the little fellow with the belly, thought Minerva.

Unbidden, the words “ _spero et expecto_ ” came to Minerva’s mind, the first password Albus had set her for his classroom. “Minister, Auror Sprangle, I was wondering . . . a request.” Minerva hesitated, the others observing her, clearly wondering whether she was going to change her mind. “Could the Portkey be set to respond to the words ‘ _spero et expecto_ ’?” she asked.

“Certainly, Miss McGonagall, it makes no difference what the trigger word is.” The Minister turned to Scrimgeour and said, “Go take care of the Portkeys now and then send up Frankel.” Turning back to Minerva, he added, “you two should meet.”


	18. A Sudden Change in Circumstance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus is wounded and stranded in France with two injured young Aurors. 
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore, Alastor Moody, Carson Murphy, young Horst (a German soldier), and others.
> 
> Caution: Although there is little violence in this chapter, there is some description of injuries.

**XVIII: A Sudden Change of Circumstance**

Even after viewing the memory in a Pensieve, Dumbledore never had a clear recollection of what had happened. Ministry Healers told him that the shock of the blast had been such that anything he might have perceived under ordinary conditions, even those things of which one was usually unaware but which became accessible when viewed in a Pensieve, had never even made it to his brain to be stored.

Between disembarking from the jeep and his return to consciousness a few moments later, Albus had only scattered, banal memories – the British soldiers saying good-bye, Carson joking with Private Merrick, and reminding him of their promise to meet after the war at some pub they were both acquainted with – no matter how long it took, Carson said, he’d meet him on the fifth of January in the Sheep’s Head after the war ended. Merrick had laughingly agreed and said that, with luck, they’d be seeing each other next year. Alastor had walked a few feet ahead of the jeep to look down the road that the two soldiers would be turning on to, and Albus himself had begun to turn from the jeep, scanning the trees and fields for a likely Disapparition point.

It seemed as though the two young men were still laughing as Private Merrick ground the jeep into gear and started forward. Almost simultaneously, there was a short, immense roar, followed closely, the Pensieve memory revealed, by a second equally loud explosion. Albus instinctively raised his wand hand and attempted to cast a wandless shielding charm; as he was doing that, Carson had, just as instinctively, turned toward his old teacher and pushed him to the ground, covering him with his body as he did so. The next minutes were garbled, even when viewed in the Pensieve, a peculiar riot of heat, colour, and sound, intermixed with moments of complete silence and utter dark, which the Healers said indicated he’d likely either been unconscious or close to it.

One of the few memories that Albus had no conscious recollection of, but which emerged clearly when viewed in the Pensieve, was that of Carson, drenched in blood, struggling to his knees, hooking his own arms around Albus and under his arms, desperately dragging him away from the fire; coughing and crawling, heat and smoke following, the boy rising and falling and rising again as he struggled, gasping through his blood, to pull them both away from the blazing vehicle.

The Pensieve memory then went black and silent, and when the memory resumed, Albus was lying at the side of the road. He needed no Pensieve to remember the next minutes and hours. They were as clearly etched in his soul as ever a memory could be.

Albus came to, smelling the acrid smoke from the burning jeep, knowing in that instant that both of the soldiers, Rogers and Merrick, were dead. He was aware that Carson was lying to his right, almost face down in the dirt and snow, his own right arm still thrown protectively across his former teacher. Albus’s head was throbbing with pain, and sticky blood had made long rivulets down the left side of his face. His left shoulder felt peculiar, although at that moment, he detected no injury in it, but when he attempted to move his left arm, sharp pain shot through his shoulder and into his neck and chest. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Albus forced his left hand to reach out and take the boy’s right one.

“Carson . . .” Albus’s voice was rough as he choked out the young man’s name. “Carson, my boy, we need to turn you over.” Albus could hear Carson’s breath bubbling in his chest and throat. Alarmed, Albus set his mind against his own pain and raised himself up, using the leverage of his body to ease Carson’s right arm up, turning him slightly as he did so, and wrapping his right arm around the boy’s back, supporting him.

Albus had seen many a ghastly sight in his life, and many of them in just the last few years, but the sight of a sharp piece of metal protruding from the boy’s chest was worse than some of the most grisly scenes he’d encountered recently. Albus gently explored Carson’s back with his right hand, relying on his tactile senses, as his own injuries appeared to have temporarily lamed his magic. There he found the other end of a metal fragment that had apparently entered the boy’s back and then partially emerged on the other side. Albus couldn’t be sure yet, but he believed that Carson had also suffered a head injury: the back of his neck and head were wet with warm blood.

Albus cast a thought toward the other young Auror, Alastor Moody. He had been almost as close as they had been, he thought, but on the other side of the car. 

“Alastor!” Albus croaked. He cleared his throat and called more loudly, “Alastor!” 

Albus thought he heard a slight answering moan from somewhere beyond the still-crackling flames. He couldn’t have been unconscious long. Probably less than a minute. Heaving himself up, Albus ignored the growing pain in his shoulder and arm. Unconsciously mirroring Carson’s earlier actions, but this time kneeling behind the boy to hook his arms around him, Albus half dragged, half carried the semi-conscious boy still further away from the jeep, toward one of the trees that lined the road. As he dug his knees into the hard, frozen mud, and pulled the boy along, Albus felt a moment of gratitude that there had been little snow in that area recently.

Breathing was becoming more difficult for him, as well, and when he finally reached the tree he had been aiming for, Albus propped Carson against it, then lay back flat on the cold ground and gasped for breath. His mind returned to Alastor, and Albus cursed himself for his age and his weakness. He sat up and pulled himself closer to Carson.

“Carson, my brave boy, can you hear me?” Albus was relieved to see Carson’s eyes flutter for a moment. “Carson, you have a shard of metal sticking through your back into your chest. That’s why you are having a hard time breathing. I have set you up against a tree, but you mustn’t move very much, or the piece of metal might shift and injure you further. Do you understand, my boy?”

Carson’s eyes opened at that, and he tried to lick his lips, where blood had frothed and was beginning to dry. “Yes,” he said weakly. He tried to smile. “I think I’ll just sit here for a while, if you don’t mind, Pr’fessor,” he whispered.

“That’s just fine, my boy. Now, I haven’t seen Alastor yet, and I am going to try to find him. I am going to have to leave you alone for a few minutes, but I promise I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“’Kay, Pr’fessor,” he whispered back. “I’m a little cold, though.”

“Here, then, take my coat.” Albus removed the heavy woolen coat he wore over his Muggle Army uniform and draped it over his former student, trying to avoid having its weight fall on the metal protruding from his chest. After smoothing the boy’s hair back from his face with a bloodied hand and cringing inwardly at the sight of his pale features and dilated pupils, Albus felt for his wand by his right side. At that moment, Albus truly wished he had learned how to swear properly. Somehow “Doxiedoodle” just didn’t express his current sentiments adequately. His wand was broken in two places.

“Carson, one last thing, it seems your old professor has gone and sat on his wand and broken it. Where do you keep yours, my boy?”

“H’it’s in m’boot, Pr’fess’r,” he gasped.

Albus felt about and found Carson’s wand, thankfully in one piece, tucked into a boot holster. 

“That’ll teach me to take my wand for granted,” Albus grumbled to himself. Carson choked a bit, and Albus looked up, alarmed, to find Carson smiling wanly at him.

“Don’t make me laugh, Pr’fess’r. Hurts when I laugh,” he said, still trying to manage a smile. “O’ course, it hurts anyway . . .”

Albus took the wand in his right hand and waved it experimentally. A few golden sparks fell weakly from its tip. Well, either the wand was poorly suited to his magic or his magic had been concussed worse than he’d thought, or both. Still, it was a wand. He waved it over Carson, daring to utter only a light Warming Charm on the air around him, with a strange wand and his own magic injured.

Albus smiled at the boy, hoping he was being reassuring. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Carson.”

Albus forced himself to his feet, then steadied himself against the tree trunk until he was certain that he wasn’t going to pass out again. He made his way toward the blackened jeep, surprised to see that it was still burning, and looked away from the disturbing sight, casting his eyes along the road. 

“Alastor! Alastor! It’s Albus – Professor Dumbledore; where’d you get to, my boy?” He called, trying to keep his voice light, despite his growing anxiety over their predicament.

“Mmmmp.” Albus heard a vague, low moan and, walking around the jeep, discovered its source. If Albus had been horrified at the sight of the shrapnel emerging from Carson’s chest, the sight that met him at that moment was no better.

The young Auror lay in a twisted, crumpled, bloodied heap. He had caught some shrapnel, but that wasn’t what alarmed Albus. Alastor’s left leg was a mangled mess. Albus walked to him as quickly as he could, trying to ignore the pain in his head and his left shoulder. Squatting next to Alastor, he saw that the boy had managed to tie a tourniquet around his leg at the knee before he lost consciousness. He shook his head in amazement at the young wizard’s fortitude. 

Raising Carson’s wand, Albus hesitated, then decided that he didn’t dare cast any healing charms on the young Auror with that wand – particularly since, now that he was moving about, Albus could tell that his own injuries were affecting his magic.

He knelt stiffly next to the boy’s head. “Alastor! It’s Albus Dumbledore. Can you open your eyes for me, lad?” he called softly. Albus wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard a vehicle in the distance. 

“Alastor, I’m going to need to move you, all right, son? Here we go. I’m afraid I can’t use a nice _Mobilicorpus_ today,” Albus said, keeping his tone light. “Your old professor sat on his wand, would you believe it? Broken in three pieces.” As he was speaking, Albus lifted Alastor just under the arms, grimacing at the pain in his shoulder. He couldn’t lose consciousness now.

He began the painful process of dragging Alastor back toward the tree where he’d left Carson. The movement caused Alastor to open his eyes and groan. “I know it hurts, my boy. I’m terribly sorry. If I could, I would take it away for you. Just bear it a bit longer, that’s it.” Albus continued talking to the sweating, pale Auror, trying to distract them both from their inevitable pain. Alastor was clearly attempting to swallow his moans, but each time his mangled leg hit a bump or a stone, he’d intake his breath sharply, and let it out in a slight, almost inaudible groan.

“You’re doing very well, Alastor. Very well. We’ll need to see what we can do about some of those cuts, lad. They don’t look too bad, but, well, we don’t want to scar you up, now, do we? Although the girls do love a man with a few interesting scars. Adds character to the face.” Albus was sweating despite the chill temperature, and he felt nauseous. He sincerely hope he wasn’t going to pass out.

After what felt like an hour, but was surely only minutes, Albus and Alastor had made it to where Carson lay propped against the tree. Alastor had begun to help for the last several feet, pushing with his right leg as Albus dragged him backwards.

“Carson, I’m back, my boy. I brought Alastor with me.” Albus was feeling at a loss. What to do now that he had both young Aurors there by the roadside? His own wand was broken, and his magic was at the lowest ebb he could remember in decades. He doubted he could Apparate without dangerously Splinching himself; he certainly could not Side-Along with either of the two others, let alone with both, even if he had his own wand. No, it would have to be the Portkey. He sighed. They couldn’t all use it. It was keyed to his magical signature, but he could alter that, he thought, although the operation would surely deplete him further.

Carson was breathing shallowly. He had opened glazed eyes when Albus had called his name, but then closed them again. 

“Come now, Carson, don’t fall asleep.” Albus was frightened by the sight of the youthful Auror’s pale brow and by his rasping, uneven breath.

Alastor tried to sit up and managed to lean on his right arm. “Oh, God, Professor,” he said in a low voice. “ _This_ does not look good.” He said “this,” but nodded toward Carson. “And I’m a mess, I know. I won’t be able to Disapparate. Or walk out,” he said, trying to look at what was left of his leg. “Funny how I didn’t feel a thing at first; now it hurts like hell. An _Episkey_ didn’t do much; I had to use a tourniquet, but I know I lost a lot of blood before I stopped the bleeding. You’re supposed to loosen a tourniquet every ten minutes or so, I think, and I haven’t done that. Rather difficult if you’re not fully conscious. They don’t mention that little fact in any of the pamphlets they give us. And Carson,” Alastor added in a louder voice, forcing himself to sound cheerful, “Hoy, there, Carson, old chap! Still the old Gryffy-Ravenclaw, aren’t you?!” He lay back down on the frozen mud and, in a whisper, said, “Carson doesn’t look like he’ll be going . . . anywhere on his own, either. You look like hell, too, Professor . . . and your Glamour is fading. You’ve got to take your Portkey. Send someone for us.” Moody’s chest was heaving from the strain of this speech, and Dumbledore saw that he was going into shock, as well.

Not willing to debate anything with his former student, Dumbledore asked, “You tried an _Episkey_? Do you still have your wand then?”

Alastor gestured toward his leg. “Couldn’t cast another one. Couldn’t manage a _Lumos_ at the moment.”

Albus looked down at Alastor’s leg and saw that he had used the wand to tighten the tourniquet. In the effort it had taken him to drag the young man out of the road, he hadn’t noticed this novel use for a wand.

“Do you mind if I remove it and give it a try? Carson’s wand doesn’t seem to agree with me. I can use the larger piece that’s left of mine to retighten the tourniquet when I’m done.”

“Help yourself,” said Alastor. His eyes were almost closed, and his breathing was irregular.

As quickly as he was able, Albus loosened the tourniquet and was somewhat alarmed when very little bleeding resumed. He didn’t know why this would be, but it didn’t seem normal to him. Although it felt as though it had been hours since the explosion, in reality, it had only been about twenty-five minutes, Albus thought. Perhaps it was the _Episkey_ that Alastor cast, combined with the Muggle tourniquet, that had affected the leg.

Leaving the tourniquet loose for the moment, Albus tried out Alastor’s wand. This time, the sparks seemed a little more lively, although Albus would never want to rely on this wand in an emergency. Unfortunately, he thought with a sigh, shoving the wand into his belt, he would have to.

He was just preparing to retie the tourniquet, when he heard the alarming sound of voices in the distance, and from the cadence, he could tell they were speaking German. Without worrying about the consequences, Albus cast a _Silencio_ on both Alastor and Carson, then, with a rush of adrenaline, dragged Alastor none too gently further from the road, behind some scrubby bushes. His left arm had given out entirely by the time he returned to Carson, but he put his right one around the young man’s chest and heaved him up, trying to hold onto the coat he’d flung over him whilst simultaneously avoiding the metal shard. Dizzy from the exertion, Dumbledore stumbled backward, pulling Carson with him. He controlled his stumble enough to reach the line of bushes where he had deposited Alastor. Rolling Carson onto his side with a quietly whispered, “Sorry, my boy,” he collapsed beside him.

After taking a few breaths, Albus realised that they might still be seen from the road. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, pulled Alastor’s wand out, and quickly cast three Disillusionment Charms. Then, raising himself up a bit more, he looked out toward the road.

A Disillusionment Charm wouldn’t be very useful if anyone saw the tracks and trails of blood that clearly led in this direction, thought Dumbledore. If anyone shot blindly from the road, they could still hit them; the Charm wouldn’t protect them from flying bullets, no matter how aimlessly fired. 

Dumbledore swished Moody’s wand and felt it respond sluggishly. Beginning with those closest to them, the tracks of blood and drag marks gradually began to whisk away. Albus was unable to finish, however, before several German soldiers appeared from around a bend in the road.

He lay back down on the icy ground and shivered, and a sense of hopelessness stole upon him. His head was pounding, his left arm was useless, his magic was weak . . . but then he looked toward the two boys beside him, blinking to try to see them through the Disillusionment Charm.

Carson was breathing shallowly. Alastor, who had rolled over toward Carson and put an arm around the other boy’s waist, was almost completely still. Even knowing they were there and having cast the Charm himself, Dumbledore could barely make out their forms. He wished he dared move a little closer to them, both to add his warmth to Alastor’s and to take a bit of warmth himself. Whatever happened, he would do all he could for these boys, for as long as he was able. Albus had not been unaware of the dangers posed by travelling in a Muggle war zone, but he had always believed that if he were going to be badly injured, it would be in a wizarding battle. He chuckled inwardly at the irony. This hadn’t even been a battle.

Albus turned his head slightly, hoping to be able to see something of the road, but was unable to. He could just make out voices and footsteps as the Germans examined the charred remains. He couldn’t hear enough to understand much of what they were saying. He thought he heard something like, “schau mal hier,” and “es muss noch . . . ,” followed by, “doch, doch.” It sounded as though they were having a debate of some sort, probably about whether there had been any soldiers other than the two whose partially charred remains lay with the wreckage of the jeep. Dumbledore wished he’d been able to banish all of the blood and drag marks around the vehicle.

He heard one of the men say, “Ja, wir werden doch seh’n . . . wenn jemand da ist . . .” and a laugh. Then shooting, shooting, and more shooting. A machine gun. Albus closed his eyes. One of them had apparently decided to shoot into the trees on either side of the wreck. Now he could hear bullets as they whished through the bushes next to him, just inches above where the three wizards lay, then skipped in the hard dirt behind them. Neither Alastor nor Carson twitched. Albus swallowed. The shooting stopped, and there was shouting, seemingly from several of the soldiers all at once.

“Du! Horst! Bisst du ganz verrückt?!”

“Was ist mit dir?”

“Er ist total übergeschnappt!”

“Es gibt einfach niemand, verstehst du? Was meinst du dabei?”

“Blödsinn . . .”

Then, finally, one voice raised above all the others: “Hört auf! Alle!”

After more argument and shouting, and a few desultory prods into the dead weeds at the edges of the road, the group began to move away. It appeared they were not a particularly happy group of soldiers, thought Albus grimly. They had sounded young, and they certainly weren’t well-trained, nor well led. Their greatest concern had seemed, first, whether the shoes of either of the dead soldiers were still intact and, second, the waste of ammunition that Horst had committed when he went off his rocker and began shooting aimlessly into the trees at, as far as the others believed, no one.

The three wizards lay still a while longer. Albus wasn’t sure whether the other two remained still out of caution or because they were unconscious. Finally, he rolled over, cancelled the _Silencio_ and Disillusionment Charms, and examined the two younger wizards. Carson was still breathing, air and blood bubbling around the wound in his chest, but he didn’t respond when Albus whispered his name. Alastor didn’t seem much better. His leg had begun to bleed again, though not as profusely as Albus would have expected. He put the young Auror’s make-shift tourniquet back on, for lack of any better treatment, this time using the remains of his own wand to tighten the knot. As he did so, Alastor blinked open his eyes.

“Still here,” he whispered. Albus wasn’t sure whether the boy had meant it as a question or a statement, so he just nodded slightly.

Ignoring the pain in his head and shoulder and the chill in his bones, Albus reached into his shirt and pulled out a St. Christopher medal. It was cheap and would attract no attention if found on him. Not bothering to try to unclasp it with his one good hand, Albus yanked hard at the flimsy chain. It cut into his neck some before it snapped, but he barely noticed the abrasion amongst all his other injuries. Laying the small medallion on the ground in front of him, he began to pass the wand over it. Yes, he could alter it to transport someone other than himself. But only one of them. Which? How could he choose?

“Carson, Carson, my boy, can you rejoin us for a moment? Hmm, good lad!” he said as Carson’s eyes fluttered open. “Carson, I have a Portkey here. It can bring one of us to Amiens.” Albus looked over at Alastor as he spoke quietly to the other Auror. “Would you like a free Portkey to Amiens, Carson?”

Carson’s eyes, which had been glazed over, seemed to sharpen at that, and he tried to say something, but Albus couldn’t make it out.

“What’s that, my boy?” Albus leaned nearer to him.

“Alastor,” he whispered. “Send Alastor.” Carson coughed weakly in his effort, and more blood bubbled from his chest. “Never make it there. You know it. Can’t Portkey. Can’t Apparate,” Carson gasped.

Albus turned toward Alastor, who had been unable to hear what Carson said. “Well, Alastor, it seems I will need your help here.” Albus reached over and pulled up the end of the tourniquet. 

“Hold this just so, please.” Alastor, not knowing why, obeyed. Dumbledore raised the wand and, with a quick Diffindo, sliced off the end. He took it from Alastor, who was looking puzzled. Albus placed the bit of bloody cloth next to the Portkey and began to cast the spells necessary to change it to allow Alastor to transport with it.

Alastor raised himself up on one arm. “What? What are you doing, Professor? That’s your Portkey! What are you doing?”

This was as lively as Alastor had been since Albus had pulled him from the road. “You know the way this Portkey functions, Alastor. I am changing it so that it is not tuned to me.”

“Stop! Stop it! Send Carson! He’s worse off than I am. I’ll be fine, just, please, stop,” Alastor finished with a gasp.

“It’s too late, Alastor; it’s done. And this was Carson’s request. Let him do this for you, eh, lad?” Albus said gently.

“You should have gone,” complained Alastor weakly. “If they’d wanted everyone to have Portkeys, they would have given them to us. That one was for you.” Alastor lay back and closed his eyes.

Carson made an effort to sit and gasped in pain.

“There, now, my boy, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Need to sit up,” he whispered. “Need to sit; need to talk to Alastor.”

“All right, then, I’ll help you.” Albus assisted him into a sitting position, leaning the young wizard against his right shoulder.

“Hey, there, Alastor,” Carson said weakly. “Don’t fight us on this one. We need to get out of here in case more Germans come . . . or any of Grindelwald’s people. Arguing will just take time, and you’ll lose, anyway. So do what the professor asks and take the Portkey.” This lengthy speech, spoken in barely a stage whisper, exhausted the injured Auror, and he sank back against Albus, who tried not to wince.

“So, Alastor, that’s set. Given your current condition, I would not be surprised if you passed out as soon as you arrive in Amiens – or even as soon as the Portkey activates. I don’t know if you will be in any shape to tell them what has happened, so I am going to write a little note for you to take with you, all right?” Without waiting for his answer, Albus continued, “I obviously have no quill or parchment, but I do have a bit of paper in one of my pockets. Unfortunately, it is my left pocket, and I’m afraid my left hand isn’t working very well at the moment. Alastor, if I move around, can you just – that’s right, thank you. Now, something to write with. I usually have a bit of a pencil with me, but I don’t know where that’s gone.”

“I have a biro, sir, in my jacket pocket. Good Royal Air Force issue,” Carson said with a weak grin.

Albus composed a brief note, explaining that the jeep had blown up after they had got out at the crossroad, that Carson was gravely injured, and that they would try to find someplace nearby to shelter, as there were German soldiers in the area. 

He sighed, knowing that, unless someone was at Headquarters who had been here before and could Apparate directly to them, they would have to wait for someone to make a Portkey, and that could take time, depending on whether there was anyone skilled with Portkey Charms at Headquarters at the moment, and whether they had the crossroads already plotted or not. As far as Dumbledore knew, they had relied on a Muggle map to choose this particular spot, and he doubted it had been magically plotted for any reason.

He folded the small note and put it in the top pocket of Alastor’s shirt, then he took the St. Christopher medal and placed it in the young wizard’s right hand, closing his fingers around it.

“There you go, my boy. Well done today. I am proud of you both. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to borrow your wand for a bit longer. Now, don’t delay. The Portkey will activate at the word ‘ _spero_ ,’” Dumbledore said. “Go, now, and we’ll be fine. We’ll just look for someplace a little more comfortable.”

“What’s the word? ‘Sparrow,’ like the bird, Professor?”

“No, ‘ _spero_ ,’ as in ‘hope,’” Albus replied, “‘I hope.’”

“’Bye, Carson, Professor. I’ll buy us all a firewhisky when you get back.” Alastor tightened his grip on the little medal and said, “ _Spero._ ” And he was gone. 

Carson and Albus were now alone.

* * *

**_Author’s Notes:_**  
 **Translations of the German:**  
 _“Schau mal hier”_ = “Look here”  
 _“Es muss noch . . . ”_ = “It must still . . .” or “There must still . . .”  
 _“Doch, doch”_ = interjection indicating the speaker thinks that something is to the contrary of what was just said.  
 _“Ja, wir werden doch seh’n . . . wenn jemand da ist”_ = “Yeah, we’ll sure see – if someone’s there”  
 _“Du! Horst! Bisst du ganz verrückt?!”_ = “You, Horst! Are you completely mad?!”  
 _“Er ist total übergeschnappt!”_ = “He’s gone completely around the bend!/He’s gone off his rocker!/He’s snapped!”  
 _“Es gibt einfach niemand, verstehst du? Was meinst du dabei?”_ = “There’s no one there, get it? What do you think you're doing?/What do you think you’re accomplishing by that?”  
 _“Blödsinn . . .”_ = “Idiocy/Utter foolishness/Complete nonsense . . .”  
 _“Hört auf! Alle!”_ = “Stop it! Everybody!”

Since the German is there only for added atmosphere, I didn't think it profitable to create any more complicated dialogue for the German soldiers; this should be comprehensible to most English speakers with a smattering of German and yet is not so lengthy as to interrupt the flow of the narrative.


	19. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Minerva prepares to leave on her rescue mission, she thinks back on her friendship with Carson. She also is displeased with the Ministry's plans for her journey.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Rufus Scrimgeour, Auror Septimus Sprangle, Auror Philip Frankel, Carson Murphy

**XIX: Waiting**

As Sprangle pored over the maps spread out at the other end of the large conference table, Minerva began to eat the sandwiches and soup that the Minister’s secretary had brought her. She ate steadily, although she was not hungry and had no appetite. Under other circumstances, she would have stuck up her nose at the dry fish paste sandwiches and the bland vegetable soup, but she ate two of the sandwiches and finished the bowl of soup, not knowing when she would eat next and aware that she would need the energy for what lay ahead. She had begun eating the milk biscuits when Auror Scrimgeour returned with another man, whom she assumed was Frankel. _Why do none of these men ever introduce themselves?_ Minerva wondered.

Frankel ignored her presence and went over to Sprangle, where they held a hushed conversation. Scrimgeour sat down beside Minerva.

“Good, you’re eating,” he said.

“It seemed sensible,” Minerva responded.

“Hmm, Gryffindors are not always known for their good sense, and from the way you looked when Ouellette told you Dumbledore was missing, I didn’t think you’d have any appetite.”

“I didn’t,” she replied. “But as I said, it seemed sensible.” Minerva was unsure whether to like or resent this Auror. He certainly thought a great deal of himself.

“I don’t think they’re sending enough Aurors with you,” the intense Auror opined. “That area is dangerous, and it’s all well and good that Frankel speaks German, but you’re going to _France_ , for Merlin’s sake!”

“You just wanted to go yourself. I suppose you speak French?”

“No, that’s not it. I do, of course, want to go . . . but . . . I just have a bad feeling about it. And yes, I speak French. My mother’s French, and I went to school there. Small wizarding school in the Alsace. It was beautiful until Grindelwald destroyed it. Completely. Levelled it as though it had never been there at all. It wasn’t Hogwarts, of course – academically, it was just as good,” he said slightly defensively, “but it was small, just a little chateau, and never more than fifty students at a time. It didn’t have the history, or the protective wards, of Hogwarts. No one ever thought they’d be needed. Grindelwald doesn’t appreciate anything he perceives as competition, though, and when our teachers and Headmistress refused to co-operate with his agents . . .” Scrimgeour shook his head.

“I’m sorry.” Minerva didn’t know what else to say to this little speech. “Don’t you think, though, that Auror Sprangle knows what he’s doing?”

Despite her view of Scrimgeour as an overconfident, competitive young Auror, she was a bit uneasy, herself. Now that she thought about it, it did seem odd to send in only one Auror, no matter how experienced, and a completely untrained young Animagus. She understood her value as a member of a team, but perhaps that team should be a little larger . . .

“If he was just popping in and popping out to do some reconnaissance, wearing an Invisibility Cloak, or Disillusioned, then . . . perhaps. But this is supposed to be the search, not just a brief look-see,” responded Scrimgeour.

Minerva considered what Scrimgeour said. She wished that she had had some kind of training for this. She had no standard by which to evaluate the Auror’s statements.

“I thought you were supposed to be doing something with the Portkeys,” Minerva asked, changing the subject.

“Yes, well, there wasn’t much to do. I told them the trigger words for your return Portkey – they’re setting Dumbledore’s to the same thing – and left them to it. They already had the co-ordinates plotted; I just confirmed the time of departure. Someone will bring them up when it’s time.”

“What do you mean my ‘return Portkey’?” asked Minerva. “What about the outbound Portkey? Was it too late to change the trigger word?”

Scrimgeour looked a little uncomfortable, but answered, “You heard that they want you to Portkey in your Animagus form. They have determined that Frankel will be, um, carrying you, um, in a . . . bag.” Scrimgeour squirmed under Minerva’s glare. “Don’t look at me like that! It wasn’t _my_ idea! Talk to them about it,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of Sprangle and Frankel.

“I most _certainly_ will!” Minerva got up and stalked toward the two men seated at the far end of the table.

“I need a word, Auror Sprangle.”

“We will give you a final briefing just before you Portkey out, Miss McGonagall. At the moment, I am discussing the situation with Auror Frankel.”

“That is _precisely_ what I need to speak with you about, sir. I understand that you apparently have made certain plans for my journey, without consulting me and without even considering how inappropriate they may be.” Minerva spoke quietly and evenly, but with a low, angry edge.

“I certainly do not know what you are talking about, Miss McGonagall. Now, I suggest you settle down and wait. The Minister’s secretary can get you more tea, I’m sure. You will not be leaving for more than an hour yet.” Auror Sprangle turned back to the parchment he had been looking at, apparently believing he had dismissed the young Ministry employee.

“Well, then, let me _tell_ you what I am talking about, Auror Sprangle. It is my understanding that you plan on having me transported to France in a bag! Please _do_ tell me that I am incorrect in this understanding, sir, as I am having trouble believing it, myself.”

The pot-bellied Auror looked up again, to see a very angry witch. “Now, now, Miss McGonagall. You have to understand the security involved here. It is safest for you to Portkey over in your Animagus form. There is no guarantee that the destination point will not be under surveillance of some kind.” The Auror smiled condescendingly at Minerva. “This is for your own safety, I assure you!”

“Well, let me assure _you_ , sir, that I will _never_ consent to being transported in a bag. Have you lost your minds? First, even if I were an ordinary cat, cats do not like being carted about closed up in a bag. Second, I am _not_ an ordinary cat. Third, I would be unable to transform myself back into my usual form if I were trapped in a bag. Fourth, since you are so concerned with my ‘safety,’ if something were to happen upon our arrival, I would be unable to do anything to save myself – not even run away in my Animagus form. Fifth, that is the _most_ undignified thing I have _ever_ heard of! I would be willing to put up with _any_ indignity if it were to aid us in finding Professor Dumbledore, but this most assuredly would _not_!”

At the end of her speech, Frankel chuckled slightly. “Told you, Septimus, didn’t I?”

Sprangle sputtered, “It’s too late now; we can’t make you a separate Portkey. Besides, cats can’t use Portkeys. They don’t know how!”

Minerva laughed shortly at that, “I believe you are _very_ confused, Auror Sprangle. You want me to go over there because as an Animagus, I have certain abilities. You surely must realise that I do not lose my power for human thought while in my Animagus form. And yet you speak as though I would be unable to use a Portkey! Of course, it would have to activate via my touch, or be set to go off at a certain time, but those things are quite simple to arrange. I am sure that all of this would have occurred to you, if you weren’t concerned about having to send an untrained witch on this mission. But since, as you point out, time is growing short, Auror Frankel may _hold_ me when he uses his Portkey. He may _not_ put me in a bag or a cage, however.”

“That’s fine with us, isn’t it, Septimus?” answered Frankel with a wry grin.

“Yes, yes; now go back and finish your tea,” Sprangle said, with some exasperation.

Minerva returned to her previous seat to see Scrimgeour grinning at her.

“Well, I wish you’d talked to them about sending additional wizards along since you managed that so nicely,” he said as she sat down.

“Hmmpf. I doubt I would have prevailed there. It is sometimes wise to choose one’s battles, don’t you think?”

“I completely agree with you. And a quiet retreat, or biding one’s time, can often bring greater success than a reactive attack,” the Auror said. “Eventually, if you wait and watch, you will achieve your ultimate goal.”

Minerva wondered briefly what his ultimate goal was. “I am concerned, though, about one thing,” she said.

Scrimgeour raised his eyebrows as if to ask, _Just one?_

“From the briefing, it seems clear that Professor Dumbledore was injured, perhaps badly, since we know he didn’t Disapparate. Either that, or Carson Murphy was badly injured, and he didn’t want to leave him behind. Or both,” Minerva continued.

Scrimgeour interrupted. “Actually, and I assume they will brief you on this before you go, anyway, we do know a bit more now. Moody regained consciousness. He said that Dumbledore’s wand was broken, and that he himself was injured – apparently at least a head injury, although from what Moody told us, it sounds as though Dumbledore also injured his left arm, or possibly the entire left side of his body. It appeared to Moody that Dumbledore’s magic was somewhat weakened, as well, although that might have been because he wasn’t using his own wand. In addition, all three wizards were very close to the jeep when it exploded, and were knocked to the ground by the force of the blast; it is possible that Dumbledore has other injuries that Moody was unaware of. Dumbledore was apparently so covered in blood, it was difficult to determine what injuries he may have suffered.”

Minerva’s gut contracted at this new information. “Covered in blood?” she said faintly.

“Yes, although most of it may have been Murphy’s. It didn’t sound good at all. Moody, well, he thinks that Murphy was likely to die without immediate medical treatment. Apparently Moody protested when Dumbledore made the decision to alter the Portkey for his use, but Murphy and Dumbledore both insisted he take it. It’s probable that the two knew that Murphy wouldn’t survive the trip, anyway.” Scrimgeour conjured a cup, and poured himself some tea from the large pot on the table.

“Isn’t it even more important, then, that someone else go with us, if they’re both injured so badly? A Healer . . . or at least a mediwizard?” Minerva’s mind was reeling from the shocking new information.

“I think, well, I don’t know if they think it would do any good, you see. And the only way to get them out is by Portkey – or possibly Side-Along Apparition.”

Scrimgeour didn’t need to explain his meaning any more clearly. Minerva saw immediately that they believed either that Carson was already dead or that getting him out was bound to kill him, even if he received some kind of medical attention beforehand. She didn’t know where that left Albus, though.

“But what about Professor Dumbledore? It sounds as though he was fairly badly injured, as well.”

“Moody didn’t seem to think he was in immediate danger of death. He was apparently up and about, although clearly weakened by his injuries. Of course, it’s cold, which complicates things, and he doesn’t have his coat; Moody said he’d given it to Murphy.”

 _That was Albus Dumbledore; he could be freezing to death, and he’d give his coat to someone he thought needed it more – particularly if it were a former student. He is always so protective of his students. It must be torment for him to be able to do so little for Carson now,_ she thought.

Minerva had the sudden realisation that if Carson were unlikely to be returning home, it was possible she might not be, either. Of course, it was not as though she hadn’t known this when she’d agreed to the Prime Minister’s request, but now it truly engaged her awareness.

“Excuse me a moment, please,” Minerva said, getting up from the table. She walked to the door of the conference room, and, opening it, saw that the Minister’s slightly plump, grey-haired secretary was still at her desk.

“Pardon me, do you think I might have some parchment, and a quill, please? Thank you,” Minerva said, as the secretary handed her the items she’d requested. Returning to the conference room, but sitting a bit further from Scrimgeour, she prepared to write.

“Letter to your parents?” asked the Auror.

“Yes, how did you know?”

“We all do it, at least once. A letter to parents, or to a wife or husband, or a lover, or to sons or daughters . . .” Scrimgeour squinted slightly; Minerva didn’t know whether he was affected by his own words or not. He said no more, but got up to examine the large map on the wall.

_“Dear Mother and Dad,_

_“If you are reading this, then I must apologise for the pain I have caused you. You must know that I wanted to return home to you, and that I would have done what I could in order to see you again. But you also know that I could not refuse the mission that was given me – I do not know if you are aware of its nature, so best not speak of it here – nor could I leave anyone behind if leaving him would mean abandoning him to an evil fate._

_“You have both always given me the greatest encouragement and love that any daughter could receive from any parents. You always allowed me the freedom to find my own path, and, where possible, gave me the tools to do so successfully. I have always known that you were as proud of me as ever you could be, no matter what I chose to do. So please, be proud now. You raised me to find what was right and to pursue it. I am doing that now._

_“Please give my love to Malcolm, Morgan, and Murdoch, and Melina, too. Tell her to study hard when she gets to Hogwarts, and to take advantage of the opportunity to learn everything she can._

_“There is one other thing that I must mention. It may be possible that although I do not return, another will. You will remember this person well, as I did not throw up on his shoes, as you had warned him I might, Mother. It is likely that in this event, he will feel some guilt that he was unable to bring me back with him. You must tell him that I did only what I had to do, and that, as I wished to ‘emulate him in every way,’ could not choose to do otherwise. Remind him, too, that I am a Gryffindor and a McGonagall, and we tend to be a bit headstrong; no one could have prevented me from coming after him and finding him, and no price would be too high to pay in order to accomplish that. I only hope that I was sufficiently successful in my task that he was able to return, even if without me. If I was successful in that regard, please tell him that my gratitude toward him is immeasurable, and that some of my happiest memories include time spent with him._

_“Do know that I love you all, although I may not say it often enough._

_“With apologies,  
“I remain your loving daughter,_

_“Minerva  
“5 January 1945”_

Having finished her letter, feeling that it was hardly adequate to her intent but would have to suffice, she folded it and sealed it with a quick charm without rereading it. She then wrote “Egeria Egidius McGonagall and Merwyn Marcas McGonagall” on the outside. She hesitated, unsure what to do next.

“Give it to the secretary. She’ll know what to do with it,” Scrimgeour said, having turned from his apparent scrutiny of the map.

Minerva rose and did as the Auror suggested. She explained to the secretary that the letter was only to be sent in the event that she did not return from her trip for the Ministry, or if she died. The secretary appeared used to such requests and took the parchment from Minerva, opened a drawer in her desk that was filled with similar such parchments, and placed Minerva’s with them.

“And if you do return? Will you retrieve it, or should I simply destroy it?” asked the secretary.

“I . . . I don’t know. What do you usually do?”

“I generally keep them until they are retrieved, or until the sender’s conditions for posting it have been met,” replied the witch. “I compare the List of Missing and Dead each day with the list in the drawer to see what letters need to be posted. See,” she said, pulling the list from the drawer. “The parchment is charmed to detect the writer and the recipient of each letter. There’s your name at the bottom. I do have to cross them off manually, however, once I remove a letter from the drawer. I keep meaning to have someone charm it to do that automatically, but I have never found the time.”

Satisfied with the secretary’s arrangements, Minerva asked her to keep the letter until she returned for it, or until it needed to be sent off.

Sitting back at the conference table, Minerva poured herself another cup of tea, although she didn’t particularly want it. It was something to do. She’d have to visit the loo before they left, that was certain. Minerva tried not to think about the two wizards, wounded and waiting in the cold for an uncertain rescue, but she was unable to do so. Albus – she had called him that at his insistence since she’d left school – had most likely found somewhere away from the vehicle for them to hide. She doubted he would have sought shelter in a house or barn, even if there were one nearby, since if anyone other than a friend were looking for them, they would certainly begin their search with any habitations or outbuildings in the area. No, he would probably look for some sort of naturally occurring shelter – perhaps a cave, or an overhang. She realised that she had no sense of the geography involved, and wished that Frankel would finish his conversation with the other Auror and show her the maps they had spoken of.

Minerva got up and approached the two wizards. Before she had the opportunity to speak, Frankel looked up and greeted her.

“Miss McGonagall, we should prepare ourselves to leave very shortly. I gather from Auror Scrimgeour that you are aware of our latest information regarding the status of the two wizards we’ll be looking for. That’s good; I won’t have to go over that with you, unless you have any questions. I think we might profitably take a few minutes to look at a particular map, however.”

“Yes, that’s why I was coming over here, actually. I don’t know what the geography is like, and that will be important to know, if we are to find them as quickly as possible,” she responded.

“Yes. Here’s the map I think would be most useful to you, especially in your Animagus form. It is similar to a Muggle topographic map, but we have enhanced the maps they gave us in order to provide more detail. It was in the works when Dumbledore left, but hadn’t been completed yet, which is unfortunate for him. Nonetheless, he is on the ground there and will likely attempt to use the topography to his advantage.”

“That’s what I thought, as well,” said Minerva as she pulled the map toward her so she could see it better.

“I’ll just go and check on those Portkeys, then, whilst you two go over your plans. Come along, Scrimgeour. Don’t you have something to be doing? If you’re not on duty, then go get some rest; if you are, then go make yourself useful somewhere.”

Minerva and Frankel spent some time going over the map, paying particular attention to the areas to the north and northeast of the crossroads. Moody had described their last location as being on that side of the road, and it seemed unlikely they’d return to the road it had already taken them such an effort to get away from. Frankel filled her in on a few more of the details that Moody had shared, including his belief that Carson could not have walked anywhere under his own power, and that Dumbledore’s physical and magical strength both seemed low. That certainly narrowed their search area even further.

After they had finished discussing the map and their initial plans – Minerva not arguing or questioning the wisdom of sending only the two of them since she did not wish to waste time, but wanted only to leave and begin to search for Albus and Carson without delay – Frankel recommended that she visit the loo, get some chocolate bars to put in her pockets and bring with her, and rest a little during the short time they had before their Portkeys were ready.

She did as he recommended, using the loo, then asking the secretary where she could find some chocolate, as she didn’t want to take any time to go to the cafeteria. The secretary opened another of her desk drawers and pulled out several bars of chocolate.

“Honeydukes’ finest,” she said with a smile, “just wrapped up to look like Muggle sweets. I keep them for the ones who have to be out and about mixing with Muggles.”

Minerva placed a Cooling Charm on her pocket, tucked the chocolate bars into it, then returned to the conference room, to find it empty. She sat down in the chair that had been vacated by Sprangle and pulled the map toward her, attempting to memorise every contour of the land around the area Moody had left the other two. Her mind continued returning to thoughts of Albus and Carson.

Why did it have to be the two of them? It was bad enough that it was Albus, but Carson, too . . . Minerva remembered how she had got to know the good-natured Ravenclaw, and how it became clear that he had a bit of a crush on her. She hadn’t minded; Carson was a nice boy, and very bright. They had a great deal in common, and he was always sensitive to her feelings, never pressing her for more than she was willing to give. Later, she hadn’t minded because she had believed that “keeping company” with him would help diminish her feelings for Albus. She believed that if she could become involved with someone “more appropriate,” she could get over whatever it was she felt for her Transfiguration professor, perhaps even transfer some of the feelings to this more appropriate person. And there was no denying that Carson was appropriate. He was bright and talented, though no more than she, if perhaps in different areas. Most importantly, he was young, he was available, and he wasn’t everything that Dumbledore so clearly was. Not that he wasn’t a good wizard; no, not at all. The Ravenclaw Seeker was kind, open-hearted, and generous, and his magic was strong, as well, although not nearly on par with Dumbledore’s – but whose was? Yes, Minerva had determined that Carson Murphy was a highly appropriate person to begin, well, not _dating_ exactly, but spending time with.

Carson had been very happy when, in their sixth year, Minerva agreed to accompany him to the village on Hogsmeade weekends and to study with him in the library instead of going off who-knew-where to study by herself. He never pressed for more than she seemed ready to offer, though, afraid that he would lose her if he tried too hard to persuade her to do more than just “spend time” with him. He was even more thrilled, therefore, when Minerva agreed to go with him to the St. Valentine’s Day Dance, which Headmaster Dippet thought might cheer the students, with all the bad news they had been hearing lately.

Late in the evening, when the Dance was almost over, Carson took Minerva for a walk in the frozen rose garden, regretting that it was not spring and he couldn’t present her with a more romantic setting. He cast a Warming Charm on a cold stone bench, and, with what he hoped was a gallant sweep of his hand, gestured for her to sit. Then he’d sat beside her, taken her hand, and told her how pretty she was, and how smart; he told her how much he enjoyed being with her and how happy he was that she was there with him now. He smiled at her and called her “my fair Minerva.” Then he had tried to kiss her, just holding her hand, leaning forward, and placing his lips gently on hers. At first, she seemed to respond, to return his kiss, but, in a bare moment, she pulled her hand from his and gently pushed him away.

Minerva still remembered the crushed look on Carson’s face and how he had tried to hide his disappointment and hurt. She couldn’t bear to hurt him any more than she already had by pushing him away – he was her friend, after all, and a good wizard, one any young witch at Hogwarts should be happy to have kiss her – so she simply said that it was all a bit too fast; she’d never had a boyfriend before and wanted to take things more slowly. Carson had happily agreed since, to him, it did not seem like a rejection. Minerva, though, knew that she was rejecting him, although she did not want to.

Minerva’s body had rebelled. She had begun to feel a bit warm when Carson took her hand there in the moonlight, and she thought perhaps it was a good warmth. And when he bent toward her and kissed her gently on the mouth, she thought his lips felt rather nice, despite the discomfort that was growing in her. But when she tried to respond as she thought she ought, and return his kiss, the warmth grew, not passionate, but merely more uncomfortable. She felt short of breath, but not breathless, and her stomach was not filled with the butterflies other girls spoke of, but with nausea. In fact, bile had risen in her throat, and Minerva was sure that if she had not broken off the kiss, she would have been sick there and then.

Minerva had continued seeing Carson after that, sure that if she just saw him enough, if she just liked him well enough, she could kiss him without feeling ill. She was almost ashamed at her physical reaction. Carson was a gentleman who treated her with courtesy, kindness, and thoughtful affection. How could she possibly feel sick when he touched her?

Finally, midway through their seventh-year, Minerva sat Carson down in a secluded nook in one of the seldom-used corridors and told him that he should bring someone else to the next Hogsmeade weekend. She felt guilty that he was spending time with her when he might be spending it with someone who would appreciate him more than she could, someone who could return his affection in a way that she couldn’t. And she also felt as though she were betraying the true object of her affection, although he would never even know it. Trying to explain her reasons to Carson seemed impossible. She told him the truth, as far as she was able: that she liked him very much, that she enjoyed spending time with him, and that she always would. She just didn’t think that she could ever like him in quite the way that he obviously liked her.

Carson had just sat there, listening, quiet, blinking hard. When she was finished, he reached for her hand, looking at her questioningly as he did so. When she nodded, he took it between his, and stroked it gently. Looking down at the hand he held, he had said, “There’s someone else, isn’t there?” Although he had phrased it as a question, it had sounded more like a statement.

“No, no, Carson, there’s no one else. I just can’t explain it. I want to like you the way that you like me, but I just haven’t been able to. Maybe I just can’t care enough, maybe I can’t give my heart as freely as you give yours, or maybe I’m just too young yet. All I do know is that you are a good wizard and a good friend. I care about you, Carson; I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to miss the opportunity to meet some other witch who is better for you than I am.”

Carson had argued with her only a little, then, resigned, said, “You may not even know there’s someone else, Minerva, but I think there must be. I think you can’t give your heart to me because you’ve already given it away.”

Minerva said nothing to that, only shaking her head sadly. She leaned forward and gave him a kiss, first one on the cheek, then one on the mouth. Ironically, it was the first time that kissing him had not made her feel queasy. They continued to study together in the library, and sometimes they’d meet at the Three Broomsticks on weekends, but always with a group of friends. Despite her encouragement, Carson didn’t invite any other girls to go with him on Hogsmeade weekends, and after the Leaving Feast, he had come over to her and hugged her hard, holding her tightly. 

When Carson finally broke their embrace, he said, “You know I’ve been accepted into the Aurors’ programme. As soon as I’m done with the initial three-month training, I’m going to be staying at a flat my family keeps in London. I’ll owl you – or maybe even stop by and see you at the Ministry – and let you know. Our ‘free’ time is highly structured those first few months, but maybe after that we could have lunch sometimes, or get out in the evening? As friends, of course,” he finished with a slight flush.

“Of course. I’d like that. I don’t know many people in London. I’ve found a bedsit through a friend of my brother Morgan’s, myself; it’s not much, but it’s close enough so that I can walk to my job without having to Apparate or be on the Floo-Network.”

In fact, after those initial three months, Carson kept his word and turned up at her desk one day and invited her to lunch, explaining that he had the whole afternoon off, and if she could take the time, perhaps they could go to Diagon Alley for lunch. Minerva had gladly closed up her tiny office – she was convinced she’d been given her own office only because either they didn’t want to have to look at all the boring parchments she got or because they didn’t want her to see all of the more interesting things that everyone else was assigned – and went off to Diagon Alley with Carson.

There was no awkwardness between them as they sat in the Leaky Cauldron and talked of their work and of his training. They had significantly shortened the normal Aurors’ training course, so he would be ‘out in the field,’ as he put it, as a fully-qualified Auror in just three more months. Minerva thought he looked tired and somewhat stretched, herself, but he was excited about his work and seemed happy. He ate ravenously, explaining that, although there had always been plenty of food available, it had been pretty bad, so now that he had more freedom, he was going to make up for lost time – and meals – and eat as much good food as he could whenever he had the opportunity.

As time went on, he and Minerva began to meet regularly for lunch; whenever he was at the Ministry, or nearby, he’d stop at her desk, she’d close up, and they’d take off for lunch. No one seemed to mind how much time Minerva took since she often stayed late and never left any work undone. The two would often go to Diagon Alley, but, almost as frequently, they would find themselves in Muggle London, which Carson seemed to know well. He would charm his Auror uniform to a less conspicuous brown, and they’d set out for some restaurant that he’d found, and that she “just had to try.” Despite the wartime restrictions and rationing, Carson always seemed to manage to find somewhere with “good food.”

One Friday, a few months after their first lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, and shortly before he was to finish his training, he picked her up and asked her if she needed to get back to work that afternoon, or if they could spend it together. She’d asked her boss, who had just nodded and waved dismissively at them from behind her parchment. Minerva shrugged and said she guessed that meant is was all right. Instead of exiting the Ministry in the usual way, Carson asked Minerva whether she would mind Apparating, instead. Minerva hesitated. Although she no longer vomited every time she Side-Alonged, she still became nauseous and dizzy.

“I’d like to bring you somewhere special for lunch today, Minerva. It’s easier if we Apparate.”

Minerva reluctantly agreed, although Carson would not tell her where he was taking her for this lunch. They went to the designated Apparition Point in the Ministry, signed the watchwitch’s book, and Minerva stepped to his side, took his hand, closed her eyes, and swallowed in dread. It actually wasn’t as bad as usual, she thought when it was over. She only felt slightly dizzy and a tiny bit queasy.

Minerva looked around her; she was in what appeared to be a sitting room in a private house, but she didn’t recognise anything. There were two armchairs and a small sofa, what one might actually call a “loveseat,” in front of a fireplace, with a small table in between; a few bookcases lined one side of the room, and there was a Comet leaning against the wall next to a closed door. Minerva could see there was a second door leading to the room, which was open to reveal a dimly lit hallway.

“Welcome to my humble abode, Miss McGonagall,” Carson said with a tentative smile. “I have a little kitchen here, and I’ve been trying to teach myself to cook. I’m still somewhat limited in what I can safely feed another person, but, well, I wanted to try out my new skills for you.”

He and Minerva had a pleasant lunch, quite edible, in Minerva’s opinion, although Carson kept apologising for each dish as he served it. Once Minerva had put a stop to such foolishness, they went on to talk of other things, from Minerva’s dissatisfaction with her job to Carson’s eagerness to finally be done with training so he could do something “real,” as he put it.

After lunch, they went into his little sitting room, Carson apologising this time for the size of his flat.

“I do wish you’d stop apologising for everything, Carson. When you have something to apologise for, I’ll let you know. Save it until then, all right? Besides, you should see my place. It’s just one not-particularly-big room, and although I have my own small loo, I have to share a bath with all the other lodgers on my floor. I have a tiny corner in which I can make tea and sandwiches, but I can’t do any real cooking. I have so little room that most of my books are still shrunk and in boxes, and I had to make an inventory and number the boxes so I could find a book when I wanted it. Your place is practically a palace in comparison!”

They sat on the small sofa in front of his fireplace, which was unlit although it was almost the end of December, with Christmas just a week away. Carson explained that the flat had last been used by one of his uncles, who hadn’t used the fireplace in so long that Carson needed to get it swept before he could use it, but apparently it was hard to find a good wizarding chimneysweep in London these days. It wasn’t on the Floo-Network, anyway, and Warming Charms had done well enough for him so far, although, he said, he’d always wake up at about three-thirty in the morning to have to refresh it since, even with an extra blanket, it would get cold at night. Then he looked at Minerva and blushed and looked away again.

They talked more of everything in their lives, of Hogwarts, of their work, of what they wanted to do after the war. Carson asked her if she’d like some supper with him, and when she agreed, he told her to stay in the sitting room and look at a book – he didn’t have as many as she did, he joked, but at least she wouldn’t have to unshrink them before she could read them!

Minerva settled down on the loveseat, shoes off and legs curled up under her, with a copy of _Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes_ , and waited for supper. When Carson had returned some twenty minutes later, it was to find the book open to page three, and Minerva asleep. He gently removed the book from her grasp, and when this woke her, he apologised.

“I told you not to apologise, Carson! It is I who should apologise, in any case, for being so rude and falling asleep on your couch.”

“You are welcome to fall asleep here anywhere you like,” replied Carson. “What I mean is, um, you should feel at home here. We’re old friends, after all.” He was blushing again, and this time Minerva found herself blushing, as well.

“You brought sandwiches, I see, and tea. It looks delicious, Carson! Thank you,” she said, diverting their attention away from wherever it had been going.

They sat together and ate sandwiches in a comfortable silence. As he took her plate from her, she remarked, “You have a very cozy flat, Carson; thank you for your hospitality. I haven’t been home to my family in ages, and I don’t visit anyone in London much, so this has been very nice.”

“I’m glad; you’re welcome. And I mean that: you’re always welcome here, Minerva.” He gazed at her and reached toward her; when she didn’t move away, he took her hand, as he had once in the Hogwarts’ rose garden. “I know we’re friends, Minerva. And I know . . . I remember what you said before, at Hogwarts, I do. And I don’t want to make you uncomfortable after the nice day we’ve had, but I just need to tell you that I still care for you, my fair Minerva, probably more than ever. And I understand if you will only want lunch and conversation when we’re together, and if that’s still so, I will learn to content myself with that.”

Minerva didn’t know how to respond to her friend’s heartfelt words. So she didn’t say anything, but merely squeezed his hand. Carson raised his other one and gently caressed her cheek. 

“Minerva, my fair Minerva . . . ,” he whispered.

She leaned into his caress and closed her eyes. He was good, kind, and gentle, and she did care for him. And she was young and yearned for a touch from a wizard. This was not the wizard she wanted, but Carson was there and Minerva cared for him. So when he leaned in, much as he had almost two years before in the rose garden, and touched his lips to hers, she did not push him away. Encouraged, Carson moved closer, still kissing her, delighted that she was responding, that she had raised an arm and put it around him, urging him nearer.

His kisses moved from her mouth to her face; he kissed her cheeks, her lidded eyes, her forehead, and then returned to her lips again; he caressed her cheek with a lingering touch, as if cherishing her, and then drew his fingertips gently downward to her throat, barely touching it. Releasing her hand from his, he put his other arm around her and pulled her still closer, kissing her lips, sucking them lightly, then stroking them with the tip of his tongue. Minerva gasped at the sensation, and he tentatively entered her mouth with his tongue, first lightly running it over her teeth, then flicking the tip against the roof of her mouth, before finding her tongue and gently prodding it with his own, as if asking her to join him.

Minerva remembered the rest of that night very well. She spent it with him, in his arms and in his bed. She did feel a warmth from being with him, which was now not unpleasant. Minerva recollected how, even in his passion and his need, he had tried to be gentle with her. He was barely more experienced than she, having been with a woman only once, that July, shortly before he began his Auror training. She was a Squib whose family lived near his own, he told Minerva as they were lying in bed that first night. The two had played together as children, before he went to Hogwarts. He said he felt guilty about the encounter afterward: he didn’t want to be in a relationship with her, but apparently she had wanted just that, and so she believed that he had used her and then rejected her because she was a Squib.

“You know, it wasn’t that at all, Minerva. In fact, I thought that I might want to court her, once the war was over, but when we were together that time, I wasn’t thinking of her at all . . . and that wasn’t right.” He left unsaid that he had been thinking of Minerva, but Minerva knew that he had been. Minerva felt her own guilt then, for she knew that, although she hadn’t thought of another wizard while Carson was making love to her, it was only because she wouldn’t allow herself to.

Despite her promise to herself that she would not let it happen again, that she would not stay with him like that, she did nonetheless, although only a few times more. It was actually Carson who ended that aspect of their relationship, to Minerva’s surprise. On her sixth visit to his flat, on a sunny Saturday morning, he’d brought her tea in bed, then sat beside her with his own cup.

“Minerva, I think we should go back to the way things were,” he said, looking into his teacup as though it might hold the answers to the universe. “I know that you care for me, but you don’t love me, and I don’t believe you ever will.” He spoke over her protest. “You may love me in some way, Minerva, but you were right, back then at Hogwarts: I feel differently for you than you do for me. I’m not saying this to condemn you, Minerva. I say it because I _do_ love you. Not only do I not want to settle for whatever affection you may have for me, which I fear would eventually turn to resentment, but I want you to find whoever it is who holds your heart in his hands. I know there is someone; I feel it when we’re together – there’s a part of you that isn’t there, that belongs to someone else. Don’t protest this, Minerva; I know what you’ve said, that there’s no one else, but there is – maybe you haven’t even met him yet, and it’s like in those stories my gram used to tell me when I was little, where you’re destined not to love until you’ve met the wizard whom Fate sends you. Or maybe you _have_ met him, you just haven’t recognised each other yet.” Carson sighed. “She always loved those tales, my gram did. I just hope it is so for you, my fair Minerva, and that you will find each other soon, so that you will be both happy and fair. I shall dance at your wedding and shall toast your groom when I know you have found your love.”

Minerva had sat, tears on her cheeks, and ceased her protest. And although she did try to laugh and tell him that he was obviously Irish, with his Romanticism and celebrating Fate come-what-may, she did not try to convince him that they should be anything other than friends.

So it was with dread for the two wizards waiting in the frozen night that Minerva slipped into her Animagus form, settled herself in Frankel’s arms, and Portkeyed away from all that was familiar.


	20. Hiding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with his own injuries, Albus struggles to help a grievously wounded young Auror and to keep his own dark thoughts at bay.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore, Carson Murphy

**XX: Hiding**

Albus spared not another thought for Alastor after he had Portkeyed away, focussing his attention instead on the wounded young Auror who lay, still on his side, on the ground next to him.

“Carson, do you think you’d be all right on your own for a moment or two? I am going back to the jeep and see if there are any salvageable supplies we might use.”

“S’fine, Pr’fess’r,” Carson slurred.

“I will try not to be very long.” Albus rose from the cold hard ground. He had never felt so old in his life. He didn’t think there was a part of his body that didn’t ache; it was only a matter of the degree of pain. He was rather amazed he hadn’t lost consciousness again, as he was fairly certain that he had sustained a bad blow to the front of his head and another, lesser one, to the back of it – the latter probably sustained when Carson pushed him to the ground. Albus blinked hard. Foolish boy! If he hadn’t done that, the young Auror might very well have been able to walk away from the scene with only a few scratches, instead of the large piece of shrapnel that now protruded so disturbingly from his back and chest.

Albus walked gingerly back toward the charred wreck, alert for any sound that might indicate there was someone nearby. A few years ago, he might have risked capture by the German army in order to get Carson some medical attention, but now, with the war going so badly and supplies too scarce for their own troops, he doubted that any German soldier would look at Carson as anything other than already-dead-but-still-breathing. As for himself, there was a good reason that the Ministry had arranged the emergency Portkey for him. Grindelwald was very aware that Dumbledore was searching for him and undermining him in his attempt to become the sole power in both wizarding and Muggle Europe. 

As the war went worse for the Axis powers, Grindelwald became increasingly desperate. He had wizards, usually half-bloods or Muggle-borns, planted in strategic positions in the Nazi apparatus, particularly in the Gestapo and the SS. At first, he had planted some of his most powerful wizards in the Muggle government, but soon came to see that he needed the strength of those wizards working with him, and that he could utilise weaker, less talented wizards as his spies and manipulators.

As the Muggle war went on, Grindelwald lost several of his key infiltrators, whether from Allied attacks or from the paranoia of the Nazi leaders. And his hold on wizarding Europe was declining as Muggle Europe became more chaotic. 

Grindelwald blamed Dumbledore for it all. If he were captured by the German army, it would take very little time for Grindelwald to learn of it from his operatives within the Nazi machine. He had never had large numbers of followers, but instead had relied on the fractured German wizarding world, with its archaic boundaries and allegiances, and had exploited the megalomania of the Muggle Hitler. Grindelwald vastly overestimated his ability to manipulate the Muggle world and underestimated to the same degree the European wizarding world’s ability to unite against him.

Dumbledore had little hope of finding anything of value left in the still smoking remains of the vehicle, particularly since the German soldiers would have taken anything of value, but still he was going to look. His primary concern at the moment was water. Carson had lost tremendous amounts of blood, and his blood pressure was dangerously low. Perhaps if he could rehydrate him, he might last long enough to . . . what, Dumbledore did not know. If no friendly wizards Apparated in during the next few minutes, he could safely surmise that no rescue would be forthcoming for some time, perhaps several hours. Carson needed a Healer immediately.

As Dumbledore searched the remains of the car, attempting not to look at what was left of Lieutenant Rogers and Private Merrick, he thought again of the way that Carson had pushed him to the ground, saving him from the blast. He still was a “Gryffy-Ravenclaw,” as his friends at Hogwarts were wont to call him. And Albus couldn’t do anything for him. Even if his magic were at full strength, his knowledge of healing was insufficient to deal with wounds as extensive as the ones Carson had suffered. Although, perhaps, Albus would have been able to treat him sufficiently to give him more time, enough time . . .

Miraculously, Albus thought, he found a flask, a canteen, undamaged and with water in it, on the other side of the road from the vehicle, apparently having been thrown there by the explosion. It was full since they had only left the British camp less than an hour before their journey had been so abruptly interrupted. Albus took two swallows of the water before heading back to the spot in the bushes where he’d left Carson. He could have easily drunk the entire contents of the flask and still wanted more, but Carson’s need was greater.

Albus returned, dreading what he might find. But Carson was still breathing, still lying on one side. He knelt beside the young Auror. “Look what I found, Carson, some water. Would you like a drink? I’ve had mine already,” he said softly.

Carson’s eyes fluttered open. A Muggle would be dead by now, Albus thought. He didn’t know if the relative toughness of the wizarding constitution was a blessing or a curse at the moment.

“Here, now, I’ll just help you sit up a bit, that’s right.” Albus held the flask to the boy’s blood-stained lips and dribbled a little in. Carson choked, and blood began to froth around his wound again. “A little more slowly, then. I’m sorry, Carson, truly.”

“S’a’right, Pr’fess’r. I’ss good.”

Albus slowly dribbled water into the injured Auror’s mouth. He seemed to take it well, after the initial choking. 

“All right, now, Carson? We can save the rest for later, then.” Albus stuffed the flask’s strap into his belt and wound it around a few times. He didn’t think he could bear having anything slung around his shoulder.

“You should drink . . .” Carson whispered.

“I’ve had mine. I’m fine. Now we need to find a better place than this. I think I can manage another Disillusionment Charm for you, then I’m going to go see what is nearby, hmm?”

“’Kay.”

Albus tucked the coat back around the boy more snugly, then he had a thought. “Carson? You know, I don’t think it’s wise to remove that bit of metal from your chest – it may be the only thing keeping you from bleeding out completely, I don’t know. However, I may be able to make you a bit more comfortable by cutting off the ends of the thing. It wouldn’t take much more than cutting off that bit of Alastor’s tourniquet did. Would you like me to try, my boy?”

“Sure. ’Vry time we move, hurts. Maybe i’ wouldn’t pull so much . . .” Carson trailed off.

Dumbledore’s concern was mounting, which he hadn’t thought possible. Carson seemed much weaker than he had even twenty minutes ago. At least he was still conscious. The old wizard gently peeled back the great wool coat. 

Starting with the piece protruding from Carson’s chest since that was closest, Albus tried a simple _Diffindo_ and succeeded in trimming the metal shard so that only a few millimetres emerged from the young wizard’s chest. Albus found the _Diffindo_ had taken more energy to cast than he had anticipated, so on the portion protruding from Carson’s back, he decided to use the _Amputatio_ Charm, believing it would require less energy for the same effect, as it was a naturally more powerful charm. As he prepared to cast it, he hoped that the Healers in Amiens were not performing the same Charm on Alastor’s mangled leg. Putting that thought out of his mind, Dumbledore cast the _Amputatio_ and was pleased to see the metal end slice cleanly off at just the point he had intended, and yet with less effort than the _Diffindo_ had taken. Albus hadn’t had to pay so much attention to his charms work since he was a first-year at Hogwarts.

“There we are, much better. Now, I’ll just put the coat back over you, here. And you really should be sitting up a bit, but I don’t want to move you just yet. What if I take off my jacket and just fold it under your head and shoulders. Hmm, not ideal, but better. Now don’t go anywhere, young man! I’m going to put the Disillusionment Charm on you now, and I don’t want to have a hard time finding you when I get back.”

Carson looked at his former teacher and smiled wanly. “Thanks, but i’ss cold. You need . . .”

“No, no, I’m fine. I’ll be moving, so I won’t even notice, I’m sure.” What Albus had noticed, however, when he removed his jacket, was that there was definitely something wrong with his shoulder, although he couldn’t see any wounds. Perhaps something was broken. 

After Disillusioning the young Auror, Dumbledore began walking northeast, carefully noting his path. It wouldn’t do to get lost and be unable to find Carson again. Of course, he could always just head south to the road, which was fairly straight, he remembered, and follow it back to the jeep, but he would prefer not to have to approach the road again. 

Dumbledore was looking for some kind of natural shelter, if possible, or at least somewhere he could bring Carson and not feel as conspicuous as they were, just yards from the road. He also knew that it would have to be someplace relatively close since he doubted he’d be able to transport Carson very far, even if the young wizard could have tolerated such a trip. It would also make it easier for them to be found by whomever was sent to rescue them, if they didn’t go far, he reasoned. They had to be far enough from the road so that no enemy would stumble across them serendipitously, and yet close enough to be found by friends, when they came.

Dumbledore found a likely spot about fifteen minutes after he’d left Carson. Large, flat rocks had been shoved up through the earth, most of them creating only a nuisance for anyone trying to pick their way across country – and also, no doubt, to anyone who wanted to farm the land or to lay roads, Dumbledore thought to himself – there was one large rock, however, that had been heaved from the earth at an acute angle, and, as luck would have it, a rather sickly-looking tree was growing in front of the gap between the rock and the earth. Investigating more closely, Albus found that the area beneath the rock was filled with dead leaves and small sticks. Using the wand, he cleared some of the debris from between the ground and the overhanging rock. There was less than three feet clearance between the rock at its top-most edge and the dirt beneath it, and the niche only extended a few feet back, but it would have to do. The tree that stood in front of the gap would provide them with some shelter, as well, he reasoned. 

Before returning for Carson, Albus drank a little water from the canteen and wondered whether there was a source of water nearby. It seemed likely, and it shouldn’t be a problem to purify the water . . . although he wasn’t sure of the spell, and he still wasn’t able to rely solely on his intent and the power of his magic in order to create the effect he wanted right now. He couldn’t even cast nonverbally or wandlessly in his current condition. Sighing as he began walking back toward Carson, Dumbledore decided not to dwell on that particular aspect of their problems yet.

It only took him ten minutes to reach Carson where he’d left him lying in the bushes, almost invisible to the eye, since he was able to walk straight back without pausing to survey the area around him. He was cold, but he had been right when he’d told Carson that he wouldn’t notice it since he’d be moving about. He didn’t know how long he could take the near-freezing temperature, though, and it would only get worse as it began to get dark.

Kneeling next to the wounded wizard, Albus murmured, “Still with me, Carson, my boy?”

Carson didn’t reply, but his eyelids moved, as though he was attempting to open them, and Albus could hear his faint, uneven breathing.

“Don’t worry about anything, son. I’m going to move you now. I’ve found us a slightly better place, not too far from here.” 

Albus was surprised when Carson opened glazed eyes, and whispered, “No. ’Sokay. Should take your coat. Go. Maybe y’ can Apparate later. ’M fine here.”

“What? I can’t do that, son. I won’t be Apparating anywhere for a while, anyway, and I’ve cleared a place especially for you.”

“’S no use, y’know. Jus’ a bit o’ time . . . dangerous here, go.”

“Whatever the use or the amount of time, I cannot leave you here, Carson. And you are right, it _is_ dangerous, which is why you must come with me. I just have a few preparations to make, then we’ll be going. Remember what you said to Alastor: don’t fight me on this; you won’t win, and it will just take valuable time, hmm?” With that, Albus looked around for a likely dead branch. Finding one he approved of, about four feet long, a couple inches in diameter, and not so dry as to be brittle, he went back to where Carson lay.

“Just going to remove the Disillusionment now. And don’t be alarmed, but I am going to cut a couple of holes in the top of the coat, but I don’t need to remove it from you yet.” Albus took the wand and sliced two neat, parallel holes on either side of the coat’s yoke, then pushed the branch through them. “All right, now I do need to take the coat off of you.”

Albus lay the coat on the ground, the back of it against the dirt. Using the wand again, he cleaned as much of the blood from it as he dared in his current condition, then he turned back to Carson.

“I don’t think I can use _Mobilicorpus_ all of the way to the site I found; I’m afraid I’m still not recovered enough; I’m sorry. I do think I could manage it to get you onto the coat, though, if you’re willing to risk it.”

Carson just grunted slightly without opening his eyes. Albus took that for consent and waved the unfamiliar wand. Carson raised up a few feet off the ground, somewhat tippily, to be sure, but Albus was relieved as he settled the young Auror down on top of the coat as gently as he could. With Carson’s head just below the branch Albus had inserted through the top of the coat, Albus buttoned the coat around the boy until he could only see his face. He then retrieved the jacket and sliced off both sleeves. Trying not to expend more of his magic than necessary, Albus attempted to tie the sleeves together, but his left hand was not equal to the task, so once again, Albus waved the wand Alastor had loaned him, first tying the sleeves together, then tying the ends of the sleeves to the branch. When he was finished, he put what was left of the jacket on like a waistcoat, and buttoned it part way up with his good hand.

“Okay, all set now, Carson? We will see how this works.” 

Slowly, painfully, Albus dragged the semi-conscious Auror along the uneven ground, unable to avoid the tree roots and small rocks that were scattered over their path. He hadn’t the breath to apologise, though, and Carson seemed to have slipped into a state in which he didn’t notice the further assaults his body was enduring. Half-way to his goal, Albus gave in, and stopped to rest and take a sip of water. He squatted beside Carson.

“Are you still with me, lad?” There was no response but a slightly quickened breath. “I’d give you a little more water, but I’m afraid you might choke on it. Best wait till we get where we’re going.” 

Carson did open his eyes then, but Albus wasn’t sure whether the dilated pupils were seeing anything. Wishing that he could use his left arm, as well, Albus stood, took up the jacket sleeves in his right hand again, and once again began the labourious process of pulling his companion across the dirt to the miserable shelter he had found. It took him forty-five more minutes of pulling and heaving, and he needed to rest several times during the last half of the ordeal, but he finally reached the spot he had cleared for himself and Carson.

Each time that Albus had stopped pulling on the make-shift litter and collapsed beside it to catch his breath, he feared he would find that Carson had expired since his last break, but each time, Carson would open his eyes and look at his former Transfiguration teacher, then close them again with a sigh. Now they had finally reached the little hole that Albus had found, and Albus was unsure of what to do next. His head was spinning from exertion, pain, injury, and hunger. He lay next to Carson for a few moments before turning to him.

“Carson, I’m sorry if that was worse than the worst Night Bus trip you could imagine. I feel terribly that I can do so little for you.” Albus’s exhaustion was gaining on him, and his voice cracked in sorrow.

“’S’okay, really. Better be dying with you, helping me . . .” Carson rasped.

“Ah, my boy!” Tears gathered in Albus’s eyes, and he gingerly raised up the young man and held him in his arms, heedless of the pain in his shoulder. He swallowed hard a few times, then gently eased the young man back down. “Now, I know it doesn’t look like much, but I think it will do for now, just until we’re found. It’ll take a bit of doing to get you in there, I’m afraid, but you’ve been very brave, and it won’t be as bad as the trip was,” said Albus as he removed the branch from the holes in the coat.

Resettling Carson on the coat, Albus tugged and pushed until he managed to get Carson settled into the hole beneath the large rock. He would have tried Mobilicorpus again, but between his exhaustion and the fine co-ordination it would take not to hit Carson against the tree or the rock, he couldn’t risk it.

“I’m just going to rest a few minutes, right here next to you, my boy. It’ll be nice and warm for you that way. Then, in a bit, I’m going to go and make sure we didn’t leave much of a trail. We don’t want the wrong people to find us, now, do we?”

“Take my . . . sidearm, sir . . . dangerous.”

“Yes, they are dangerous, which is why I’m leaving it with you, my boy. I doubt I could use it without hurting someone!”

Somehow, the idea of shooting someone, even someone who was shooting at him, was wholly repugnant to Albus. It was fine for Muggles, he supposed, but he never wanted to kill a Muggle, even with a Muggle weapon, if he didn’t have to. With a wand, you could Stun someone, or Petrify them. You didn’t have to shoot them and kill them so they couldn’t get back up and shoot at you again.

Albus lay beside Carson a scant five minutes before forcing himself out of the hole and back toward their original position. There was no missing the path they had made, Albus thought. When he reached the bushes where the three sham British soldiers had sheltered as the very real German soldiers had examined the remains of the jeep, Albus took out the wand. Wishing again for his own, he began to clear the ground, making it appear untouched by anything but wind and rain. He thought for a moment about eliminating their scent, as well, thinking of the large Muggle dogs that might hunt them down, but then he decided against it. Eliminating their scent altogether would be nigh on impossible for him now, anyway, and whatever he could manage would only drain his magic further. Best to trust to luck on this, Albus thought.

Twenty minutes after erasing the physical evidence of the path they’d taken away from the wreckage, Albus returned to find Carson awake. He was surprised, and pleased. He scootched into the opening to lay beside his former student. He used Alastor’s wand, somewhat awkwardly in that small space, to Summon some dry leaves to settle behind him, then he cast a light Warming Charm, before rolling onto his right side and lying to face the young man next to him.

“I’ve done what I could. I didn’t completely eliminate our trail, but I think it’s enough, at least, to fool the Muggles. Would you like some water now?”

“Yes, please,” Carson whispered. “Very dry, sir.”

“Now, none of that ‘sir’ business. We aren’t in the British Army, nor with anyone who thinks we are,” said Albus as he carefully removed the flask from where it hung from his belt, wishing he’d thought to do so before lying down on his one good arm. “And I’m not your teacher, anymore, either.”

“’Kay, sir.” Carson smiled slightly.

“You are incorrigible, you know that?” Albus said with as much of a grin as he could muster, and tipping some water into the young man’s mouth.

“Mmm, ’s good, sir. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I wish I had something to give you to eat, but I’m afraid I expected to be back in Amiens for elevenses, and didn’t bring anything with me.”

“Why’d’n’t you say so? I have choc’let. Pro’ly melted. Some in my left jacket pocket, ’n’ some in my right trouser pocket. ’M not hungry, but you eat some. ’S Honeydukes’. Wrapped it up in parchment so Muggles w’dn’t wonder.” After this long speech, Carson closed his eyes, breathing shallowly.

“Thank you, but you must have some, too.” Albus felt through the pockets that Carson had indicated and found the sweets. As much as he wanted some – his mouth began watering as soon as he unwrapped the first piece of dark chocolate – he broke off a small piece and said, “Here, now, my boy, open your mouth. Just let it sit there and melt on your tongue. That’s right. It didn’t melt much; I suppose the cold weather is good for something.” 

Albus unwrapped a piece that had been in the young Auror’s trouser pocket. It was more melted than the ones from his jacket, so Albus raised it to his mouth and ate it right from the parchment, licking up the last remnants hungrily.

“Ready for more yet?”

“No, you save it. Not hungry, really.” Although he spoke, Carson kept his eyes closed.

“Just a bit more, for me, Carson.” Albus broke off another small piece of the chocolate and put it in the injured wizard’s mouth. “How’s that taste?”

“Fine, sir. Good.” Carson turned his head to look at his former teacher. “It’s all right, Professor,” he whispered, clearly but faintly. “You don’t need to try so hard. I know . . .”

“What, my boy? What do you know?” Albus was feeling somewhat better; lying in that small hole in the earth, just inches from his former student, he was beginning to get a little warmer, and the chocolate was beginning to work its magic, as well.

“I know I’m probably not . . . going to make it home . . . this time, not unless . . . a Healer comes out of the bushes. ’S’okay, though. I . . . I think I did . . . what I was s’posed to. I’m okay.” Carson tried to smile at Albus.

“It might not be long, Carson. Just hold on, all right? Don’t despair, lad.”

“’M not despairing, sir. ’S’okay, really. Just wish . . . I could say good-bye, ’s’all. I never wrote one of those letters, y’know the kind, sir? Thought it might be . . . bad luck.” Carson grinned, and Albus could see the Gryffy-Ravenclaw seeker beneath the blood and dirt.

“I still have your biro and the paper. Just give me a moment.” Albus squirmed about in the little niche, finally pushing himself partly out of it and sitting up so that he could pull out the paper and pen and have room to write. He cast another Warming Charm on the air about Carson, then said, “Set, my boy? I’ve got the paper out, just tell me what you want to say, and I’ll write it. To your mother and father, then?”

“Yes, mum and da, I always call them.”

“All right, then, ‘Dear Mum and Da,” began Albus, looking up inquisitively at Carson. “That’s a start. What do you want to say to them?”

Carson began dictating his letter to Albus, stopping to gasp for breath every few seconds. When he was done, Albus asked if he’d like him to read it back to him, to see if he wanted to add anything, and Carson nodded slightly, still trying to catch his breath.

_“Dear Mum and Da,_

_“I’m here with Professor Dumbledore, who’s writing this for me. He’s taking very good care of me, just like always. He’s worked hard to make me comfortable, and I’ve had chocolate, so I’m okay._

_“I know when you get this letter, you’ll be sad, but don’t be too sad, because I think I’ve done a good thing or two, and I’ve had great fun doing it. Today hasn’t been as much fun as usual, but I think it is all worth it, anyway._

_“I know you won’t want Aiden to join the Aurors after this, but you should let him if he wants, Mum. I never would have been able to do so much good doing anything else, I know it. And Aiden’s more co-ordinated than I am, so maybe he could jump out of the way of exploding cars faster than I could. That’s a joke. Please laugh._

_“A friend of mine got hurt in this accident, too. His name is Alastor Moody. If you can find out where he is, would you visit him for me? Bring him a bottle of Old Ogden’s. I always told him he was too young for it, but maybe he isn’t after this. Tell him it’s from me._

_“I love you and Aiden and Rory, and I’ll miss you, too, but maybe I’ll get to see Gram and listen to her stories again._

_“Until I see you again,  
“Carson”_

By the time Albus had finished re-reading the letter to Carson, tears were rolling down his cheeks. He thought absently that he shouldn’t cry because it might upset Carson; besides, he already had a miserable headache.

“Is that what you wanted to say, Carson, my boy?”

“Yes,” Carson breathed. The rasping in his chest had become worse, and dictating the letter seemed to have taken his last good breath. “Ta, sir.”

“I was happy to do it for you, Carson. Would you like more water? There’s a bit left.”

Carson shook his head weakly, and opened his eyes. “One more.”

“One more what, son? Piece of chocolate?”

“No, letter.”

“All right,” Albus said, pulling the last unused sheet of paper out and preparing to write. He’d have to do something about the bloodstains on the paper; they would upset the recipients beyond what the letter would already do. “Who should I address this one to?”

“’Nerva.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite understand.” _Had he said “Minerva”?_ Albus wondered.

“Minerva.”

“All right, then, ‘Dear Minerva,’” Albus began.

“No, ‘My Fair Minerva,’ please.” Carson’s breath was coming in short gasps.

“‘My Fair Minerva,’ then. What next?”

“Thank you for . . . spending time . . . with me. ’Specially in London. Very nice . . . Good person, Minerva . . . Hope you find him. I’ll see Gram soon and ask her.”

“I wasn’t sure of everything you said, Carson, but how’s this:

“My Fair Minerva,  
“Thank you for spending time with me, especially in London. It was very nice to see you there. You are a good person, Minerva.

“Then I wasn’t sure what you meant. I thought you said something about ‘finding him,’ and then something about your Gram.”

Carson tried to lick his lips. Albus leaned over and gave him a dribble of water. Carson began again, then stumbled, started again, and finally stopped altogether, closing his eyes. Finally, he said, “Don’t know what to say; it was happy, being with her.”

“Is she your girlfriend, then, son?”

“No . . . wished she was. But . . . she’s meant for . . . someone else. Still want her to know . . . how lucky I was to know her.”

“All right then, why don’t I try to put that down for you, and you can let me know if I got it right – do you want that bit about your Gram in there, too?” At Carson’s weak nod, Albus began to write. When he was finished, he asked, “Carson, are you awake?” 

Carson’s eyes opened, then closed. 

“Would you like me to read what I’ve written for you?” 

Carson nodded again. “One more thing . . . please write it for me,” Carson whispered, his breathing laboured, his eyes glassy.

“Anything, son.”

“Tell her . . . she must . . . look after you . . . when she gets the letter . . . you’ll feel bad about it.”

“All right.” Albus swallowed hard and did as he had promised, then finished the letter and read it back to Carson:

_“My Fair Minerva,_

_“Thank you for spending time with me, especially in London. It was very nice to see you there._

_“You are a good person, Minerva, and I am thankful I was able to know you. When I was with you, I was more myself than I am with anyone else. Time spent with you always left me feeling warm and good._

_“You are meant for someone special, Minerva. I hope you find him. I will see my Gram soon, and I will ask her._

_“Please take care of Professor Dumbledore for me when you see him. He will feel responsible for what has happened._

_“Thank you, my Fair Minerva,  
“Love always,_

_“Carson.”_

Albus cleared his throat. “How’s that, Carson?”

“Perfect. You know . . . how . . . I felt. Thank you. Gotta give it . . . to ’r y’rself . . . be upset.” 

“All right, I’ll do that for you. Do you just want to lie quietly now, my boy? Would you like more chocolate?”

“No chocolate. Talk a while. Before I can’t anymore.” Carson managed a weak smile, but his eyes were partially closed. Albus reached out and laid his hand against his cheek. The young Auror had become cold despite the Warming Charms and the extra coat.

“All right, then. Umm,” Albus, who had been able to keep up inane prattle earlier in his effort to cheer Carson, felt lost for words. “Minerva. You saw each other in London, then?”

“Yeah . . . hates her job.” Carson coughed weakly. “Stuck with . . . parchments . . . no magic at all . . . A waste . . .”

“She’s just doing desk work?” Albus asked, puzzled. He had asked that she be kept out of any dangerous jobs, but he hadn’t realised that she wasn’t using any of her skills. He’d been told she was in the Charms Office of the War Division, and he hadn’t inquired further. And the few times they had seen each other in London, she hadn’t mentioned her job to him at all, except to say that it was fine.

“Mmm . . . All day . . . Ev’ry day . . . Parchment here . . . Parchment there . . . She’s a good one . . . She keeps at it.” Carson’s breath was coming hard, now. “Tell me . . . a story . . .”

“Let me think,” Albus said, laying back down beside the boy. “How about a story about Minerva, then? I’m sure she won’t mind.” Albus recounted how he had taken Minerva’s Charmed book from her during the Gryffindor Tea and feigned displeasure in order to have her show him how she’d Transfigured it.

“’At’s our . . . Minerva . . . right, Professor?”

Albus spoke a bit longer, telling about the last Ravenclaw Quidditch match; he couldn’t see Carson well in the gloom beneath the rock, but he could feel the young wizard’s breath grow shallower. “Carson, are you awake? Still with me?”

“Mmm. ’Sokay, I’m going to go . . . have that drink . . . with Merrick . . . now. ’N’ see my Gram. She’ll know . . . her true love . . .” 

“Carson, Carson, stay with me, son!”

“Don’t worry . . . ’bout me. ’S’alright.”

“I’m just selfish, Carson. You are right. It _is_ all right. You go on and rest now, and, when you’re ready, you go off and meet your friend for that drink, and visit with your Gram, and keep a stool warm for me. All right, son?”

“Mmm. Good. See’em soon . . . Don’t worry.”

For another hour, Albus lay there beside his former student, trying to keep him warm. Carson never spoke again, and, as his breathing changed, Albus knew he’d lost all awareness of the world around him and of his own hurts and pains. When finally Carson sighed and did not breathe again, Albus allowed himself to weep for the boy and for himself and his weakness. A few minutes later, Albus pushed himself from the small shelter, unwilling to lay there beside the remains of the young wizard who had saved his life just hours before. 

Leaning back against the rock, he ate more chocolate and became very aware that, although it was unlikely that he would die of his wounds any time soon, he was growing physically weaker. Adrenalin and necessity had pushed him to do what he would have thought impossible in his current condition, had anyone asked him about it before today. 

The sun would be setting soon, and help might arrive with the dark. Or the soldiers could have reported what they had seen to the wrong person, someone who might realise that there had been wizards present at that explosion. He wished again that he had been able to remove all traces of their blood and their tracks before the soldiers had arrived. It was clear that no other vehicle had been there to transport any other victims from the site of the explosion. There was nothing that he could do about it now.

He flicked his borrowed wand experimentally. Still lacklustre results. He couldn’t Apparate anywhere. He had to stay here. Moving back around the rock to where Carson’s body lay still, as if already in its grave, Albus took his overcoat and put it back on, heedless of the blood and gore that stained it inside and out. Then, drawing on all of his magical reserve, he waved his wand. In a moment, the body before him was Transfigured into a moderately-sized log. They could bring him back to England – Ireland, Albus corrected himself – for burial, reversing the Transfiguration and cleaning up the body before delivering it to his family.

Albus crawled back into the little hole, Summoned some dry leaves to cover him, and wasn’t surprised when only a few responded. He then ate one more bit of Carson’s chocolate, drank the last of the water, and lay back, hoping that he could keep himself awake and warm now that there was no one else there needing his attention.


	21. Seeking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva sets out to find Albus and encounters a problem immediately.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Auror Sprangle, Auror Frankel, Horst (young German soldier).

**XXI: Seeking**

Minerva waited nervously those last minutes in the conference room, thinking of the two wizards who were awaiting rescue somewhere in the cold French countryside, both of whom she cared for deeply, but whom she loved in very different ways. Frankel returned, now dressed as a Muggle, and Sprangle bustled in behind him.

“Now, for your final briefing, Miss McGonagall,” began Sprangle, “I will only remind you that Auror Frankel is in charge of this search mission. You are _only_ there to assist him in locating the two wizards. As a cat, you may be able to sense things that he is unable to without using his wand. Because of certain, shall we say, dangers, Auror Frankel is going to minimise his wand-use on this mission. In addition, in your Animagus form, you may be able to traverse a path that would be unavailable to Auror Frankel; therefore, if he permits it once you have arrived at your destination, you may go on ahead of him and return to him once you have discovered the direction the two wizards took. Under _no_ circumstances are you to tear on ahead after them and leave Auror Frankel behind, forcing him look for you as well as the two wizards. The current mission is difficult enough without his having you get lost, too. In addition, should you happen upon the wizards before Auror Frankel arrives at their location, you are _not_ to reveal yourself to them, but must stay in your Animagus form and return immediately to Auror Frankel. If Auror Frankel is nearby and will arrive shortly, you may remain with the wizards, but you may not reveal yourself to them. You are only to return to your natural form when you are ready to Portkey back. In an emergency, if you need to communicate with Auror Frankel, raise your right paw and shake it at him. He will then let you know whether it is safe to transform and speak with him. You are _not_ to make such a decision on your own. I believe I have answered any questions you may have had.”

“Actually, Auror Sprangle, you haven’t. First, what ‘dangers’ are you referring to when you speak of Auror Frankel’s wand-use? Second, you have not given me my return Portkey, nor have you shown me the Portkeys for Professor Dumbledore and Carson Murphy. If something should happen to Auror Frankel, I should know what the Portkeys are. I also do not want to be stranded in France without a Portkey of my own.”

“As to your first question, I have desired not to alarm you unduly, Miss McGonagall, but as you seem determined to question my judgment regarding what information you need to know and what information is extraneous, I shall answer it as far as I believe wise, under the circumstances.” Auror Sprangle was clearly unhappy with the young witch standing before him. “There are reports coming in that there are German soldiers in the area. We know that Grindelwald has a few, shall we say, operatives, engaged in activities to the south of that location. In addition, we know that the Dark Wizard has placed his own wizards in strategic positions within the German military and the secret police, the Gestapo. It is possible that he is aware there has been magical activity in the area, or that there were wizards wounded in the explosion who are unaccounted for. He may believe that they have all Apparated or Portkeyed away since the American Muggle reconnaissance party indicated that, although there were bloodstains and tracks near the vehicle, there were none leading anywhere off the road. Nonetheless, we must be prepared for the possibility that the area is being observed either by Grindelwald’s own wizards, or by German soldiers acting unknowingly on his behalf, under orders from one of Grindelwald’s plants.” Auror Sprangle completed his explanation with a furrowed brow, clearly disturbed by the information he was imparting, although Minerva couldn’t tell whether it was the nature of the information that disturbed him or the fact that he was telling her.

“And my second question, Auror Sprangle,” she prodded.

“Ah, yes. Auror Frankel will be carrying your Portkey and the others with him. When you are ready to return, he will ask you to transform back into your normal form and give you your Portkey.”

“Auror Sprangle, that is unacceptable! As I said, anything could happen once we arrive – you have said yourself that the area may be watched. He may not be in a position to hand me the Portkey if there is an emergency; we may become separated, or even the amount of time it would cost me to Transfigure back to my ordinary form and take the Portkey from him might prove a liability. And you haven’t told me of the other two Portkeys so that I might identify them.”

“I am sorry, Miss McGonagall,” replied Auror Sprangle, although he looked anything but sorry, “but I cannot accede to your request to carry your own Portkey. Although there is some truth to what you say, I believe those risks to be minimal, and we are concerned that your Transfiguration into your Animagus form will affect the Portkey and render it useless. Our specialists have no experience with those effects, and we dare not risk it. They thought you might wear the Portkey in your Animagus form, although Auror Frankel correctly pointed out the inadvisability of your wearing a belled collar when you are both trying to go unnoticed.”

Minerva winced. These were the men the wizarding world was relying on? Whoever would have thought of such a daft idea? She would no doubt break the collar when she Transfigured back to her ordinary form, even if the thing didn’t have a bell – the stupidity of it! – and that would be more likely to have a deleterious effect on it as a Portkey than her simply putting it in her pocket and Transfiguring herself while carrying it.

“I think they were amused at the thought of creating a Portkey for an Animagus, Miss McGonagall. They are not part of our clandestine units and therefore perhaps may be forgiven for their attempt at humour,” said Frankel. “And I do not know what Auror Sprangle’s thoughts are regarding your request to see the Portkeys, but I believe it is a reasonable one – I have been in the field a long time, Septimus,” he added to Sprangle, “and I am very aware that no matter how well one prepares, the undesirable – and the unanticipated and unprepared for – can occur.” He reached into his right trouser pocket, pulling out a Muggle pen and a small, buckled, red cloth collar with a bell on it. “These two objects are your Portkey and Professor Dumbledore’s. The trigger word is set to ‘ _spero_ ’ for them both – in an unusual flash of common sense, they thought to shorten the trigger word in order to hasten the activation. My own Portkey is the cheap St. Christopher medal around my neck. It is, however, like Professor Dumbledore’s original Portkey, tuned to my magical signature, whereas the ones for you and Dumbledore may transport any of us – you, him, me, or Murphy – but no one else. In addition, those Portkeys have been set to enable us all to transport by just one of them. Therefore, if necessary, we could all hold onto your collar and Portkey together.”

“There’s no separate Portkey for Carson?” asked Minerva.

“No, although either you or Dumbledore may share your Portkey with him. It is probable that, if he still lives, Murphy is unconscious and would be unable to initiate the Portkey and one of you will have to transport with him, in any case. The Portkeys created for you and Dumbledore return you to this room, which will have an Auror present at all times, waiting for you. My own brings me to Headquarters in Amiens, whence I can Apparate or Portkey to London.”

Minerva didn’t like any of this, but it was too late to have another Portkey made or to try and convince Auror Sprangle to let her keep her Portkey in her pocket.

“One last thing, Auror Frankel. What will you say to any Germans who find you? You are clearly a civilian, in France, and you don’t speak French. I assume your German is fluent, but won’t they wonder at your presence? And don’t you have an accent?”

“I am going to say that I am visiting a French cousin, and that I was trapped there with the Allied invasion. I speak enough French to be able to maintain the pretence that I visit this cousin often. Of course, with so little civilian travel allowed, they will be suspicious, but I am rather adept at a wandless _Imperio_ , and if there aren’t too many of them, I should be able to convince whomever is in charge of the truth of my story and have them leave me be. I am carrying German identification papers, as well. My greatest concern is that they will believe them to be counterfeit and that I am a Jew trying to escape from the Nazis. Which I am. Jewish, I mean – I was born and raised in London. Of my Muggle-born German mother’s side of the family, however, only my aunt and two of her children survive, Miss McGonagall.”

Minerva, growing even more concerned with this latest revelation, asked, “Wouldn’t it have been wise, then, to send someone else along? Someone who does speak French?”

“We have determined that the fewer who are engaged in this search, the better, Miss McGonagall. We do not wish to raise the suspicions of Grindelwald’s agents any more than they already might be. Dumbledore must not be captured,” Auror Sprangle responded.

“All right, then. I see that the plans have been laid and all has been set in motion. I do wish I had been consulted earlier, though. I may have been able to contribute some useful ideas, despite my lack of training. What is our outbound Portkey?”

Sprangle pulled a small brown bottle from his pocket. It looked to be the sort of thing Muggle patent medicines came in, thought Minerva.

“Well, I guess more talking only delays our search. Auror Frankel, though, please address me as ‘Minerva,’ particularly when I am in my Animagus form. It might strike an eavesdropper as strange if you were calling a cat ‘Miss McGonagall’ – well, in France, anyway!” she said, trying to smile.

“Very well, then, Minerva, if you would kindly transform, we can leave now – and I am Philip – although the name in my German identity papers is Hans Bredel.”

Minerva quickly morphed into her Animagus form and allowed Philip to pick her up. She wondered briefly what it would be like to Portkey in her Animagus form, then closed her eyes as the Auror took hold of the Portkey and said, “ _Expecto._ ”

* * *

_Well, that couldn’t have gone much worse than it did,_ thought Minerva as she picked her way amongst the tree roots and fallen branches, stopping to sniff the air every now and then, or to nudge a bit of fallen foliage with her moist nose. She had known that Sprangle’s plan had been a recipe for disaster. Scrimgeour, for all his pomposity, had been correct about that.

They had barely arrived, and Frankel had put Minerva down and nudged her, waving her to go on ahead and see what she could see, or smell, or what-have-you, when the mission went south – at least as far as Auror Frankel was concerned. Minerva had proceeded toward the wreckage, which, although it could not be seen from their arrival point several hundred feet down the road, was easy for Minerva to locate. The smell of the explosion and ensuing fire were still very heavy in the air, especially so to her heightened feline senses. As she padded her way along the edge of the road toward the burnt shell, she heard some rather alarming snaps, the sounds of twigs being broken, and the rustle of dead leaves being stepped on. She was fairly certain that Auror Frankel would be unable to hear them, however, and had just turned back to try to warn him, when she heard a voice whisper something very clearly. Unfortunately, although she could read German well enough to read a treatise on Transfiguration written in the language, she had never spoken it and had rarely heard it spoken. In addition, her vocabulary was better suited to understanding discussions of esoteric metamorphosis charms than to understanding everyday conversations. Minerva, therefore, knew only that the words were German, but that alone meant they were in dire trouble.

Before she was able to reach the Auror, a half dozen German soldiers had emerged from the bushes and had surrounded Frankel, who had only walked about ten yards before he was stopped. Minerva’s French was, unfortunately, worse than her German, and she understood nothing except that they seemed to be asking him why he was there. Minerva vowed that when she got home, she would improve her understanding of both written and spoken French and German.

Frankel had responded, first in French, but then he switched rapidly to German. Minerva hid in the undergrowth, unobserved by anyone. One of the soldiers, whom Minerva would later call “the twitchy one,” had moved back around behind Frankel, watching him as though he expected him to do something threatening at any moment. As the soldier who appeared to be in charge questioned the Auror, the twitchy one began a whispered, erratic conversation with another soldier who was also standing behind Frankel. His fellow soldier seemed to become agitated by this conversation, and, from what Minerva could discern, seemed to want the twitchy one to shut up. Minerva believed that the interrogator was asking Frankel something about where he’d come from and whether he was alone, but beyond that, she understood nothing. She understood almost as little of Frankel’s responses, although because she knew his cover story, she recognised that he was talking about his French cousin. 

Minerva kept waiting for Frankel’s wandless _Imperio_ , but realised with growing unease that he had been unable to make eye contact with his interrogator long enough to cast it effectively. From the tone of his voice and his body language, Minerva could tell that the German soldier was not buying Frankel’s story. 

She thought the man had just asked Frankel for his papers, and Frankel was reaching inside his jacket, when the twitchy one suddenly turned from his hushed, erratic conversation with his fellow soldier, raised his rifle, and shot Frankel in the back. What followed could only be described as chaos. It was clear that the rest of the soldiers had not anticipated this turn of events, and their leader was enraged. Two of the soldiers knelt beside Frankel, who was alive, but wheezing and moaning lowly. The leader had walked up to the twitchy one, shouting incomprehensibly, grabbed the soldier’s rifle, hit him in the head with its butt, and knocked him to the ground. He kicked him twice, for good measure, shouted something at the other soldier, then went to look at Frankel. 

Minerva felt paralyzed. She had no idea what to do now. She doubted that she could do anything for Frankel in her current form; if she were to Transfigure back to her ordinary form and try to rescue him, she might get herself captured or killed – and even if she did succeed in rescuing him, Grindelwald would have definitive evidence that something odd and wizarding was happening in the area. On the other hand, Frankel had the Portkeys. And he was a wizard who should not be captured, she was sure. No one had briefed her on what she should do if anything happened to Frankel, although they surely must have been aware of the possibility. Damn the stupidity of bureaucrats! These _were_ the people who had thought it was a good idea to make her Portkey a cat collar with a bell attached, after all.

Minerva watched from the side of the road as the German soldiers tore open Frankel’s clothes and examined his wound. Frankel was still alive. The Germans didn’t seem to be interested in having him die on them. She wished she could understand the conversations, but other than snatches here and there, she could catch little of it. She decided that Frankel would have to take care of himself, and Portkey out, if he were able. The soldiers didn’t seem interested in the religious medal that hung around the Auror’s neck, and they might leave him with the contents of his pockets, as well. She wondered briefly where he kept his wand. She hadn’t seen it before they’d Portkeyed from the Ministry.

Yes, Frankel would have to take care of himself. Albus couldn’t. And someone had to find him. So here she was, somewhere in France – they hadn’t even told her _where_ in France, just shown her that map of the area surrounding the crossroads – sniffing and listening, and picking her way through the wood and underbrush. Someone, Albus, no doubt, had done a good job in eradicating most signs that anyone had been through there recently, but she could easily smell their trail. In addition to their own scents – and, although she was familiar with them from entirely different experiences, Minerva would recognise either Albus’s or Carson’s scents anywhere – the scent of blood was disturbingly strong to her feline nose. She heard nothing, though, despite stopping now and then, pricking her ears, turning them in different directions, and listening as hard as she could. Minerva didn’t know whether she should be alarmed by this or not. She _did_ know that it was cold, and that she hoped she found the wizards soon, and that Albus would have some idea of how to get them away from there and back home . . .


	22. Finding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva finds Albus.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore.

**XXII: Finding**

Albus lay in the cavity beneath the rock, hoping that he hadn’t dug himself his own grave. It would be dark soon. Already, the shadows had grown long, and his little niche was veiled in gloom. Still, he was concerned that the wrong party might find him. He doubted that Grindelwald would spare any of his own wizards to search for him until he received some definitive evidence both that there had been wizards in the area and that he, Dumbledore, had been amongst them. The Dark Wizard simply could not spare anyone at the moment, Albus was fairly sure. No, Grindelwald’s strategies were fairly predictable, and it was likely that if he had a suspicion that there were wizards loose in the vicinity of the wrecked vehicle, he would manipulate the Muggles to make the initial search and only send in his own men once he believed there was a prize worth seeking.

Not wanting to rely solely on the darkness to hide him from any Muggles who might stumble across him, and hoping that he was correct in his assumptions about Grindelwald’s tactics, Dumbledore raised his borrowed wand and, slashing it through the air, cast an Imperturbable Charm. He was disturbed by how much energy casting the Charm seemed to take. Of course, he probably always expended the same amount of energy every other time he cast it, he had just never noticed since his magical reserves were usually so vast. After waiting several minutes, Albus cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, pleased to note that particular Charm did not seem as draining as the first.

He surely must look a sight. His Glamour had completely disappeared hours ago, even before Alastor had Portkeyed away. Albus could feel the dried blood matting his hair and beard, and he wasn’t sure himself how much of it was his and how much belonged to the brave lad who lay dead and Transfigured beside him. The left side of his forehead had been sliced open by some of the flying debris; tremendous swelling around the wound had extended to his left eye, making it difficult for him to open it more than a crack. His left shoulder was swollen, as well, and his shirt felt uncomfortably tight around it. Concerned more about the cold and the state of his magical reserve than about cleanliness or comfort, Albus hadn’t bothered trying to clean the coat of blood and muck before he’d put it back on. Beneath the coat, he was still wearing the now-sleeveless jacket, which was equally bloody. Perhaps if the Muggles did find him, he could just stand up and frighten them away with his appearance, he thought wryly.

Laying there beneath the rock, Albus drifted in and out of sleep. Trying to stay awake was becoming increasingly difficult, despite the fact that the pain in his shoulder and head were excruciating and the ground was cold and hard. He wondered if help were really coming for him, and, if so, whether they would be able to avoid detection, themselves. Rather than give in entirely to sleep – he was worried that even a wizarding search party might not find him in the dark, with the protective charms he’d cast – Albus tried to practice some Occlumency meditations, removing himself from the direct experience of his own discomfort, yet remaining aware of his surroundings. The shear effort required in the attempt was sufficient to occupy his mind and keep him awake, at any rate.

* * *

Minerva continued through the dark, grateful for her Animagus’s night vision, which was able to make use of the paltry available light. She wished that moonrise was earlier; the additional light of the quarter moon would have been welcome. Once again, she stopped, pricking her ears, sniffing the wind. She was close now, she could tell. The scents were much stronger, but she could still hear nothing. Albus was near, yes, very near. Minerva moved faster, still almost silently, along the trail. _Yes!_ He was here. But where? She could hear nothing. Her feline heart beat faster as she crept toward a scraggly tree. Yes, _here_. There was a rock. It smelled of Albus and of Carson. She nosed closer, her feline instincts overriding her human caution. There, in that hole. But she heard nothing, no breathing, and saw only an indistinct form . . . was it just more dirt and rock? But then her witch’s mind engaged, and she knew it to be a Disillusionment Charm, and, she hoped, some kind of Imperturbable that was keeping her from hearing Albus’s breathing, for she could now discern Albus’s outline through the Disillusionment.

Minerva stepped closer to him; yes, he was breathing. She didn’t see Carson, but at that moment her relief at finding her mentor was so great, she scarcely gave a thought to the other wizard’s absence. Minerva crept into the small shelter. “Mrrrow.” Giving a slight meow, she nudged Albus’ elbow with her head. “Mrrr-rrrrow,” she trilled again lightly.

Albus opened his eyes and turned his head toward her. “Ah, a visitor. But you should go, little one. It isn’t safe for either of us here. Of course, you are a French cat. I should speak French, no doubt.” Albus reached out to stroke the small animal. “I know a cat a bit like you at home, she’s a sweet . . . _Minerva_?” he said as he touched the cat. “Minerva, am I going mad, or is that you?”

“Mrr- _rrrow_ -ow!” Minerva butted his side affectionately with her head.

“What are you doing here?”

Minerva withdrew from the cramped shelter, stood completely still, listening intently, sniffing the breeze, and then she transformed.

“I am here to help get you home, Albus. I’m afraid there have been some problems along the way, however,” she whispered, still careful, although she had heard no one nearby. Minerva pulled her wand from her pocket and ended the Disillusionment and Imperturbable Charms.

“They sent _you_? _Alone?_ ” Albus asked incredulously, returning her whisper hoarsely.

“Yes and no. That’s what I meant by things not going the way they were supposed. Can you get out of there? Can I help?” She reached in to offer him her hand. “My God, Albus, you look . . .” Minerva couldn’t even express how utterly dreadful Albus appeared.

“I can only imagine. And I must not smell too pretty, either.”

“Well, don’t apologise about that; it was how I found you so easily. But where’s Carson? I could smell him, as well.”

Albus was trying to drag himself out of the hole, allowing Minerva to grab onto his right hand and arm to assist him, so he was spared having to answer her question immediately. Even once out from the niche beneath the rock, Albus lay, this time on his stomach, breathing heavily, and trying not to give voice to his pain. Finally, he rolled back over on his right side and whispered, voice cracking, “He’s still beneath the rock, Minerva. I am so sorry.”

Still crouching beside Albus, Minerva could see the log-like shape beyond him. She blinked. It did not change. She lowered herself completely to the ground. She should have been prepared; it had been a possibility all along; she knew that. Minerva reached out and stroked her former teacher’s blood-caked face. _He_ was her concern now. She could grieve later.

“Let’s get you cleaned up a bit while we talk and decide what we’re going to do, then, shall we?” she whispered, as lightly as she could with the lump in her throat.

Albus merely nodded. He was so exhausted. There was finally someone there who wasn’t in worse shape than he was, someone who could do something to help him.

Casting _Lavare_ , a gentle cleansing charm, over his face, then his hair and beard, Minerva began to tell Albus about the plans Sprangle had made for them, about Frankel, and about the Portkeys. After performing a Warming Charm, she asked Albus to help her get his coat off, and when it became clear that his arm was now too swollen to do so without causing him great agony, she first cut the arm from the coat, then sliced through the front of it, eased him out of it, then helped him lie back down. When she reached the part of her story where she described how they had made her Portkey a cat’s belled collar, she was attempting to determine the extent of the damage to his shoulder. Albus gasped and choked slightly.

“I’m so sorry, Albus, I didn’t mean to hurt you further!”

“No, that’s fine. I was trying not to laugh, actually. It would be funny if the situation here weren’t so dire. Let me guess. Sprangle would not allow you to carry your own Portkey.”

“You must know Sprangle. The man is a certifiable nincompoop,” replied Minerva. “As you can imagine would happen when you have an idiot making the plans, everything went wrong almost as soon as we got here.” Minerva told Albus of Frankel’s unfortunate encounter with the German soldiers.

“Hmm, I wonder if that was ‘Horst,’ whom we had the displeasure of encountering earlier. After the jeep exploded, the three of us were hiding behind some bushes when a group of German soldiers came by. I think it was happenstance that they came upon the scene, but a fellow named ‘Horst’ decided it might be amusing, or revealing, to shoot blindly into the trees on either side of the road. His fellow soldiers were most displeased with him. They seemed to think he’d snapped, I believe.”

“Could be the same soldier, I suppose,” said Minerva as she cast a strong cleansing charm on the overcoat. “I never heard a name – or if I did, I didn’t recognise it as such. I’m afraid my German wasn’t up to understanding much of what was said.” She quickly apprised Albus of what transpired after Frankel was shot and how she had come to the decision to abandon Frankel to search for him.

“You did not abandon him, my dear. I am sure it is precisely what he would have wished you to do. I don’t believe that there was anything you could have done at that moment that would have improved the situation for him, and your own position would have been compromised even if you weren’t captured. With any luck, they will turn their backs on him long enough for him to Portkey back to Headquarters.”

“The fact remains, Albus, that you and I are essentially stranded here unless we can retrieve a Portkey, create a new one, or Apparate somewhere,” Minerva said as she cast a _Detumescens_ Charm to reduce the swelling in his shoulder. “As we are in the middle of France somewhere, Apparating is not an option. You are incapable of it at the moment, and I am unable to Apparate us both back to London. I doubt I could Apparate _myself_ to London from this distance, let alone Side-Along with you. Creating a new Portkey might work, if we had the leisure, and you were up to it; I have never created one in my life, so _I_ cannot do it. Therefore, that option is out.” Minerva gently explored the injury to Dumbledore’s head, touching it gingerly with the tips of her fingers. 

“We are left with a choice of trying to walk somewhere, which seems highly inadvisable for obvious reasons, waiting for other rescue from the Ministry, or attempting to locate Frankel and the Portkeys. None of these sound like particularly good options, but two of them at least can be performed simultaneously. You shall crawl back into your little den there, I will cast a nice strong warming spell on you, and a little Disillusionment Charm, as well. You will wait, and I will go back and see if the soldiers and Frankel are where I left them. I rather doubt it, but it’s worth a try. If they are not, I will wait there for a little while and see if the Ministry sends anyone else after us when we don’t show up – of course, with any luck at all, Frankel has Portkeyed back already and they have another team on their way.” Throughout this speech, Minerva cast cleansing charms and mild healing charms over Albus. “Now, I think I’ve done all I can. I believe that your shoulder is badly broken, and your collar bone, as well, but I’m afraid that between the moving around you’ve done and the swelling, if I were to cast an _Episkey_ , or even just a _Canaliculus_ , the bones would knit wrongly, and they’d just have to break everything again at St. Mungo’s. You’d likely never heal right, in that case. Hopefully, with the swelling down, you’ll at least be a bit more comfortable. I don’t dare do much for your head wound, either, since I wouldn’t know what I was doing. Now, I’ve also cleaned up the overcoat as well as I could – I think you’ll have to burn it, though, Albus – so we can wrap you back up in that.”

Albus had been trying, without success, to interrupt Minerva as she laid out her reasoning and made her plans. When it appeared she’d finished speaking for the moment, he tried to smile, and said, “Still Mother McGonagall, aren’t you, my dear?” Minerva just twitched the corner of her mouth at Albus’s attempt at levity.

“Minerva, I cannot let you do that. I am sure that you can Apparate out. You can bring help back with you.”

“Don’t be absurd, Albus. First, I do not believe I can Apparate all the way to London; second, I haven’t been to France since I was six years old and I visited Paris with my family, therefore, I cannot Apparate anywhere _within_ France; third, I am _not_ leaving you, even if I could Apparate to London – or elsewhere – to safety; and fourth, . . . I am not leaving you,” she finished quietly.

“My dear, it is too dangerous. I already have one dead boy to return to his family; I could not bear it if you were to meet the same fate.” Albus hadn’t intended to reveal so much emotion, but in his exhaustion, sorrow, and desperation that Minerva not follow through on her plan, he pleaded with her, voice cracking. “Please, Minerva, go, Apparate home.”

“Carson’s death has nothing to do with any decision we take now, Albus. You did not abandon him; how can you expect me to abandon you?” she asked.

“His death is my fault. From beginning to end. It will always weigh on my conscience,” sighed the exhausted wizard, eyes closed.

“Well, unless you exploded that jeep, or you killed him outright, that is foolishness, Albus. I am sorry to be harsh, but you must listen to me. I don’t know all that happened here, but I _do_ know that you gave Alastor your Portkey, when you could have just taken it and transported yourself, then sent rescue for the two Aurors. You did not. You gave your Portkey to Alastor, likely saving his life, and you stayed with Carson. From what Alastor reported, Carson had been very badly wounded. I know you did what you could for him, Albus, and I’m sure it hurts you that you were unable to do more. But you must not allow that to interfere with your own escape from this place. I will not leave you, Albus, and, last I knew, there is no way to force someone to Apparate. Unless, of course, you wish to try an _Imperio_ on me?” She smiled slightly with her last remark.

 _If she knew, if she knew how he received that fatal wound, that_ I _live only because he does not . . . she would not feel so charitably toward me,_ thought Albus.

“Very well, Minerva, if you must. But please do not linger long by the road. It has only been German soldiers so far, but if Grindelwald sends someone . . . please be wary, my dear.”

“I will be, I promise, truly, Albus. If there’s no one there, if this doesn’t work, well, then we’ll try to think of another plan to get away from this place. And I won’t leave my Animagus form until I return here, okay? If Frankel is there, perhaps he can give me my collar!” Minerva tried to grin. “Ready to put your coat back on?”

“Yes, but, well . . . I’ve been lying in that hole for a long time. And as thirsty as I am, I wouldn’t think I’d need to, but . . .”

“Oh.” Minerva flushed, thankful for the darkness. “You need to relieve yourself before you settle back into your little den? What if I help you over to a nice tree, then come back and, um, arrange your shelter while you’re busy. When you’re done, let me know, and I’ll help you back here, all right?”

With Minerva’s assistance, Albus stood, somewhat shakily, and walked a few yards to a “likely spot,” as Minerva called it. After she had walked back toward the rock, he tried to undo his trousers. To his chagrin, he found that he could not stand without holding onto the tree with his one good hand and that he could not hold onto the tree and open his trousers at the same time.

“Minerva?”

“All done?” she asked.

“No, I’m afraid I have an embarrassing problem. I only have one hand. I can hold onto the tree and remain upright, or I can unfasten my trousers. I cannot do both.” Albus leaned more heavily against the tree.

“Well, no worries, sir, we can take care of this. Is it a zip or buttons?” Minerva was all business, trying to hide her own embarrassment, as well as trying to make Albus more comfortable in the awkward situation.

“Buttons. Transfigured the zip. It was a rather frightening thing to have so close to . . . you know,” he said.

“All right. There, that’s done. Unfortunately, I’m afraid that still leaves you with the problem of actually doing what you came to do,” Minerva said, thinking rapidly. “I have an idea, sir. What about a slight Levitation Charm? I could cast something to keep you upright, that way you’d have a hand free. I’m afraid I don’t think I could cast it and hold it without maintaining eye contact, but I promise not to look. And, after all, it is just a natural function,” she offered, trying to minimise Albus’s obvious discomfort. “You’ll feel much better after, too, I’m sure.”

“That sounds fine. Whenever you’re ready.” Albus held onto the tree and waited.

“There you go, can you feel it? See if you can let go of the tree,” instructed Minerva.

Albus let go of the tree, experimentally, to discover the odd sensation of being pulled upright. _Most peculiar sensation,_ he thought, _somewhat like_ Mobilicorpus _feels when your conscious, but not as uncomfortable._ Aloud, he said, “Yes, it seems to be working. Thank you.”

Glad that his back was to Minerva, Albus finished the task he had come to do, then labouriously buttoned himself back up. This was all quite embarrassing enough without having her do that, as well. He would be most grateful when he could use both hands again, and stand without becoming dizzy, and use a charm to button his clothes, if he needed to . . .

“I’m set, now, Minerva.”

“All right. Here I am,” she said, coming to his right side and putting an arm around him. Albus felt the modified Levitation Charm drop as she took hold of him, and his weight sagged against her.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I don’t mean to be a burden. Literally,” he said. “My legs just don’t seem to want to hold me as they usually do.”

“No worries, there, Albus, I’ve got you.”

They made it back to the rock, where Minerva helped him on with his somewhat cleaner, and repaired, overcoat.

“I had wanted to make you a bit more room under there, but I am growing concerned about the hour. If they haven’t moved Frankel yet, they will soon. I had wanted to get you some water, as well. I’ll take the flask with me just in case, but I hope we’ll be leaving here soon, and won’t need it.”

With Minerva’s help, Albus crawled back under the rock. She Disillusioned him and cast a strong Warming Charm before she left, telling him that she’d be back as quickly as she could, but not to worry if she was delayed. Albus watched with a mixture of pride and apprehension as Minerva slipped easily into her Animagus form and leapt off through the night, a barely visible shadow.

Lying there, Albus thought about their predicament. If there were no other rescuers from the Ministry when Minerva went back to the road, and if Frankel was gone, which, no doubt, he was, they would have to find another way out. They could not delay. Frankel’s appearance – and, hopefully, disappearance, if he were able to use his Portkey – would alert Grindelwald. They would have little time. Certainly not enough time to walk to safety, even if he were in any condition to do so. Minerva would have to Apparate them out. Perhaps to Paris. She had been there once, after all. And now that it was liberated, they could seek help from the Muggle Allied Forces there. Or perhaps he could look up one of his old wizarding acquaintances, if any were still left in the city. The Ministry had no presence in Paris, although he had urged they establish one, and the French wizarding government was still in exile, waiting for the Muggle war to cool down and for Grindelwald to be dispatched. Still, Paris would make a good destination. He would simply have to convince her that she could Apparate there despite not having been there since she was a child.

Feeling somewhat less worried now that he had an alternate plan worked out, Albus dozed fitfully and waited for Minerva’s return.


	23. Escaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danger closes in as Minerva tries to find a way for them to escape.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore.

**XXIII: Escaping**

Minerva raced back to the road as quickly as she could, leaping over fallen tree limbs, slipping through the bracken, and dashing beneath bushes. As she approached the spot where she’d left Frankel, she slowed and crept quietly forward toward the edge of the road. She saw no one. She heard nothing. Nonetheless, she remained completely motionless, as she could only in her Animagus form, and crouched by the soft shoulder of the road, waiting, listening intently, and testing the air with her nose.

Underlying the odours still emanating from the burned-out jeep, Minerva could smell petrol in the air – or was it diesel? – that hadn’t been there before. She didn’t know how long such a scent would take to dissipate, normally, but there was a light breeze, and she decided that a Muggle vehicle must have driven through recently. After several minutes of crouching by the roadside, hearing nothing unusual, Minerva stood and sauntered into the road. Batting a fallen leaf about, she attended to the sounds around her in the night. She still heard nothing. She walked in a seemingly aimless pattern, tossing her dry leaf, patting it along the ground, jumping on it, catching it, and losing it. She then chose a small stone to bat about and send skittering along the surface of the road, never pawing it too far from her. Whilst an observer may have thought that she was a mere house cat out on a lark in the middle of the night, Minerva was making note of everything she saw and everything she smelled, remaining attentive for any sounds that might indicate the presence of another person.

As she tossed her leaf about, she found tyre tracks, barely visible on the hard-packed, frozen dirt road. Indeed, if she hadn’t been looking for them, believing them to be there, she wouldn’t have seen them, even with her acute night vision. As a cat, she was somewhat farsighted, and so when she leapt onto her leaf to capture it beneath her, and examined the track closely, she used her nose, and her slightly opened mouth, more than she did her eyes. She would really have to begin a study of the way thing smelled at different intervals, she thought. Although she believed the tracks smelled fresh, she couldn’t be sure. She was fairly certain, however, that they were much more recent than that morning, and did not belong to the jeep that had been carrying Dumbledore and the two Aurors.

Abandoning the leaf in favour of a small, round pebble, she criss-crossed the road until she finally reached the spot where Frankel had fallen. Stopping there and sniffing would be perfectly natural for a cat, so Minerva explored the ground carefully, opening her mouth slightly in order better to smell, or _taste_ , the odours around her.

The Auror had bled quite a bit, she decided, but she also found discarded bloody cloths that had apparently been used to staunch the flow. Following the scents along the ground, she deduced that the soldiers had lifted Frankel and carried him to the south side of the road, where they’d laid him down again. There was very little blood there; they must have bandaged him up and perhaps stopped the bleeding.

She sat by the spot where Frankel had lain, and washed her face, something she normally disliked doing in her Animagus form (although, truth be told, it _did_ feel rather nice), but she needed to think. If anyone was watching, they would just see a finicky cat bathing at the side of the road. 

Minerva was discouraged. She had hoped to find Frankel still there, although she had known that there was a good chance he would be gone by now or that she would be unable to reach him even if he _were_ there. Wondering whether he had managed to use his Portkey yet, she washed her shoulder, then her hip, and then chased her tail in a circle.

The soldiers had left cigarette ends tossed by the road, she noticed. She sniffed one, then batted it aside. Disgusting things. Another discarded bit of bloody gauze. A button. Putting her nose to it, she thought it smelled of Frankel. She was glad now that he had held her in her Animagus form when they Portkeyed. She certainly wouldn’t have noticed his particular scent, otherwise. She played with the button, tossing it back toward the spot where the soldiers had laid him, apparently to wait for the vehicle that had come and, she surmised, driven them away.

Minerva lay down and sniffed the air again. Still no scents that she wasn’t expecting to be there. She wished that she could sense magic in her Animagus form. After working with Albus at Hogwarts, Minerva had come to be able to detect the tingle of a powerful ward while she was in her Animagus form, but she was completely blind to any other magic when she was a cat. Of course, it was not as though she were particularly sensitive to magical traces in her ordinary form, either. That type of heightened sensitivity, if not a natural gift, was the product of years of training and hard work. Even if she were in her ordinary form, Minerva doubted that she would sense any common magic being used in the area without using her wand. She had promised Albus that she would stay in her Animagus form, though, and she would. It wouldn’t be particularly wise to wave a wand about out here, anyway.

Remembering the almost unnatural stillness that had emanated from the hollow where Albus had lain beneath his Imperturbable Charm, Minerva pricked her ears, trying to detect whether there was no noise where she would expect to hear at least the rustle of the wind. She finally concluded that, for the moment at least, she was alone and unobserved. Keeping in mind that her situation could change at any second, Minerva began a minute, inch-by-inch, search of the ground near where she’d found the Auror’s button. She primarily used her nose, but stayed alert for anything that might gleam unnaturally against the dirt, and pushed aside leaves and debris with her paws. 

Just as she was prepared to give up and return to the middle of the road to examine the spot where Frankel had originally fallen, her paw encountered something beneath a prickly bush – perhaps a berry bush, thought Minerva – which did not feel like a leaf, or dirt, or anything else that one would naturally find beneath a berry bush at the side of a road.

Unwilling to raise her own hopes too high – after all, it could be a bloody handkerchief, or something – Minerva crouched as low as she could and crept under the thorny stems, wishing that her coat were heavier, or her fur longer. It wasn’t a handkerchief. It _was_ cloth, though. Her heart racing, Minerva hooked her paw around the object and dragged it toward her. It smelled of Frankel. She backed out from under the bush, no longer noticing the thorns, dragging the object along. When it made a very nice little jangle as she pulled it more forcefully from its hiding place, Minerva could have danced for joy. It was her stupid, blasted, belled collar, still buckled, and other than a bit of dirt and sweat, apparently none the worse for having been discarded under the berry bush. Minerva hadn’t smelled any footprints near the bush, nor anything else human, hence her readiness to give up the search and return to the road. Frankel must have either tossed it there or Levitated it wandlessly. Either way, he had taken a risk. Of course, the soldiers could have found it on him and kicked it or thrown it aside, but it had been so far underneath the bush, it had to have been tossed from a very low vantage point – such as that of a man lying on the ground – or been whisked there with a charm.

It was also possible that he had managed to leave the Muggle fountain pen behind in the same manner, but Minerva didn’t want to take the time to look for something that might not be there. Besides, she could fairly easily carry the collar; she supposed she could have managed the fountain pen, instead, if she’d had to, but she didn’t believe that she could carry both Portkeys at once without some difficulty.

Minerva manoeuvred the collar about with her paws, then lowered her head and caught the bell up in her mouth. When it was well-settled, she stopped, looked, listened, and smelled the air again. Still nothing to indicate the presence of anyone but herself. She dashed across the road, hunkered briefly beside the shoulder, then began to pick her way back through the underbrush, going more slowly and carefully this time. She didn’t want to drop the collar: picking it up by its bell had been a difficult operation to do once, she didn’t want to have to repeat it. In addition, she had to avoid snagging the thing on the overhanging limbs and stems that she had been able simply to brush past on her way there. As frustrated as Minerva was that this journey would take a bit longer, she felt immense satisfaction, both human and feline, that she would be able to present Albus with a prize upon her return.

She was several yards in from the road when she suddenly heard several loud cracks coming from the area between the jeep and the site of Frankel’s ambush. Those cracks would be recognised by any witch or wizard: multiple Apparitions. Minerva froze, glad that she was a dark tabby, glad that she was several yards from the road, and glad that there were trees and bushes between her and whoever had just Apparated in. She stayed to listen, unmoving. Who had arrived? Friend or foe? The sound of their voices answered that question for her. They weren’t speaking English. The Ministry had not sent these wizards. Grindelwald had.

Minerva slunk quietly away, knowing that rushing could draw attention to her. Albus was not safe in his hole. He may be well hidden from Muggles, or even from a desultory inspection by a wizard. But these wizards knew for whom they were looking. They would find his path; they would not be fooled long by a Disillusionment Charm; they would capture him; they would bring him to Grindelwald. Grindelwald would subject him to the unspeakable interrogations for which he was infamous, and then, if Albus were lucky, they would kill him. But Minerva would not let that happen, not if she had to die to prevent it.

As she got further from the road and could no longer hear the wizards, Minerva broke into a trot. She was still unable to proceed as quickly as she had earlier, but she would reach her destination in just a few minutes. Running through the woods, scrambling over fallen trees and through the ferny undergrowth, she considered Albus’s situation. Before they left – before _she_ left, she corrected herself – she would have to eradicate any sign of his having been in the area. She didn’t know how much he had bled when he had been near the jeep, but she knew that he had cleaned up any detectable blood between the road and his hiding place. She hoped that whatever blood was at the original scene was Moody’s or Carson’s, or at least that it was so well mixed with theirs as to be unusable for any Dark Art. Yes, she would have to banish all the blood from the scene, as well as the traces that he had left when he had leaned against the tree. Minerva hadn’t heard of urine being used in a Dark Spell, but she had not made a study of such things, either. She couldn’t be too careful.

She arrived. Albus was there, dozing. Minerva crept in beside him and dropped the collar on his chest. He woke up at that and was just about to say something when Minerva quickly put a paw over his mouth and shook her head. Paw still to his lips, she slipped back into her ordinary form with barely a whispered pop. She did not remove her hand from his mouth, but felt for her wand with her free one. Awkwardly, she cast a light nonverbal Imperturbable, then took her hand from his mouth and moved it to his chest.

“Shh,” Minerva breathed. She grasped the collar, taking hold first of the bell to silence it, despite the charm she’d just cast. Still holding the collar tightly, she found his hand and pressed the collar into it. Letting go, she whispered, “Grindelwald’s men. No time to talk. The trigger word is ‘ _spero_.’ You must use it alone, if it comes to that. You must promise me. Do not make Carson’s life, and mine, wasted through delay. I need to destroy all traces of your blood in and around this spot. I will do the area beneath you last. If need be, I will do it after you Portkey. You know what they’d do with your blood, Albus.”

“I will not leave you behind, Minerva.”

“If we do this right, you won’t have to. If worst comes to worse, I’ll return to my Animagus form and find the British or American Army. I’ll be fine. It’s you they’re after. They don’t even know I’m here.”

“Unless they’ve questioned Frankel,” Albus whispered back, urgently. “They may even know what form you take.”

“We will not need to risk that if we are quick about this. Stop arguing, Albus. Lie there for a moment, but be alert in case you need to get out of here.”

Minerva rolled out from beneath the rock. First, she dashed over to the tree where Albus had relieved himself, and cleaned up there, doing away with any bodily fluids he left behind. She then returned to the rock and began casting strong, nonverbal cleaning charms over the rock and the surrounding ground, first _Dilutus_ , then _Ablutus_. Fortunately, Albus had been very careful, and had eradicated his traces up to that point.

“Hold on, Albus,” Minerva whispered. “This may not be comfortable.” With that warning, she swished and flicked and Levitated Albus from the hole, just missing hitting his head against the scrubby tree as she did so.

“All right, I’m going to Levitate you upright. Take hold of the tree to stay that way. Try not to lean on it. You’ve still got blood on your clothes.” Albus had little choice but to obey. He gripped his borrowed wand in the same hand that held the cat collar and wished for his magic and his physical strength to return. Wishing it did not make it so.

After giving Albus his instructions, Minerva Levitated the Transfigured body from the cavity and deposited it at his feet. Then she thought of something.

“Your jacket, Albus, where are the sleeves?” she whispered desperately. She thought she heard the popping of a branch breaking somewhere in the distance.

“Under the rock, further under,” he whispered back. He, too, had heard something, and his stomach was a riot of dread and foreboding. “Hurry, Minerva, hurry!”

Hurry she did, throwing herself onto her stomach and waving her wand, Summoning the sleeves and hoping they would respond despite being hidden in the gloom. Successful, she stood, holding the bloody remnants in her left hand, and cast the _Ablutus_ Charm at the area where Albus had lain for so many hours. Just as she finished, she could hear voices, and rustling, approaching from the distance.

Turning toward Albus, Minerva thrust her wand into her belt. She bent and hefted the log that was Carson’s body in her left arm, grabbed Albus’s hand with her right, and said, “ _Now_ , Albus, now!”

Albus needed no further urging. “ _Spero!_ ” 

And they were gone, as if they had never been there.


	24. A Missent Missive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The McGonagalls receive an unusual letter.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Egeria Egidius (mother), Merwyn McGonagall (father)
> 
> End of Part Four.

**XXIV: A Missent Missive**

One cheery September morning in the McGonagall household, Merwyn joined his wife for breakfast in the small, sunny room where the two took their meals whenever it was only the two of them at home. Now that Minerva was working at the Ministry and their three sons were long established in their own lives, Egeria and Merwyn had a comfortable daily routine. Egeria had always been an early riser, with a much greater morning appetite than Merwyn, who needed at least two cups of tea before he could think about eating even a slice of toast.

Egeria would wake first, throw on a dressing gown, and go down to the kitchen to brew the tea and speak with Fwisky or one of the other house-elves about breakfast. Egeria always preferred to brew her own tea, saying that it was a calming ritual that helped her start her day. She would then go into the little morning room, whose draperies had already been opened by the house-elves, and pour her first cup while awaiting the first owls of the morning. Sometimes the only early Post Owl would be the one delivering the _Daily Prophet_ , but occasionally other early post would arrive while she was sipping her tea, sometimes from one of her prospective mothers, other times from a new mother who was concerned about the health of her infant. Egeria would be on her second cup of tea, reading the _Prophet_ , and beginning her breakfast before Merwyn would shuffle in, squinting in silent protest at the sunlight pouring through the windows. He always felt that it was much gentler to wake to a cloudy morning.

That morning, however, was not the slightest bit overcast, and as Merwyn stumbled into the breakfast room with his customary squint, he greeted his wife with a slight grunt; she blew him a kiss over the top of the newspaper. Merwyn had barely settled into his chair and had not even contemplated his first cup of tea when a particularly large and impressive owl flew to one the large windows behind Egeria and thunked his head against the glass insistently. Merwyn only looked at it blearily. Egeria smiled, shook her head at her husband’s still semi-somnolent state, and waved her wand to let the bird in.

Egeria gave the owl a bit of toast with plum butter as she accepted the parchment from its talons.

“How odd,” she said to her husband, who was drinking his tea with his eyes closed. “It’s from Minerva, addressed to us both. I didn’t think we’d hear from her again until the weekend. Perhaps she can’t come up on Friday, after all.”

Egeria opened the parchment where it had been sealed with a charm, read the first two sentences, then dropped the letter to her plate. Merwyn was awake enough to see that his wife had gone deathly pale, certainly not her usual reaction to receiving a letter from their daughter.

“What is it, Egeria? Let me see that,” he said, taking the letter from where it rested on his wife’s half-eaten breakfast. Upon reading the first sentence, he could understand why his wife had been shocked. After finishing the first paragraph, he became puzzled. He scanned the rest of the letter quickly. “Egeria, Egeria, love, it’s all right. She wrote this months ago. In January. It must have been sent by the Ministry in error. Minerva’s fine.” Merwyn put an arm around his wife. “This must have been something she wrote back before she came home on leave from the Ministry last winter, remember? She went to her friend’s funeral in Ireland, and Albus came to visit. This is dated just a few days before she showed up on the doorstep.”

Egeria, relieved, reached for the letter. “Did you read the whole thing, dear?”

“No, I just scanned it quickly; once I had finished the first paragraph, it struck me there was something very odd about it.”

“‘Very odd’ is an _understatement_ , Merwyn.” Egeria read the letter through, then, tears in her eyes, handed it back to her husband. “I think you should read it.”

_“Dear Mother and Dad,_

_“If you are reading this, then I must apologise for the pain I have caused you. You must know that I wanted to return home to you, and that I would have done what I could in order to see you again. But you also know that I could not refuse the mission that was given me – I do not know if you are aware of its nature, so best not speak of it here – nor could I leave anyone behind if leaving him would mean abandoning him to an evil fate._

_“You have both always given me the greatest encouragement and love that any daughter could receive from any parents. You always allowed me the freedom to find my own path, and, where possible, gave me the tools to do so successfully. I have always known that you were as proud of me as ever you could be, no matter what I chose to do. So please, be proud now. You raised me to find what was right and to pursue it. I am doing that now._

_“Please give my love to Malcolm, Morgan, and Murdoch, and Melina, too. Tell her to study hard when she gets to Hogwarts, and to take advantage of the opportunity to learn everything she can._

_“There is one other thing that I must mention. It may be possible that although I do not return, another will. You will remember this person well, as I did not throw up on his shoes, as you had warned him I might, Mother. It is likely that in this event, he will feel some guilt that he was unable to bring me back with him. You must tell him that I did only what I had to do, and that, as I wished to ‘emulate him in every way,’ could not choose to do otherwise. Remind him, too, that I am a Gryffindor and a McGonagall, and we tend to be a bit headstrong; no one could have prevented me from coming after him and finding him, and no price would be too high to pay in order to accomplish that. I only hope that I was sufficiently successful in my task and that he was able to return, even if without me. If I was successful in that regard, please tell him that my gratitude toward him is immeasurable and that some of my happiest memories include time spent with him._

_“Do know that I love you all, although I may not say it often enough._

_“With apologies,  
“I remain your loving daughter,_

_“Minerva  
“5 January 1945”_

When he had finished it, Merwyn blinked hard. “Quite something, our Minnie-girl, isn’t she,” he said hoarsely.

“She certainly is. What do you think we should do?”

“Nothing. Put the letter away. Minerva probably forgot she’d written it, or she assumed that the Ministry destroyed it when she returned safely. She never told us anything about this . . . whatever this mission was that she couldn’t refuse. She would likely be upset that we received the letter. Perhaps at some point, when it’s not all quite so fresh, we could give it back to her. Or at least let her know that it _was_ delivered to us, after all.”

“Well, at least this explains something of her mood when she was here.” Egeria gazed at her now-congealed eggs, not seeing them, but remembering that bitterly cold day earlier in the year when Minerva had Apparated in, with no explanation other than that she had been given some leave by the Ministry, and that she decided to take it and come to Scotland for a visit with her family. She had been home for Christmas recently, but it had been only a brief, two-day visit, so Merwyn and Egeria had been pleased to see her again so soon.

Minerva explained to them that she would need to leave for Ireland for a funeral and wake in two days. She would be travelling by Ministry-authorised Portkey in both directions. When Egeria asked whose funeral she would be attending, Minerva looked out the window at the steely Highland sky, pausing as if to collect herself, then told them that it was for an Auror who had been killed in the line of duty, her friend from Hogwarts, Carson Murphy.

Minerva had mentioned Carson several times in her letters home, both from Hogwarts and from London. Both Egeria and Merwyn were themselves shocked by the news, although they had never met the young man. Their daughter had been understandably quiet for the next few days, but her mood did not seem to lift when she returned from Ireland. If anything, she seemed more subdued. When Egeria had suggested that perhaps returning to work might be a good remedy for her grief, or that it would at least provide her with something to occupy her time, Minerva had let out a mirthless laugh and explained that the leave, and its length, were involuntary. She didn’t offer any further information; Merwyn and Egeria presumed that the Ministry had placed Minerva on some kind of bereavement leave. They _did_ think it odd since she was not kin to the dead boy.

The elder McGonagalls were further surprised when Albus Dumbledore Apparated to their home a few days later, looking for Minerva. Albus had apparently been unaware that Minerva had been placed on leave, and so had Apparated from London after having sought her out at the Ministry. They were ensconced in the library for over an hour; Merwyn came down the hall just in time to see his daughter flying out the front door, cloak half on, and the door to the library open to reveal Albus sitting in a wing chair, forehead cradled in his hands. Merwyn knocked lightly on the opened door and stepped into the library, greeting Albus softly. Deciding to stick to mundane matters, Merwyn didn’t mention his daughter’s flight from the house, instead suggesting that, after Apparating first to London then back to Scotland, Albus might be fatigued. Merwyn invited him to join the family for their midday meal. Albus agreed, somewhat hesitantly, to stay for dinner, and at Merwyn’s request, he went out into the windy grey day to find Minerva and tell her that the meal would be served soon.

Egeria remembered her response to Merwyn when he told her that he had sent Albus off to the cliffs to look for her. “Are you sure that was wise? And I don’t mean simply because you say she seemed upset.” Her husband removed his glasses, kissed her forehead, and held her, then said, “It was the only thing to do, love, wise or not. Minerva’s not been herself – even more than usual, I mean. Dumbledore knew the boy, too, if that has anything to do with whatever is wrong. And at least she got out of the house. She’s been moping about so much, it was almost a pleasure to see her run out the door in a fury as she used to when she was small.”

 _Yes,_ Egeria thought, _this letter certainly places those events in a new perspective. Odd, though, that she hadn’t mentioned Carson in the letter._ Although the letter _was_ cryptic, and the “anyone” whom Minerva would not leave behind could have referred to the Murphy boy as much as to Dumbledore . . . . But it was Dumbledore whom Minerva had mentioned explicitly, if obliquely, and it was for him that she showed concern, gratitude, and affection. Egeria sighed. Without knowing more about what the mission was, it was futile to speculate on why Minerva might have written of certain things and yet not written of others. Perhaps Carson’s death was coincidental and unrelated to the mission; perhaps Minerva had already known that he was dead. If they were to proceed as Merwyn suggested, however, and not mention the letter to their daughter, any questions Egeria had would have to remain mysteries for now.


	25. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Albus meet in his office. The meeting does not go as Minerva expected. Albus carries out his plan.
> 
>  
> 
> **Beginning of Part Five.**
> 
>  
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Wilspy (house-elf)

**PART FIVE**  
 **XXV: Meeting**

Minerva hesitated only the barest second before rapping at the door to Albus’s office. Too late to turn back now. He surely knew she was there, anyway, as the gargoyle had allowed her entry to his stairway. Although she had expected the door to open immediately, she had anticipated that it would open in its usual manner to reveal Albus sitting at his desk on the other side of the room. Instead, she almost walked into Albus as he opened the door to her himself.

“There you are, Minerva! Punctual as always! A characteristic I value highly, even if perhaps I do not always live up to my own standards in that regard. Please come in.” Albus gestured to the chairs and small settee behind him. “I thought that it would be more convenient for us to go over the curriculum in my little sitting area, rather than with me behind that big old desk, since we will be handing parchments back and forth and so on.” Albus hoped he wasn’t rambling. He did feel somewhat awkward and thought perhaps he had startled her when he had opened the door for her. “Yes, now, I cleared this little table for our use. Please, my dear, just put your things down there. And which chair would your prefer?”

Minerva stood, just a few feet into the room, holding her sheaf of parchments and her books, and blinked at the table and chairs he had indicated. The low coffee table had been Transfigured to be slightly taller, although not as high as the desk. Albus had Transfigured the velvet upholstery on the comfortable overstuffed chairs from the garnet-colour they had been that morning to tartan. One had dark and pale greens, brown, and grey on a creamy background; the other was a red, gold, and black tartan on a pale grey background. Whatever one might say of them, they were certainly not your typical tartan, and she’d never before seen tartan _velvet_. Minerva decided, without very much thought, to sit in the red and gold chair. The green pattern would be easier on the eye. She felt rather confused as she deposited her parchments on the table and lowered herself into the chair. What was she to think? What was Albus doing?

“I hoped you might like that one, my dear! Very Gryffindor, I thought!” Albus sat as well, and pulled the parchments toward him. “Shall we begin by discussing the sixth-year curriculum, then?”

“Yes, Albus, that would be fine, but first –” Minerva began.

“Let’s begin there, then. I assume the outline of the required spells and the order in which I found best to teach them was of some help, but you may have a question or two about that. So let’s look at the broad overview of the course, then move on to the actual progression of the lessons. All right, my dear?” Albus smiled at Minerva, who had opened her mouth once or twice to interject something, but who could only nod at the Headmaster’s cheery suggestion of how they should proceed.

Minerva was taken aback by the fact that he had not given her the opportunity to apologise, and that he appeared to be concerned only with lesson plans and timetables. It was as though nothing had happened that morning at all! She was sure that he had overheard what she had said; there was no way he could have avoided hearing it.

As the two discussed the sixth-year curriculum for the next hour, Minerva’s mind kept turning to the question of why he hadn’t allowed her to finish speaking, why he had insisted they discuss the lessons. Part of her wondered whether Albus had simply been completely unaffected by what he had overheard. She had spent the better part of the day in agony over it, but perhaps he hadn’t given it another thought once he had left the hospital wing. Albus was focussed on the subject at hand, although it didn’t seem as though he were trying to distance himself by concentrating on school matters. He was calling her “Minerva,” and “my dear,” just as usual. And he certainly would not have arranged the furniture for them to sit so closely if he had been trying to distance himself. His Headmaster’s desk would have provided a more than adequate barrier between them, if he had wanted to exert his authority and emphasise the professional nature of their relationship.

Minerva found herself wondering again about Albus’s attitude and purpose when she became aware that he was asking her a question that she hadn’t heard. “I’m sorry, Albus. I am afraid my mind wandered a bit there. I didn’t catch what you asked me.”

“Well, then,” said Albus with a smile, “perhaps it is time for a break. I could not help but notice that you did not eat very much of your lunch today, and I know it can be very difficult to concentrate on this sort of thing when you’re hungry. Dinner’s not for another hour, but we could eat something here now, and resume our discussion of the NEWT-level curriculum later. How would that be, my dear?”

“Oh, no, Albus, that’s fine. We can finish discussing the curriculum now. I don’t want to put you to any trouble, disrupt your plans for the evening . . . .”

“It’s no trouble at all, Minerva. None whatsoever! And if that’s not _your_ stomach I hear gurgling, then it’s mine, which means that at least one of us needs to eat. Let’s do that now, shall we?” As he spoke, Albus gathered up the parchments into a neat pile. “Now, why don’t you go wash up, and I’ll call Wilspy about some dinner, shall I?”

Minerva rose from her seat in silent acquiescence, unable to argue with him. When she just stood there hesitantly, however, Albus asked with a gentle smile, “What is it, my dear? You needn’t wait for an invitation, this isn’t a four-star establishment, you know.”

“Well, actually, Albus, I _do_ need an invitation, unless you have a sink somewhere in your office,” she responded, thinking that his words sounded familiar.

“Ah, no, my dear. Just the bathroom and the loo upstairs, if that’s all right with you. I promise that I got rid of Aberforth’s potion, so that won’t affront you!” He grinned at her broadly.

“Your stairs –” began Minerva.

“Oh, I see. You needn’t worry about those. They are charmed to recognise you now. I should have thought to do that for you as soon as you arrived at Hogwarts, but with one thing and another, the issue didn’t arise until last week. I am very sorry, Minerva.” Albus gazed at her seriously.

“You needn’t be sorry, Albus. You are a very busy wizard, and –” Minerva began before Albus interrupted her.

“I am sorry, nonetheless, for that and a good many other things, as well. But you go wash up now, and I’ll call Wilspy. Would you mind if we were to dine in my quarters? Otherwise, I can arrange things down here,” Albus asked.

Minerva was almost dumbstruck. “No, no, that would be fine.” She took a step or two back toward the brass staircase, then turned and started up the stairs. She hesitated almost imperceptibly when she reached the sixth step, but then proceeded the rest of the way without pausing.

Minerva had been in his private rooms before, of course, but that had been with several other teachers in early January, when Albus had invited the staff for drinks before the students returned from holiday. She was fairly sure she knew where the loo was, although she hadn’t needed to use it the last time she’d been there.

Minerva crossed the Headmaster’s private sitting room toward the far-left door, hoping it was the correct one. She didn’t want to open the wrong door and find herself in his bedroom, or something. Minerva was unsure of how many rooms were in the Headmaster’s suite, although no doubt it was more than just two or three. The level below her contained not only Albus’s office, but also the large library and archive that was inherited by each Headmaster or Headmistress, each of whom would add to the collection during their tenure.

As soon as she opened it, Minerva could see that she had chosen the correct door. On the other side of the small room, a door opened onto the Headmaster’s bedroom. She quickly closed that door, as well as the one behind her, and noted the presence of a third door, which she surmised must lead to his bathroom.

Minerva washed her hands and thought of Albus’s final words to her. _He_ had apologised to her. He had apologised to her. That was not at all what she had anticipated. It was _she_ who should be apologising. It was he who was the injured party. She should be asking for his forgiveness, not hearing him say that he was sorry.

Minerva reached for one of the towels. At least he hadn’t charmed _these_ tartan, she thought. She liked tartans, but even she recognized there are limits . . . . Albus must have charmed the upholstery as part of his attempt to apologise to her. She sighed. He would have to give her the opportunity to apologise before dinner. She would make sure that she _made_ the opportunity to apologise, and to express her regret, to him. As she dried her hands, she realised why his earlier words about not needing an invitation had sounded so familiar. He had said something similar, years ago, before they had their dinner “chez Albus.” Did he remember that dinner, too, or was it simply a phrase that he used often?

Minerva had just finished drying her hands when she heard Albus’s voice in the sitting room.

“Minerva?”

She emerged from the bathroom, ready with her apology, but before she could say anything, he gestured to a round table across the room. He had pulled the heavy, dark curtains closed, and the room was lit with soft candlelight from a candelabra on the table and two wall sconces. A large bouquet of various flowers was in a crystal vase at the edge furthest from her, and two chairs sat at right angles to each other, place settings in front of each.

“I hope this meets your approval.”

“Yes, yes, of course it does, Albus. It’s very nice.” Minerva was at a loss. How could she apologise to him when he kept being, well, being so _Albus_?

“Wilspy had wanted to do the table, but I insisted. There does seem to be a slight delay with our meal, however. Some kind of house-elf issue in the kitchens. Wilspy assures me that she is handling it and our food will be served shortly. In the meantime, may I offer you a seat and pour you a glass of wine?” Albus pulled out a chair for Minerva to sit.

Minerva sat in the chair Albus held for her. “Thank you, Albus, but –”

“Here you go. I hope you like it,” Albus said, handing her a glass of wine that seemed to have poured itself as she was sitting down at her place. “I’ll have one as well, and then, perhaps, a toast?” Albus looked at her inquisitively as he took the seat next to her.

“Of course, Albus, it’s just that –”

“To you, my dear Minerva, for putting up with a barmy old codger like me.”

Never sure of the etiquette of drinking a toast to oneself, Minerva waited until Albus began raising the glass to his lips, then she whispered, “Thank you,” and took a sip of the wine. “But you’re not a barmy old codger, Albus. And I need to –” Minerva made another futile attempt to apologise.

“That’s kind of you to say, my dear. But I wish to apologise again for my neglect of you. As I said down in my office, I am very sorry for allowing my stairs to deposit you on my floor the way they did, and I am even more sorry for having not made time for you the way I ought – the way you _deserve_ , my dear. And I _do_ wish to tell you a little bit about my morning, not in order to excuse my behaviour toward you, but perhaps to explain it. May I, Minerva? Will you allow me that?” Albus was quite aware that Minerva had been trying to work her own apology into the conversation. Normally, he would find it the height of rudeness to repeatedly interrupt someone as he had been doing, but it was important for him to let her know that she was forgiven already, and that he was truly remorseful for the way he had inadvertently neglected her and taken her for granted. He was nonetheless shocked when he saw tears springing into her eyes.

“Ah! My dear, please! I will not discuss it, then, if it disturbs you so! I only wished to make some amends.” Albus reached over and took her hand. “Please, Minerva. I am so sorry; I did not wish to make you cry!”

Minerva blinked, embarrassed when great tears rolled down her cheeks. “Please, Albus, don’t apologise again. Please. It is torture for me to hear that, knowing how good you have been to me and how little I have appreciated it. And then, what I said this morning . . . .” Minerva had thought that she had completely cried herself out earlier in the day, but after his heartfelt apologies, thinking about what Albus had overheard brought fresh tears to her eyes.

“It’s all right, Minerva. Really, my dear.” Still holding her hand in one of his own, Albus reached into a pocket of his robes and pulled out a fresh white handkerchief and handed it to her. She took it and chuckled slightly.

“I didn’t know you could own a _white_ handkerchief, Albus,” she said, trying to make a joke through her tears.

“I received several as a gift. They are very practical. Not particularly decorative, but practical,” Albus replied with a slight twinkle.

“It’s just, Albus . . . I can’t believe I said what I did, and I would never have, and you overheard it, too. . . . what you must have thought . . . ,” Minerva said, sniffling a bit into the handkerchief.

“Ah, well. I do admit to having been somewhat surprised by your particular choice of words. But I could not blame you for the sentiment behind them. I have not meant to neglect you, my dear, but I have not treated you as I ought to have done. It is no excuse, but I am afraid that it never occurred to me that my words and actions might signify something quite different to you than what I meant by them. I have felt so comfortable with you, Minerva, that I took for granted that you would understand if I were late, and not just this morning, but over the last six months, and I never dreamed that you would take it amiss or believe it showed a lack of respect for you. I am very, very sorry, my dear.” He squeezed her hand gently.

Minerva wiped at her tears. “I should have been more understanding, Albus. And I was, really. But it’s one thing to be understanding each time and another to think that . . . .” Minerva could not continue that thought. “I see now that I was wrong, but it felt different this morning, and . . . oh, I am so sorry, Albus!” Her tears began to flow again.

Albus got up from the table and came around to stand beside her, putting his other hand on her shoulder. “Come, now, Minerva. Let’s go over to the settee while we wait for dinner, hmm?” 

Albus led her gently to the small sofa. He sat close to her and put one arm around her shoulders. 

“Here now, we _are_ friends, aren’t we, Minerva? Friends before all else? I am afraid I have been neither a very good Headmaster nor a very good friend lately, but perhaps you will allow me to be your friend now?”

Minerva let him draw her closer. She let out a shuddering sigh as she rested her head against his chest. One of her hands crept up to rest on his opposite shoulder. Her eyes closed, and she thought vaguely that she shouldn’t allow this, that it would simply torment her later. But she indulged herself, and let herself move her face just a little closer to his beard and to his sandalwood and lemon scent. “Yes, Albus. Please.”

The two simply sat there for a bit, she, close to motionless, yielding to her desire to simply breathe him in and feel his warmth and his magic flowing around her. He held her, one arm around her, and gently rubbed her back with his free hand. Ah, he thought, he must not become too used to this; he was doing this to comfort _her_ , after all, not to cater to his own needs. But still, it _was_ nice to hold her like this.

After a few minutes, Minerva sat up, but did not pull away from him fully. “You said that you wanted to tell me about this morning, Albus.”

“Yes, I did, and I still do, but how are you feeling? Better?”

Minerva was touched by the concern in his face. “Much; thank you,” she said softly. She did not rest her head against him again, although she would have liked to, but leaned back against the couch, grateful for the warmth of his arm still around her.

“Well, Minerva, in retrospect, I suppose it was all rather funny, although it didn’t feel that way at the time. And I don’t want you to feel badly about everything again, but I really had thought that our meeting would be the highpoint of my day, especially after the way it started.”

Minerva swallowed past a lump in her throat when he mentioned the meeting with her, and that he had been looking forward to it, but she just nodded to him to continue.

Albus began telling her about the urgent owl he had received so early that morning and had just reached the point in his story where he had Apparated to Doncaster, when their meal and Wilspy popped into the room.

“Dinner, Professor, Professor Minerva,” said Wilspy. “May I get the Professor and his Professor Minerva anything else?”

“No, thank you, Wilspy. Dessert, when we’re ready, of course, but I will call you if we have any other requests,” replied Albus.

Minerva had straightened up completely when Wilspy popped in, and now she stood and walked over to the table where their meal sat steaming on plates and in tureens. As she saw their contents, tears welled up in her eyes again.

“A very good friend once told me that spinach is revitalising,” Albus said softly. “I couldn’t decide on shepherd’s pie or roast beef, so I asked for both.”

In addition to those dishes, there were mashed potatoes and gravy, and carrots that swam in butter. Soup plates at each place held vegetable soup.

“We have shared many meals together, Minerva,” Albus said very softly, “and I am grateful for them all, but especially for our first, that one we shared in my office so many years ago, because it introduced me to a wonderful person whom I am now lucky enough to call ‘friend,’ and for the dinner ‘chez Albus,’ because you helped me more than you could ever have known that night.” Albus stopped, feeling somewhat awkward.

Minerva blew her nose on Albus’s handkerchief. “This is the most wonderful . . . . Thank you, Albus.”

They sat again at the table. After tasting her soup, Minerva realised that she was famished. Albus smiled to see her eat with such an appetite. After they had started on the shepherd’s pie, creamed spinach, roast beef, and the other dishes, Minerva asked him about what had happened in Doncaster, and Albus finished his story.

“Well, it is quite understandable that you would be running late, then,” Minerva said. “But what was all that about your beard?”

Albus explained how Gertie had found him soaking his beard in Aberforth’s latest putrid potion, giving a detailed verbal picture of his state at the time. Minerva put down her fork and began laughing.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Albus! I shouldn’t laugh. That must have been quite awful for you,” Minerva said, still chuckling.

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad. I’ll admit, I was a wee bit embarrassed at the time, especially since I hadn’t been expecting her – I remembered that you were coming, Minerva, but thought that you would probably just settle down with a book and wait for me; I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry, Albus. And although I don’t want you to, well, take me for granted, I promise that if you are late for our meetings in the future, I will assume that you have a good reason for it and remember what you said about feeling comfortable with me – so I will make myself comfortable in return. Although . . . it would be nice if you could be on time occasionally, Albus.”

“I will do my best, truly. And when I am late in the future, for no doubt it will happen again, even with the best of intentions, I promise that I will try to apologise immediately and not seem as though I take your time for granted.”

“Thank you, Albus. That means a lot to me.”

“But you must promise me something, as well, Minerva. Please promise me that if I am causing you hurt feelings, you will not try to hide it from me. It was dreadful for me to realise that I had been causing you pain and hadn’t known it.”

Minerva hesitated. “I cannot promise that, Albus. But,” she said in response to his distressed expression, “I will try in the future to express myself before I become as distressed as I did this morning. Despite what you heard this morning, you know that I don’t usually wear my feelings plainly. It is my nature to keep them to myself. Particularly . . . well, you have been honest with me, Albus: particularly any feelings that I might consider unseemly or weak. Unfortunately, it can be easier for me to become angry than to express any kind of hurt feelings. But, in terms of our relationship, I will try never again to allow anything of that sort to fester until I become so angry, Albus.”

“Very well; thank you, Minerva.” Albus fiddled with his napkin. He wished he could take her hand again. The moment was past for that. Just then, Wilspy appeared.

“May I speak with the Professor, please, Professor?” Wilspy asked, bouncing somewhat agitatedly. Minerva assumed that she was speaking both about and to Albus.

“Of course, Wilspy,” he replied.

Wilspy looked at him, then looked at Minerva, then looked back at him and said, “Wilspy needs to speak with the Professor, now, please.” Minerva thought she’d never heard Wilspy sound quite so house-elfish as she did at that moment.

“Excuse us a moment, please, Minerva,” said Albus as he led the diminutive house-elf out of the room.

He came back a few minutes later, chuckling. “Am I right in understanding that you know a house-elf by the name of ‘Blampa’?”

“Yes, she was the one assigned to me when I arrived here. Why? What is it?”

“It seems that Blampa was quite put out that you are having a private dinner with me and that she was not asked to serve. That was the first problem in the kitchens tonight. Wilspy did finally convince her that if the private dinner was being held in your rooms, then Blampa would have been asked to serve and that she wasn’t being dishonoured. However, she has thrown quite a little house-elfish fit regarding the desert.” Albus laughed, taking off his glasses and putting them on the table by his place. “I had asked for chocolate biscuits and caramel custard. There has been a bit of a struggle over these items, however, since Blampa insists that you cannot have dessert without – ”

“Ginger newts,” completed Minerva. At his quizzical expression, she said, “I have been trying to get used to Blampa, and in my effort to get her not to be the typical cringing house-elf everyone else – except you, Albus – seems to appreciate, I have been telling her whenever she does something that particularly pleases me. She brought me some ginger newts, and I told her that whenever she brought me biscuits, she was to include some ginger newts, if possible. It seems that she decided providing me with ginger newts is now part of her mission in life.”

Albus chuckled again. “Yes, well, I told Wilspy just to bring both kinds of biscuits up with the caramel custard. It will all be too much for us to eat, anyway.”

A few minutes later, their dessert appeared on the table, along with a pot of peppermint tea. As they finished their meal, Minerva thought how much better she felt, and how well the day was ending, despite its rather dreadful start. She sighed to herself; she would still have to deal with her underlying problem, she knew, or this would happen again, but not for any reason that Albus could control.

“Are you all right, my dear?” asked Albus. “You’re very quiet.”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just a little tired, I think.”

“It has been a long day for both of us. I think that we should wait to discuss the seventh-year curriculum. There are some other school-related issues that I wanted to talk with you about, as well, some things I would value your opinion on, but nothing that needs to be resolved tonight. Why don’t we just sit, sip some cognac, and then have an early night?” Albus felt himself begin to flush, wondering if his final suggestion sounded as, well, _suggestive_ to Minerva as it did to him. “We can meet tomorrow,” he continued hurriedly. “Perhaps after breakfast. Unless you would care to make it a breakfast meeting? We would have more time.”

“That sounds fine, Albus. I would like that, actually, although I would prefer it if we waited until after breakfast to talk Hogwarts business. I think I need my morning tea first.” Minerva hoped that hadn’t sounded like a rejection of his proposal to share breakfast together. She really _should_ avoid such things, but he _was_ a friend, and she would just have to deal with her own internal conflicts without doing anything to injure their friendship. And friends sometimes ate breakfast together.

“Yes, that is fine,” Albus replied hesitantly.

“Since Blampa feels neglected, would you care to meet me in my quarters for breakfast? Unless that would be inconvenient.” Minerva hesitated, herself. “Or we could have breakfast in my office, if you would prefer.”

“That would be lovely, Professor McGonagall,” Albus replied with a smile. “And we needn’t meet in your office. At what time should I arrive for breakfast?”

Minerva and Albus made arrangements for him to come by her rooms at eight o’clock the next morning, then he fetched two snifters and a very nice old brandy, and they relaxed on his sofa talking until her yawns became contagious and he sent her off with his sincere promise that he would be on time for breakfast the next morning. He walked her down the stairs to his office.

As Albus opened the door at the top of the moving staircase, Minerva stopped him. “Thank you, Albus. This has been a lovely evening. I was a bit worried when I arrived and you wouldn’t let me apologise; the events of the morning had weighed so heavily on me that I could scarcely think of anything else. I certainly didn’t expect the day to end so happily. Thank you.”

Albus reached out and took her hand and squeezed it gently. “Thank _you_ , Minerva. Our meeting truly _was_ the highpoint of my day.” He bent quickly over her hand, raising it to his mouth and brushing his lips against her knuckles, then he straightened and smiled at her. “Good night, my dear.”

“Good night, Albus.” For a brief moment, Minerva thought that Albus was leaning forward, that he might kiss her cheek, but it was a trick of the light. After a final fond glance at him, Minerva turned and rode the spiral staircase down to the gargoyle, and walked back to her rooms. She would call Blampa as soon as she got there, she decided, and arrange for breakfast. Minerva was a much happier woman than she had been in a very long time.


	26. A Lovely Sight to Behold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus remembers a warm summer’s day in Edinburgh.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore; young Minerva McGonagall, young Melina McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore.

**XXVI: A Lovely Sight to Behold**

After Albus had said good night to Minerva and gone back upstairs to his suite, he poured himself another small glass of cognac. As he sipped it, sitting where he had when he held Minerva, he felt a warmth flow through him that had nothing to do with the fine brandy. 

Albus was relieved and grateful that the evening had gone so well. He had been slightly concerned that she would be upset with him for having engineered the evening as he had done, but he now felt it had been worth the risk. Minerva probably only would have been upset with him about it if she were unable to accept his apology; given how distressed she had appeared beneath her Glamour at lunch, Albus was glad that he had taken the opportunity to clarify to her that it was not she, but _he_ , who was at fault. He _was_ glad, of course, that she had apologised for her words, but only because it reassured him that she did hold him in some positive regard.

Albus glanced at the table. He had forgotten to give her the flowers he had chosen especially from the Hogwarts gardens and greenhouses that day. Perhaps he could bring them with him in the morning. Would that seem strange to her, he wondered? The little freshness charm he had put on them earlier that afternoon wouldn’t preserve them indefinitely, but the bouquet would remain nice for at least a few weeks. He would decide in the morning. Albus certainly didn’t want to go over-the-top, after all. Minerva might feel uncomfortable with too much attention.

Taking another sip from his snifter, Albus thought how lovely it had been to sit with Minerva on the sofa and hold her and how fetching she had looked in her frock. It was nice to see her wear something other than the severe teaching robes that she donned during the school year. Although she always looked lovely to him, of course. Still, this robe did not possess the high collar and neckline that most of her school robes had. With her hair up and just a few tendrils falling loosely, Albus could see the nape of her neck. Such a lovely sight to behold. . . . He remembered the first time he had noticed the nape of her neck, and the memory of it was simultaneously pleasurable and uncomfortable. Albus sighed and set his empty snifter on the side table.

He remembered the occasion as clearly as if it had been yesterday. He had never visited the memory in his Pensieve, nor had he deliberately called it to mind over the years to refresh his recollection of it. Yet it was there, crystal clear. 

He had gone to Edinburgh on various errands, both his own and Hogwarts’, and was walking down McTavish Street, enjoying the bustle of the Saturday shoppers. Albus had almost finished the tasks he had set himself that hot July day, and after the stresses of the previous few months, he was allowing himself the leisure of some window shopping. He was even contemplating sitting at an outdoor café, drinking a cup of tea, and watching life go by for a little while. There was a nice café just a bit further on, he remembered, just past the little children’s park and only a few doors down from his final stop for the day.

Albus began crossing the street diagonally in front of the children’s park when he saw the most enchanting sight. A young witch, wearing one of the mid-calf length robes that had become popular amongst young witches in the past few years, had just set a little girl down on a bench outside the park and was bending to look at the girl’s knees. The witch was lovely: her black hair was up, and a few tendrils curled down the nape of her neck, which was lightly beaded with moisture from the warmth of the afternoon. As the young woman bent, Albus admired her pretty neck and the lovely line of her jaw, but he could not see her face. The pale blue, lightweight summer robe outlined a lithe young figure, and the short hem afforded him a glimpse of a well-toned calf and a prettily-turned ankle. His observations were those of a moment only, but he felt a warmth and a slight frisson of pleasure pass through him. Albus chuckled to himself; he may be almost 102, but he could still appreciate a pretty young witch. His pleasure was cut short, however, when as the witch stood, she turned slightly.

Albus felt physically ill. He could see her face: it was his student, Minerva McGonagall. How could he not have recognised her? He had been giving her Animagus lessons for almost a year, not to mention that he had come to know her very well during the preceding four. 

Albus had always looked upon his students as children, even those who were of-age – after all, at his age, anyone under about fifty still seemed like a youngster. Albus had certainly never found one of his students attractive before; they were simply _not_ in the category of potentially-attractive-witches, and it never would have occurred to him that they would ever _enter_ that category for him. Certainly, he had eyes, and he could see that some of the students were blessed with better looks than others. Albus could even see a coquettish first-year witch and think that her male classmates had better watch out in a few years or, alternatively, look at an innocent eleven year-old wizard with big puppy-dog eyes, and think with a twinkle, ah, now that one will be a lady-killer when he’s a bit older! But any of these speculations were done with the same level of interest as those that he might make about their sense of humour, or their potential in Transfiguration, or whether their build might suit them for a particular position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. They were children to be nurtured, guided, and protected.

Later that evening, after he had returned to Hogwarts, Albus wondered if he were becoming a “dirty old man,” but decided that if he were worried about such a thing, then it probably wasn’t the case. And he was somewhat relieved that he had felt sick as soon as he had realised who the young witch was. Not that Minerva _wasn’t_ lovely, of course, but she was his _student_ – and still a child, even if she were of-age. Even if she _weren’t_ his student, Albus reminded himself sternly, there was no chance that such a young and pretty witch would have wanted anything to do with such an ancient creature as he, anyway – if she weren’t his student, it would only have allowed him to appreciate her femininity from a distance with impunity, something which, as her teacher, Albus would not allow himself to do. The mere thought of such a thing disgusted him. Albus could not permit it; they would be working closely together on the wards over the next several months. He would simply put it out of his mind, Albus decided. She _was_ , after all, Minerva McGonagall, his protege. They had an established relationship. No need to change anything at all in his dealings with her.

When Minerva had turned her face and Albus recognised her, he began, in his shock, to turn back to the side of the street whence he had just come. She saw him, however, as did the little girl whom he now recognised was her niece. When Minerva called a greeting and Melina hopped off the bench to run over to him, Albus could do nothing other than stop and speak with them.

“Professor Dumbledore! I was looking forward to seeing you again soon, but I hadn’t expected to see you today! Melina, stop pulling on the Professor’s arm! I’m sorry, Professor, but Melina has been lecturing me on my wand technique. Apparently my healing charms are not up-to-snuff.” Minerva laughed lightly, and Albus wished he hadn’t just found her attractive, as her laughter was as lovely as the rest of her.

“So, Melina,” Albus had replied, trying to overcome the sense of nausea that still lingered whilst remaining polite, “are you teaching your Aunt Minerva how to use her wand? Perhaps I should have you come to Hogwarts and teach wand technique, if we haven’t been instructing her properly, hmm?”

Melina giggled. “She’s okay, Professor! She just doesn’t do healing charms very well. I keep telling her she has to twist the tip of her wand just so,” Melina demonstrated with an imaginary wand, “at the very end of her flick if she wants the charm to really work right.” Melina had become quite fond of Professor Dumbledore as she had come to know him from his visits to the Apothecary.

“Mother has been bringing Melina with her when she goes on her rounds. I hated it when I was Melina’s age, but it seems she has a more willing companion in Melina,” Minerva explained. “Now, however, Melina has become insufferable, always talking about healing charms and medicinal potions.” Minerva ruffled the “insufferable” little witch’s dark, curly hair affectionately.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Melina said carefully (she had only learned to pronounce his name correctly in the last year and had to make sure that she didn’t revert to calling him “Dumblydore,” which always caused all the adults to laugh), “could you look at my knee? I want to make sure that Minerva did her charm right. She won’t let me use her wand to do a simple diagnostic!” Melina complained dramatically.

“Believe me, Professor; we don’t let Melina use our wands – not even your grandmother does, so don’t give me that look, Melina!”

Dumbledore chuckled. “I was actually about to get myself a cup of tea, and it’s a bit warm standing in the middle of the street like this. We could go over to the café and I could take a look at Melina’s knee and make sure that your healing spell was performed up to Hogwarts’ standards; how would that be, Melina?”

The little witch agreed happily and took Dumbledore’s right hand in her left, then caught up Minerva’s left hand with her right. “This will be fun!” she said, swinging their arms. Melina did like attention, both giving and receiving it. 

As they approached the café, Melina brought Albus and Minerva’s hands together, then let them go and ran ahead to find the “perfect table.” Both Albus and Minerva quickly dropped their hands to their sides. 

“Are you all right, Professor? You look a little pale. I didn’t want to speak in front of Melina – she repeats _everything_ she hears; you can’t stop her.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Dumbledore answered, somewhat more stiffly than was his wont, but not knowing what to say when the honest reply would have been, _Oh, I’m fine, other than the fact that I just found myself lusting after a student more than eight decades my junior, and, by the way, that student was you, Miss McGonagall. And what a pity we can’t hold hands as innocently as Melina does._ “It’s just rather warm, as I said.”

Minerva took his arm, a concerned look on her face. “Then you should be sitting down. You could get heat stroke. Have you a Cooling Charm on your robes?”

“No, no, I’m fine, really.”

“I think we should go back to Murdoch’s flat and not stop at the café if you are unwell, Professor. I know these last months, well, they have been difficult ones. You should probably sit in his nice cool sitting room and have your tea there.”

“I am _fine_ , Minerva,” he repeated, somewhat sharply. “I am not in my dotage yet.” Albus almost bit his tongue after he uttered those last words.

Minerva was silent for a moment as they walked toward the table that Melina had apparently decided was perfect. Quietly, she said, “I never would suggest that you are, Professor. I am sorry. I was merely trying . . . .”

“No, _I_ am sorry, my dear. You were very kind to offer. The heat has made me irritable, I’m afraid.”

Minerva smiled slightly at him as she took her seat. “No worries, Professor. It’s just me.”

“Ah, ‘just’ Mother McGonagall; I see.” Albus smiled at his protege. Melina was bouncing up and down in her seat, trying to get their attention, which she finally did. Albus declared her knee quite nicely Healed and then was regaled by the tale of how she had been injured when she had jumped from a rope at the top of something she called a “jumblejim” and tried to land on the charmed swing several feet away from – and below – her. She blamed the accident on a faulty charm on the swing, of course.

Eventually, Melina was busy eating her fresh strawberry ice cream while Albus and Minerva drank their tea. Albus was afraid that there would be an awkward silence since he didn’t know what to say. Minerva didn’t sense any awkwardness, though, and asked him what had brought him to Edinburgh. After telling her that he’d had errands, both business and personal, he added, “I might have seen you today, anyway, if we hadn’t met earlier. My last stop was to be at the Egidius Apothecary. I was unaware that you were in Edinburgh, however.”

“Yes, I came to visit for a few days before I have to return to . . . you know. Murdoch is quite happy to have a new person to amuse Melina for a while, and with Uncle Perrin spending less and less time at the Apothecary, Murdoch has become quite busy. I wouldn’t say this to anyone else, but I’m sure you’ll understand; he’s been letting the household matters slide a bit, and although mother and father sent him Quimpy to help out, I’m afraid that Quimpy doesn’t do well without any direction. Fwisky always told him exactly what to do and how to do it. Murdoch should have taken some time to train him. He’s a good little fellow; he just lacks initiative.”

“I assume we are speaking of a house-elf?” Albus asked with a quirked eyebrow. At her nod, he smiled. “I have known very few house-elves who actually possessed initiative – and most of those who did were rather disagreeable. Of course, the house-elf Matron must possess at least a modicum of initiative, but even she requires the ability to plan more than anything else.”

“Hmm. In any case, I’m trying, in the little time I have here, to give Quimpy a schedule and to organise Murdoch’s life a bit better. I don’t think that he’s kept the household account books up-to-date since . . . well, for the last two or three years, although he’s a stickler for it at the Apothecary.”

Melina seemed to have been listening more intently to the adults’ conversation than it had appeared. “It’s okay, Auntie Min. You can talk about Mum. I don’t remember her very well because nobody ever talks about her in front of me. I wish people would.” Melina looked at her aunt with a serious, preternaturally mature expression.

“I know we should. It’s a bad habit. We started avoiding talking about her so as not to cause any greater hurt to you or your daddy, and now we just forget that we can, and should, talk about her again.”

The three went on to discuss Melina’s mother and some of the amusing things that Minerva remembered about her. When they got up from the table, Albus insisted that he pay the tab since it had been much more enjoyable to have tea in their company than on his own. They walked the few yards further to the Egidius Apothecary, where Murdoch was assisting a rather peculiar looking customer wearing a navy blue cowl and hood. On a hot day in July, such attire was an odd choice, even if one were particularly adept at cooling charms. When Murdoch was finished, he came over to find that his only child was seriously explaining to the foremost Alchemist in Britain the relative merits of dried versus fresh hellebore leaves.

“I’m sorry, Professor Dumbledore, but it’s only me today, and that other customer had very particular needs. I hope Melina hasn’t been a bother to you,” said Murdoch politely.

“No, no, not at all. I am beginning to think, though, Minerva, that you might want to take Melina’s advice about your wand technique!” Albus chuckled gently. “Melina, my dear, that was an exposition most clear and concise. If you were one of my OWL-level students, I would give you an ‘Outstanding’ on it!” 

Melina beamed and bounced on the balls of her feet.

“My father thinks that, between my mother and me, we are providing her with a far too narrow education. He jokes that when she gets to Hogwarts, she’ll be able to cure dragonpox but won’t know what a _Lumos_ is!” Murdoch said, a broad grin on his face.

They all laughed at that, even Melina. Murdoch closed up the shop before assisting Dumbledore select the supplies he had come for. He invited Dumbledore to stay for dinner with them, and Albus was about to decline, but was persuaded by Melina, who begged him quite prettily. Minerva, too, looked pleased that he was joining them – something that he might not have expected from her five or six months ago. Albus still didn’t understand precisely what had caused Minerva’s suddenly distant behaviour the previous December and January, although he was sure it had something to do with her accident in the Transfiguration classroom. Fortunately, the phase had passed, and Minerva had returned to her Animagus studies and to their easy collegiality, never mentioning that anything might have been amiss. Any efforts Albus had made to broach the subject with her had been rebuffed, politely but thoroughly, and he finally decided perhaps it was simply something that teenage girls go through.

In his Headmaster’s sitting room fifteen years later, Albus rose from the settee and thought of how, despite the passing of years and all the myriad events that had occurred since that chance meeting in McTavish Street, he still found Minerva McGonagall a lovely young witch. Although perhaps he might now permit himself to admire her since she was no longer a child, Albus would not allow himself to appreciate her too much. He could not allow his wholly irrational and highly annoying feelings for her to damage their friendship. If he were to begin to behave _too_ differently toward her, if Minerva were to guess the extent of his feelings . . . she would likely find him revolting and pathetic, just as he found _himself_ revolting and pathetic on those rare occasions that he acknowledged the direction in which his feelings would lead him, if permitted. 

As he passed by the table on his way to his bedroom, Albus paused to smell the bouquet he had gathered for her. _Every_ witch likes flowers, right? Perhaps it _wouldn’t_ be too much if he were to bring them with him in the morning, after all.


	27. Pleasurable Anticipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva anticipates breakfast with Albus and remembers the immediate aftermath of her accident in the Transfiguration classroom.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall; young Minerva, Professor Dumbledore, Madam Valentius (Hogwarts matron)

**XXVII: Pleasurable Anticipation**

Minerva returned to her rooms from Albus’s office that evening feeling more lighthearted than she had in a long time. Nonetheless, a vague unease lingered; she knew it would not dissipate until she dealt with a subject that she had been avoiding for years. She would put it off just a little longer, Minerva decided, and allow herself to simply enjoy looking forward to breakfast with Albus.

“Blampa,” Minerva called as she removed her overrobe and entered her bedroom. The house-elf popped in as Minerva began taking the Charmed hairpins from her hair and placing them on her vanity. “Blampa, tomorrow morning, the Headmaster will be joining me for breakfast at eight o’clock. I will arrange the furniture in the sitting room myself, but I would like you to make sure that there is a very special breakfast for us. I know that I would like fresh strawberries, some of the ones that Hagrid has been growing, soft-boiled eggs, and toast. And tea, of course. I will leave the rest of the menu to you.” Watching Blampa bounce with joy, Minerva thought that a precaution might be called for. “And although I leave the other dishes to you, please keep in mind that sometimes less is more, Blampa. I would like an elegant meal for the Headmaster, not a feeding trough with every imaginable breakfast food under the sun.”

“Oh, Professor Minerva! Blampa would never use a feeding trough! They’s for pigs!”

Minerva smiled. “I didn’t mean that literally, Blampa. What I meant was that I want a few very nice, delectable selections. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Professor Minerva! I, Blampa, will have lovely breakfast for Professor Minerva and her Professor Headmaster. Yes, yes! Blampa understands!” Blampa beamed so widely, Minerva thought her pale little face would split in two.

“All right, then, Blampa. Please see me at seven-thirty so that we can discuss the arrangements.”

“Yes, ma’am, Professor Minerva! Arrangements at seven-thirty!”

Minerva dismissed Blampa, wondering if she should have admonished her not to include ginger newts with breakfast. Working with this house-elf was exhausting. Her Grandfather McGonagall’s parents were both Muggle-born, and he never became comfortable with his Tyree wife’s house-elves. Minerva remembered Grandmother Siofra chuckling and saying how her husband had always believed that house-elves had a bad effect on wizarding families. The house-elves always did so much for them that they could hardly remember how to _Accio_ their own drinking cups anymore, he would claim, and heaven forbid someone should ask one of them to light their own lamps! Whilst Minerva’s feelings on the subject were not as strong as her grandfather’s, she did think that the wizarding world might be better off if the whole house-elf system were radically changed. She was aware that house-elf magic was at least as strong as wizarding magic; surely it could be put to better use than cooking, cleaning, and taking care of wizarding babies!

Minerva hummed as she undressed and got ready for bed. Although just a half an hour earlier she had been yawning, Minerva now felt quite awake. Perhaps she shouldn’t have had the coffee after her nap. Minerva brushed out her hair, braided it, and put on a fresh white batiste nightgown. In her concession to the arrival of summer, the nightgown had a low, lace-trimmed neckline, but because the nights were still cool, the sleeves were long. Minerva wondered if they would have a warm summer that year. She seemed to remember that the summer she had spent at the castle between her sixth- and seventh-year, it had been rather warm, even at night.

Minerva opened her bedroom window a little wider, then doused the lamps with a wave of her wand. Lying in bed, listening to the sounds of the night drifting in on the cool breeze, Minerva smiled as she remembered that summer. A part of her had been somewhat reluctant to continue with the warding project that she had agreed to months before, but not only had she promised Professor Dumbledore that she would help him with the wards, but she also truly believed that it was an important task. Who knew what Fate might bring to some future generation? Her participation in repairing the wards might one day prove vital to the safety of Hogwarts and its students. So, showing not a hint of reluctance, Minerva had agreed to Professor Dumbledore’s proposal that she return to Hogwarts the second week in July and remain until the last week of August, when she could spend the remainder of her holiday as she wished.

“I wish that the school could provide you with proper compensation for your work, Minerva, but as you are supposedly going to be here in order to receive special tutoring in Transfiguration, it would be difficult to put you on the Hogwarts payroll. I would, however, like to provide you with a stipend myself, so that you have some spending money during the time you are here.”

Minerva protested, “That’s not necessary, Professor. I would feel very awkward accepting any money from you. When I agreed to help you, I did so without any expectation that I would receive anything in return. In fact, I am sure that I will learn a lot, and that is a more-than-fair trade.”

“Apprentices receive an allowance or stipend, though, Miss McGonagall. It would be entirely fair and proper for you to accept at least a nominal sum. After all, the school and I will both be benefiting from your assistance.”

In the end, Professor Dumbledore had persuaded Minerva to accept a “nominal sum” of two Galleons per week while she was in residence at the castle. It was the first money she had ever earned, which pleased her, but she still felt awkward taking it. Finally, Minerva gave herself a little lecture and told herself that it was good for her to accept it since it would help her to see her relationship with her professor in business terms. That could only be a good thing. It might help her to overcome, or at least survive, the feelings for him that had not disappeared since that awful grey day in early December when she had her accident in the Transfiguration classroom.

Professor Dumbledore had become alarmed when, instead of recovering within a few minutes of regaining consciousness after her magical accident, Minerva had begun weeping desperately into his chest. He had called Wilspy, whom he sent to the infirmary to inform the matron that he was bringing a student to see her. Minerva had been barely aware of the house-elf’s arrival and her professor’s instructions to her. After Wilspy left, Minerva felt Albus lift her into his arms and stand.

“There, there, now, Minerva. I am going to take you to the infirmary. Don’t worry, my dear, I shan’t let go of you until we are there. And a little Disillusionment Charm and taking the backstairs will get us there a little more easily.” Minerva felt the cold Disillusionment Charm run over her and then heard him utter a Notice-Me-Not Charm. “Now, you may know that the fire in my office is not on the internal Floo Network – a deficiency that I will correct – so I will have to carry you all the way. Professor Gamp’s office is closer than the infirmary, and she _is_ on the Floo Network, so we are going there first, all right, my dear?”

Minerva could not nod or shake her head, nor agree or disagree with his proposal. She continued to weep against him as he carried her down the corridor, up a set of stairs, and then to Professor Gamp’s office. Professor Gamp was not there, but Dumbledore let himself in.

“Now, my dear, I need to make a little fire and get some Floo Powder. May I put you down in this chair then?” Minerva made no response and did not loosen her grip on his robes or turn her face from where it was nestled in his beard. “No? Well then, we shall both sit since otherwise I might drop you! No need for a concussion, as well . . . .” Albus lowered himself into a little chair beside Gamp’s fireplace, holding Minerva on his lap, and found his wand. “There we are. Now a little fire. I’m going to stand up again, Minerva, and we’ll be going through the Floo to the infirmary. Madam Valentius will have a look at you. You will feel much better soon, I’m sure.” 

He Summoned the little crock of Floo Powder from the mantel and took a pinch of it before sending it back to its place. Lifting Minerva carefully, Albus stood, tossed the Floo Powder into the fire, and stepped into it, saying, “Hospital Wing!”

By the time Albus had carried her the length of the infirmary to one of the smaller private rooms, Minerva had stopped crying. She would not release her hold on him, however. She could hear the matron come huffing into the room as her professor was trying to lay her down on the bed. 

Minerva did not know why she wouldn’t let go, really. It was partly shame. If she were to let go, she would have to look at him. She would have to meet his eyes. Even if he had no clue what she had been thinking, she was utterly embarrassed. Letting him go would also mean a complete return to the reality in which she was just Minerva McGonagall, sixth-year Gryffindor, and he was Albus Dumbledore, esteemed Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts.

“Professor Dumbledore! Your house-elf told me you were bringing in a student. I had to run up from the greenhouses, or I would have met you,” the stout matron panted. “Now who have you got there? Just put her down on the bed.”

“It seems that she does not understand what’s going on, Madam Valentius. I cannot get her to let go of my robes so that I can put her down. I have tried.” Albus spoke softly. “It’s Minerva McGonagall. She’s had an accident. I think it was just magical syncope, but after she regained consciousness, she began to cry and wouldn’t let me go. She only just stopped crying a few minutes ago. I have been worried.”

“Well, if you’ve been holding her like that the whole time, you must be getting tired! Here, Miss McGonagall, let go of Professor Dumbledore,” she said loudly. “You are in the infirmary now. No need for concern. I need to check you over, Miss McGonagall.” When Minerva made no movement to show that she heard and understood the matron’s directions, Madam Valentius decided on a different course. “You’ll just have to hold on to her while I do the initial examination, Professor. Just have a seat on the bed. No, not on the edge, man! Lean back against the pillows with her. We need to get her to relax. Hopefully once I’ve performed the initial examination, she’ll return to her senses and lie back on her own. If she still clings to you like that after I’m done, we can give her a Calming Draught. Magical syncope can have some very odd effects, I remember from my studies, although I haven’t run across them, myself. Were you there at the time?”

Dumbledore, reclining in the narrow hospital bed, one arm still around Minerva, replied, “Yes, I had just arrived. I think it was that which triggered the episode. She was doing an internal magical exercise, although I haven’t been able to ask her which one it was. As I came through the door, she moved as if she were about to stand, but I don’t think that she had ended her meditation yet, and instead of standing, she fell to the floor. I was not fast enough to Arrest her fall nor close enough to catch her.”

The mediwitch had her wand out and had begun passing it over Minerva’s head. “Did you notice if she hit her head when she fell?”

“No, although she must have. She seemed fine at first, a little groggy, perhaps, but she followed my directions when I told her to look at me and not fall asleep. But then, well, you can see . . . .”

“You’ll have to let her go now, Professor.”

“Hmm? Oh, right.” Albus let his arm drop to his side.

Minerva was still leaning against him, fists holding onto his robes, face buried in his beard. She was thinking more clearly now, but that was worse than her previous muddled state-of-mind. She could feel the diagnostic spells tingle against her. Minerva sighed heavily.

“Miss McGonagall, you will be fine,” she heard the matron saying to her, “but I am going to give you a Calming Draught to help you along. Although I’m sure that Professor Dumbledore is a man of great patience and understanding, in order to do a thorough exam, I’ll need you to feel comfortable enough to let go of him; I’d prefer to do the examination sooner rather than later. The potion will help you feel more comfortable. I’m going to fetch it now; I’ll be back in two shakes.” Turning to Dumbledore, she said, “It might help if you talk to her. I think she just had something of a shock and will be fine. She needs to feel secure, I think, which is why she won’t let you go.”

Minerva heard the matron leave the room and close the door behind her. She was suddenly very aware that she was lying on a bed with Professor Dumbledore. Not only with him, but practically on top of him. Her legs were stretched out beside his, but she hadn’t moved her head since he had picked her up in the classroom. She could still hear his heartbeat and feel his magic flowing through him, pulsing in time with his heart. Although this awareness sparked a slight physical thrill, it also made her even more embarrassed. She turned her face slightly and blinked against the sudden lamplight. “I’m sorry, Professor,” she whispered.

“Ah, Minerva! There you are! No need to be sorry. You had an accident, a shock, Madam Valentius says. Are you feeling a bit better, my dear?”

Minerva nodded and loosened her grip on his robes. “I have a terrible headache, and if anyone ever died of embarrassment, I’d have a fatal case right now,” she said.

Albus smoothed her hair away from her face. “Everyone has accidents, Minerva, and everyone sheds a tear or two occasionally. You needn’t be embarrassed.”

Minerva finally let go and pushed away from him. New tears sprang to her eyes as she left his warmth. Albus stood and helped Minerva lie back against the pillows.

“Thank you,” she whispered as he sat back down on the edge of the bed.

“Do you want to talk about what happened? I am very sorry that I entered when I did, Minerva, and caused your accident.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Professor. It just happened. You couldn’t have prevented it.” Minerva eyes were closed. She _did_ have a terrible headache, and the lights did seem bright, but she also couldn’t bear to look at him yet. “I’m sorry I cried all over you. I probably made a mess of your beard and your robes.”

“A little salt water won’t hurt, I’m sure, my dear. Do not concern yourself.”

Madam Valentius returned with the Calming Potion. “So our patient is feeling more like herself? You may still want the Calming Draught, though.” At Minerva’s nod, the matron helped her swallow the contents of a small vial.

Albus had stood and moved away from the bed when the matron returned. “She said she has a bad headache, Madam Valentius.”

“I shouldn’t wonder. I have a Headache Potion with me, as well, but I want to wait to give her that one. If you would like, Professor Dumbledore, you may wait in the infirmary whilst I perform the examination. If not, I can let you know later how she is.”

“I’ll wait.”

Minerva heard the door close behind her professor, and she cautiously opened her eyes.

“Lights a bit bright? I’ll dim them a little for you, then. I took a quick look at your records, Miss McGonagall. You seem to be quite healthy, from what they say. You should recover quite well, so not to worry.” The matron proceeded with various tests, at one point taking up her wrist and holding it, fingers at Minerva’s pulse point. “There’s still nothing like actually feeling a patient’s pulse and magical flow, that’s what I say,” she declared as she let go of Minerva’s wrist. “I’d like you to stay overnight. There is a gown in the drawer of the bedside stand that you may wear. Do you feel up to standing and putting it on yourself, or would you like my help?” At Minerva’s assurance that she could get herself ready for bed, the matron continued, “I think that Professor Dumbledore was correct. You had a case of magical syncope, but it was complicated by whatever exercise you were doing. From the tests that I ran, it appears that you were magically and emotionally open, and the syncope created a sudden fluctuation of both. There must have been an environmental trigger, as well, that determined the particular manifestation of these emotions.”

“So the feelings came from somewhere outside of me?” asked Minerva.

“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant. There was a void, a vacuum, created by your exercise, and the feelings that rushed in to fill it were likely triggered by something environmental, something external, but the feelings were not foreign; they came from within you, Miss McGonagall.”

“And you said something about being magically open, too?”

“Yes; that is one reason you were unable to return to your senses as quickly as you might otherwise have. You were open to magical exhaustion because of the severity of the syncope; however, because of the protective wards that Hogwarts has, the magical drain was . . . how to put this . . . the magical drain was staunched. Hogwarts could not prevent your syncope, obviously, but, from what I understand, the wards use the intense magical field of the castle to ensure that students do not suffer the effects of a magical drain as much as they would if they were elsewhere. Of course, I’m new here, and I’m not particularly familiar with this kind of thing, but I understand that your Professor Dumbledore is an expert on it. He could probably explain the wards better than I. It _is_ curious, however . . .” Madam Valentius hesitated. “I probably just misunderstood when it was explained to me, but I thought the protection of those wards only extended to underage students, and I saw from your records that you are of age.”

After Minerva had asked a few more questions and been reassured that she could join her House for breakfast in the morning if she felt up to it, the matron left. Minerva lay back, somewhat drowsy from the Headache Potion and the Calming Draught. She could hear Dumbledore’s voice rumble as he spoke with Madam Valentius. He had been so understanding. How could she ever look at him again? She wasn’t sure she could continue her training. How could she? The thought of abandoning her Animagus training pained her. She wouldn’t worry about that until tomorrow. Maybe _It_ would go away on Its own, if It were just an after effect of her accident. Of course, there was still her sense of shame, but since Professor Dumbledore was unaware of everything that embarrassed her, she might be able to overcome that.

Just as she was coming to those conclusions, Minerva heard a slight tap on the door before it opened again. It was Professor Dumbledore.

“Minerva?” he called quietly through the partially open doorway.

“Yes, Professor, I’m awake.”

“May I come in?”

“Of course.”

“Madam Valentius said that you will be fine and we will probably be seeing you at breakfast in the morning.”

“I hope so.”

“I will stop by the Tower and let your roommates know that you are spending the night here so that they do not worry about you.” Dumbledore stepped closer to the bed. “The matron told me what she believes happened. I am more sorry than ever, Minerva. If I have ever done anything that could have caused you such grief – ”

“It wasn’t you, sir. Believe me. It wasn’t you. I really don’t want to talk about it now, but I will tell you truthfully, sir, that you have never done anything to cause me any grief.” Minerva felt a lump in her throat. Only his very being. Only knowing him. He himself _did_ nothing, nothing except be himself. He could not be faulted for that.

“I was glad to hear from her that you were protected from a magical drain. Not that you couldn’t have recovered from it, of course, particularly as your magic has been matured for a year or two now, but it is very uncomfortable – I speak from experience.”

“She thought it was the Hogwarts wards that protected me, but said she might be wrong about that, Professor. She said you would know better than she.” Minerva really didn’t want to discuss anything related to her accident, so she did not ask him about it.

“Yes, she told me that, as well,” replied Dumbledore. “Well, it has been a long evening for us both. Madam Valentius said she would have a snack sent to you and you should eat it before you go to sleep. I am feeling rather peckish, myself, so I think I will have a bite to eat and retire early – unless you need something, my dear?”

“No, nothing. Thank you, sir. Good night.” Minerva thought he was looking tired, but carrying a full-grown witch all over the castle was bound to be tiring. “Sir?” Minerva said, and Albus turned in the doorway. “Thank you for bringing me to the Hospital Wing . . . and everything else.” She blushed.

“Of course, Minerva. Good night, my dear. Sleep well – and be sure to eat your snack!”

The following morning, Minerva had felt physically recovered, but over the next days and weeks, she was emotionally labile. The intervening holidays gave her an excuse to take a break in her Animagus training. 

That excuse could not last. After the new term began in January, Professor Dumbledore had her stay after class one day.

“Minerva, tomorrow is Friday. Should I expect you for your tutorial?”

“I hadn’t thought about it, Professor.” Minerva didn’t know if she had ever lied to her professor before.

“I know that the accident was traumatic for you, Minerva, even though it had no lasting physical or magical consequences. I understand that. But the Muggles have a saying that if you fall off your horse, you have to get right back in the saddle again. I thought that by giving you time last month to recover and not asking that you continue lessons before the Christmas holiday, I was doing you a favour. I now believe that may have been the wrong thing to do. Perhaps I should have insisted that you pick it up again immediately. I believed you would come to me when you were ready to resume, but you’ve been back from holiday for almost two weeks, and you have not come to see me.”

“I’m sorry, Professor.” Minerva did not know what else to say. She had been avoiding him. She arrived at class with just a minute to spare, and as soon as the bells chimed and the class was over, she was the first out of her seat, heading toward the door. Although Minerva no longer felt the acute anguish that had initially assaulted her as she lay weeping in her professor’s arms, she could not shake her embarrassment and shame. Worse yet, her intense desire and longing for him refused to die. Sitting in his class, listening to his voice, feeling his magic brush past her if he walked by, all of those things brought a rush of blood to places where it shouldn’t be. Minerva was glad that she had already mastered the topics being covered in class; it was very difficult to pay proper attention under those conditions. Even seeing Professor Dumbledore sitting up at the staff table during meals could bring a warm tingle rushing over her. How could she possibly concentrate on her Animagus training when it was so hard even to be in the same room with him?

Despite her reservations, Minerva agreed to attend her Friday tutorial the next day. As she was about to leave the Transfiguration classroom, Professor Dumbledore called to her.

“Minerva, after a few weeks, if you do not want to continue with your training, please feel free to make that choice. I simply do not wish to see you quit without trying to overcome your fears first. I think you would regret it. If you change your mind about wanting to become an Animagus, I would prefer it done of your own free will, just as the decision to take it on was your own. Do you understand, Minerva? I am not insisting simply because I want to force this on you – I want you to be in a position to make a genuine choice.”

“Yes, Professor. I appreciate that.”

“You know, my dear, if you ever want to discuss what happened or how you feel about it, I will be very glad to listen.”

“Thank you, sir; I will remember that.”

Albus tried over the ensuing weeks to get her to talk about whatever was disturbing her, but Minerva became adept at changing the subject. She could tell that he was bothered by the fact that she never studied in the classroom anymore, nor did she use it to practice her Animagus exercises; she didn’t rush in and out of class as she had in the first weeks after her accident, but she didn’t linger, either. There were no more biscuits and milk, no more debates about Transfiguration theory, no more meals “chez Albus.” Minerva could not bring herself even to smile at him, and when he smiled at her, she felt her heart would break.

Minerva eventually decided that depriving herself of what she _could_ have was no cure for the heart-breaking deprivation of what she could _not_ have, and she gradually began to interact with her mentor much as when she began her Animagus training. When Carson Murphy invited her to the St. Valentine’s Day Dance, she accepted with alacrity, sure that a relationship with the handsome Ravenclaw would help her regain her sense of comfort in Professor Dumbledore’s presence.

Nonetheless, when, early in March, Professor Dumbledore invited Minerva to address him by his given name when they were working alone together, she politely declined. He accepted her answer, but Minerva thought he had been disappointed. She would just have to disappoint him. She could not allow herself to develop any illusions about the nature of their relationship. It was for the best.

Fifteen years later, Minerva turned in bed to face the window and feel the cool night breeze wash over her face. Yes, she would be professional with Albus. But there was no reason to cut off an opportunity for friendship with him. Their dinner tonight, the lovely dinner that Albus had so craftily arranged, _that_ had shown her that she was important to him. He said they were friends, “friends before all else.” Minerva could not throw away a friendship with him simply because she had her own troublesome feelings to deal with. Even if she could deprive herself of his friendship, it would not be fair to Albus, especially after he had been so generous and understanding. No, she would have to figure out how to deal with her feelings, snuff them out or lock them away, without destroying their friendship. She would need to take time to think about it, but for now, she would just go to sleep looking forward to their breakfast with pleasurable anticipation.


	28. A Bright Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Albus each wake up on a particularly cheerful Saturday morning and look forward to a special breakfast.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Blampa.

**XXVIII: A Bright Morning**

Albus woke early the next morning. Albus broke from his normal routine – which generally consisted of him feeling about for his fuzzy slippers, groping for his dressing gown, then shuffling half-asleep into the bathroom, where he would splash his face with cold water before sitting on a bench in the bathroom and calling for Wilspy, who would appear with a cup of strong tea, milk and sugar already added. That morning, however, Albus stretched in bed, luxuriating in the sense of contentment to which he awoke, then waved a hand to draw back the heavy curtains, rolled out of bed, and padded barefoot over to the open window. It was a gorgeous midsummer’s day. The sun had risen, but dew still sparkled on the grassy slope that led down to the lake. A slight mist still rose off the water, but any early morning fog had already dissipated, leaving the breeze cool and fresh. Albus took a great lungful of air. Marvellous! He grinned.

“Wilspy!”

The dignified house-elf appeared, cup of tea at the ready. Wilspy glanced at the Headmaster’s unshod feet, and if she also noticed a cheerful alertness uncharacteristic for that hour of the morning, she said nothing.

“Thank you, Wilspy,” said Dumbledore as he took the teacup from her. “I will be taking breakfast with Professor McGonagall this morning, so this one cup will suffice.” During the summer, Wilspy usually brought him a tray with his breakfast and a fresh pot of tea once he had shaken the cobwebs from his head, as he sometimes put it. 

“Very good, Professor, sir. Do you require anything else?”

“No, that will be all for now. Thank you!”

After the house-elf popped out of his bedroom, Albus made a quick visit to the loo before bringing his tea with him into the bathroom. A shower that morning, rather than a bath; he didn’t want to fall asleep in the bathtub and be late for breakfast! As he pulled off his nightshirt, Albus suddenly remembered his brother’s potion. He had been going to condition his beard that morning. Albus sighed. He did not like disappointing anyone. It was seven o’clock already. Ah, well. He should have planned his day better – or risen earlier. He stepped into his cylindrical shower stall and closed the door behind him.

Scrubbing himself with a loofah and his favourite Muggle sandalwood soap, water jetting against his body from all sides, Albus thought of his dinner with Minerva the evening before. He had not believed he would be able to fall asleep the night before, he had been so elated. But as soon as his head hit the pillow, he’d drifted off. The evening had been a success, and the time he had spent the previous day determining what was bothering Minerva and then preparing for their dinner had been well worth it. He would have to work through a thick pile of parchments that afternoon, not to mention reschedule his Floo-conference with the Minister for International Magical Cooperation, but now Albus felt he could proceed with a clear conscious and a light heart.

He was glad that Minerva had seemed so happy when she left the previous night. Albus smiled, remembering how nice it had been to hold her in his arms and comfort her. She had smelled lovely, too, like lavender and rosemary, and something else he couldn’t identify. He didn’t think he had ever held Minerva for so long before; there was, of course, the time that she collapsed in his classroom when she was a student, but that hardly counted. He _had_ cared for her at that time, of course; even then, Minerva was probably dearer to him than anyone had been in many, many years, but the nature of his affection for her had changed considerably since then. . . . And she had lain beside him in that filthy little hole in France; but that occasion certainly didn’t count, either.

Albus began to lather his hair and beard with a shampoo of his own devising and sighed happily. Yes, cradling Minerva in his arms the night before had been heavenly. The way she had leaned against his chest and placed her hand on his shoulder; he had loved the feel of her weight against him, her soft, gentle curves . . . . He doubted he would be that close to her again for a long while. After all, he could not very well wish any pain or grief on her just to give himself the opportunity to embrace her.

Albus felt slightly disgusted with himself. He was behaving like a dirty old man, he thought; he had held Minerva not for _his_ pleasure, but in order to provide her with support! She trusted him! He should simply be grateful that she had allowed him to comfort her that way. As she had stated the previous night, Minerva did not usually wear her feelings openly, and although he knew her to be a warm-hearted, generous person, she was reserved in her expression of physical affection. He was very fortunate, indeed. 

Despite his self-admonishment, with the warm jets of water pounding against his body, the thought of holding Minerva became too arousing for the wizard. Gritting his teeth against the anticipated onslaught, Albus waved a hand, and the water turned icy cold. He shivered and turned blue as he rinsed shampoo from his long hair and beard. Served him right for thinking such things . . . .

Dried and warmer, Albus brushed out his hair and beard, then dressed with care. He did not want to be seen to be going to a special effort, but . . . he wanted to go to a special effort. He dismissed his silver robes as not only being too dressy but also too heavy for the season. In the end, after practically emptying his wardrobe, Albus chose sky blue robes. As was his habit, although he dressed traditionally and forewent undergarments, Albus layered one robe over another. In the winter, against the castle’s chill, he would often wear a long thermally Charmed undershirt, or sometimes even a Muggle union suit, under his robes. During the summer, however, he either wore a thin sleeveless shirt that reached his knees, rather like a long undershirt, under his robes, or nothing at all. In his “Muggle drawer,” of course, he had a supply of Muggle underwear to wear with Muggle trousers. He should recommend them to Garbhan; perhaps his aversion to trousers would diminish if he had some protection against them for his “bits,” as the boys might say.

After dressing, Albus opened his wardrobe to look at himself in the full length mirror on the inside of the door. 

“Very smart, indeed, Headmaster!” flattered the mirror with a girlish giggle. Albus ignored it. He would judge for himself.

The first robe was a new one of deep sky blue silk. It had silver embroidery around the cuffs, the high band collar, and down the front placket, extending all the way to the hem, which was likewise embroidered. Small silvery buttons closed the robe from the ankle to his breastbone, although many of them were hidden by his beard, as was the open collar. The broad yoke was outlined by a discreet line of feathery embroidery along the chest, across the shoulders, and around the seams in back. The sleeves, while not fitting tightly to the arm, were straight and extended to his wrists. The robe itself barely skimmed his body, although it flared first just beneath the hips and then again at the knee, in order to facilitate his stride. Albus had wondered when he had picked it up from Madam Malkin’s after his second fitting whether she had tailored it too closely to his body and whether it was not a style better suited to a younger wizard, but she had assured him that he looked quite fine and that the cut suited his build. 

The loose outer robe that Albus chose was a slightly paler shade of sky blue, and light, puffy clouds drifted slowly over its surface. Albus had altered the charm after Gertie had told him that the clouds moved so fast they were distracting, so if he wanted people to pay attention to _him_ rather than to his animated robes, he should do something about it. Now, Albus thought, the clouds floated quite pleasantly across the sky blue fabric. The sleeves on this garment were three-quarter length and somewhat wider than those of the under-robe. The hem was likewise higher, ending at mid-calf in back and at the knee in front. Although the front of the robe had invisible hooks from mid-chest to the thigh, Albus elected to keep them unfastened. The wide, silver-embroidered band collar of his under-robe peeked over the neckline of the collarless outer garment.

After a critical examination, Albus decided there was still something missing, and he rummaged through the various belts and cummerbunds hanging in the back of his wardrobe. Pulling out two, a thin silver belt and a wider cummerbund the same blue as his under-robe, Albus tried each on around the solid blue robe. He sighed. He could stand there all morning trying on different clothes. He could not be late. Still . . . he cinched the silver belt around both robes. Not bad, but it seemed to make his over-robe puff out around him like a mushroom. He removed it, fastened the cummerbund around his waist over the solid-coloured robe, left the outer robe to its own devices, and decided that would have to do.

It was almost ten minutes before eight, and he still hadn’t chosen any shoes or socks! Albus snatched up a pair of thin silver socks. Pulling the socks up over his calves, he _Accio’d_ his silver boots, decided they looked ridiculous, and Summoned his light, pale grey suede shoes, instead. Albus rushed out the door and was half-way down the stairs to his office when he remembered the flowers; he raced back up, grabbed the bouquet, vase and all, and hurried back down the stairs. 

By taking every short-cut available to a Headmaster, Albus arrived at Minerva’s door, only somewhat out-of-breath, at precisely eight o’clock. He rapped on the picture frame and watched as the knight in the portrait disappeared to fetch his mistress. Albus managed to catch his breath as he waited. He wondered once more whether giving Minerva the flowers, especially vase and all, was a bad idea. Albus didn’t have long to wonder, however, as the door opened to him.

* * *

Minerva awoke very early, the Scottish summer’s day dawning dimly through her windows. She rolled out of bed and noted that it was only quarter to five. Perhaps it was a good thing, after all, to have a west-facing room. Although she kept her curtains drawn back from the windows to allow in the cool night air, she was rarely awakened by the early summer sunrise.

Knowing that she would not fall asleep again, Minerva got up and showered quickly using a brightly-scented lemon and rosemary soap that she had purchased from her brother’s apothecary. It reminded her a little of Albus, she realised after buying it for the first time a few years ago. She had shrugged and continued to use it, replenishing her supply whenever it ran low. If she were to avoid everything that reminded her of him, she would have to become a hermit. Besides, eventually, the scent would become associated with her own morning routine, she had reasoned, and no longer remind her of Albus. 

Finishing up her shower with a quick nettle rinse for her hair, Minerva realised that she had a long time before breakfast and that it would not take her that long to prepare for Albus’s arrival. She hoped that she wouldn’t spend the time fretting and stewing. Not that she normally would do that, but Minerva had to admit that lately her behaviour had been unusual. Albus had been right the night before: she never should have allowed her concerns to mount the way they had. She should have been reasonable and talked with him, but as she had said, she was understanding each time that he was late, and she felt that bringing that up – or any of the other perceived slights – would make her appear petty. Not only that, but she would have had to have confront for herself, even though she would never mention it to Albus, that part of her injured feelings arose because of It. She had no expectations, and certainly no hopes, that anything would come of _It_ – she had resigned herself to that fact from the time It had first appeared – but she _had_ harboured the hope that Albus valued their friendship. Minerva saw now that he did indeed value their relationship, and, remembering the way he had held her the night before, he valued her, as well.

Minerva stepped out of the shower and dried herself with one of the big, fluffy white towels that Blampa had brought her the day before. She could take two baths a day for the next week and not run out of towels. Silly house-elf! Using her wand to create a jet of warm air, Minerva took a few minutes to dry her hair properly. Drying spells always left her hair full of static. 

Pulling on a lightweight cotton tartan dressing gown, Minerva left the bathroom, undecided about what she should do first. She shoved her feet into her slippers and walked out of the bedroom. A cup of tea would help her plan the morning, she thought, heading toward her tiny kitchen. She knew that each staff member’s rooms were different and wondered whether everyone had a little kitchen like this. She knew that Poppy did, but hadn’t seen enough of any other suites to know whether a kitchen was standard or not. Poppy had been quite impressed by Minerva’s bathroom. Since her rooms were off the infirmary, she inherited the suite that was always occupied by the school matron. Poppy had wondered aloud whether she could get a similar bathtub the next time the hospital wing was renovated. 

Tea made, Minerva brought it into her sitting room, drew back the curtains, and opened the window. She had moved one of the chairs and a small table to that window as soon as she had moved in. From that chair, she could usually see the grassy lawn, the tip of the lake, and the Quidditch pitch. Fog had rolled in off the lake so thickly that the pitch was shrouded in white and the few trees that dotted the lawn were invisible. Minerva breathed in the damp, chill morning air and took a sip of tea. The first order of business, she supposed, would be to arrange the sitting room for their meal. It wouldn’t do to leave that to last, especially since she hoped that Blampa’s breakfast would arrive before Albus did. A small round table for them to eat at, she thought, and a narrow one that could serve as a buffet for whatever it was that Blampa was going to bring. She wanted the eggs, toast, and tea on the table, and perhaps the strawberries, too. The other dishes could be laid out on the other table. Assuming, of course, that they were suitable for that. Minerva now wished that she had given more explicit instructions to the house-elf. 

After she was finished arranging the furniture, she could deal with getting dressed and getting ready for their meeting. Minerva had no idea what she should wear. She had robes that she’d worn when she worked in London, of course, but she wasn’t sure whether she had anything appropriate – she wasn’t even sure what _would_ be appropriate. She obviously didn’t have to wear her teaching robes, but beyond that . . . . For the last couple of weeks, she had just been pulling clothes at random from her wardrobe, not really making any choices, other than to leave her dark outer teaching robes on their hangers. Yesterday was the first time in a long time that she had given much thought to what she was going to put on. 

Minerva made quick work of the sitting room, glad that she was a Transfiguration mistress. Two of the armchairs became dining chairs. After a moment’s thought, she added seat cushions and armrests. She didn’t want Albus to become uncomfortable in a hard wooden chair and hurry through breakfast as a result. It was easy work to Transfigure an empty plant stand into a small round table, then to clear her work table and alter it slightly to serve as a buffet table. Minerva had left all of her linens packed and stored at her parents’ house after she’d moved from London, so she _Accio’d_ one of the fluffy bath towels and tried to Transfigure it into a tablecloth. In frustration, she realised it had some kind of Anti-Transfiguration Charm on it. She soon discovered that the extra clean bed linens were likewise charmed. She remembered clearly that Albus had once Transfigured a linen towel into a tablecloth, so this Anti-Transfiguration Charm must either be something new or else Albus’s hadn’t been charmed – or he was simply powerful enough to overcome it with ease. Minerva could, of course, break the Charm, but it hardly seemed worth it. Instead, she used a large cotton paisley scarf that she never wore, charming it a solid white linen with flowers and vines woven through it in a subtle pattern. A few handkerchiefs became matching napkins. That accomplished, Minerva decided that she was finished with the sitting room. She wished she had some flowers, as Albus had at dinner, but she didn’t, and Transfigured flowers just didn’t seem appropriate. This would have to do. It was only six o’clock.

Minerva sat at her dressing table and looked at her hair. She had started wearing it in a bun pinned at the back of her head while she was working in London. When she was in school, Minerva had preferred to tie it back in a ponytail or a braid and only pulled it up and twisted it behind her head when she was working with potions or when it was particularly warm. Once she began working at the Ministry, however, she thought that wearing her hair down emphasised her youth, and so she began to wear it up every day. Over time, the bun had become tighter and more severe. It was always the same: twist the full length of the hair tightly, then wind it securely around itself and insert a few Charmed hairpins, with nary a stray hair wisping about her face. Her mother had told her more than once that it was not the most flattering way to wear her hair, but Minerva didn’t care. She wasn’t doing it in order to have anyone admire it, after all. Now that she was at Hogwarts, it didn’t hurt for her to continue wearing the severe bun, she thought, since the students might take her threat of discipline seriously enough that they would not require actual discipline. Today, though, she was not teaching. And perhaps she did care what someone who saw her might think of the way she looked – while still being professional, of course.

Lifting her wand, Minerva charmed her hair into a heavy braid, then gathered it behind her head and twisted it into a bun. She had begun the braid lower than usual and had gathered it more loosely. Now her hair looked fuller and softer, and she allowed a few stray wisps to frame her face. It was still a professional, mature look, Minerva thought, but softer and more feminine than her usual severe style. Not that it mattered whether she looked more feminine, of course. Albus certainly wouldn’t notice the difference, let alone whether she looked more or less feminine. And if his friendship with Professor Gamp was anything to go by, Albus didn’t necessarily value such things in his female friends. Not that Gertrude was bad looking, Minerva thought, trying not to be uncharitable, but she certainly didn’t take any pains with her appearance. Her iron-grey hair was cut in a severe bob, and her fringe was always cut straight across, just above her eyebrows. Minerva didn’t think that the Arithmancy teacher knew how to cast any make-up charms or Glamours, either, and Minerva had wondered once as a student whether the woman owned more than two or three outfits, or whether it was just that she owned multiple sets of the same grey, black, and navy blue robes. 

Minerva thought that Albus might take note of what she wore, however, partly because the difference between her school attire and her “city clothes” was distinctive, but also because he did seem to appreciate nice robes, himself. As a student, she had often admired the way he looked, even before she had developed those other inconvenient feelings for him. She would have to make sure that she took some care with her choice of robes today. Before that, though, she looked critically in the mirror. She really hadn’t been taking proper care of her skin lately. Minerva, as a general rule, didn’t like make-up charms, although it was easy enough to cast them, and she would, if the occasion seemed to call for it. Perhaps just a bit of brow-shaping, then. She was blessed with the thick, dark McGonagall lashes, so she did nothing there. Looking at her face, she decided that a daily regimen of walking would do her skin some good, although it wouldn’t help her today. Still, she didn’t want to appear to be going to any special effort, so she only added one quick charm to slightly deepen the natural hue of her lips.

Now for what to wear. It was fairly easy to eliminate most of what she had in her wardrobe since they were the robes she wore during the school year under her teaching robe and were either too heavy for the weather or just too drab. Looking at her small selection of summer robes that she’d brought with her from London, she wavered briefly between choosing the Wedgewood blue robe and the deep yellow robe with raspberry trim. She remembered that Melina had helped her choose the yellow robe and had told her that the colours went well with her complexion and brought out the colour in her cheeks. Minerva had only worn it a few times last summer. She hadn’t felt the yellow raw silk robe was appropriate to wear to work since it was essentially sleeveless, and the unwritten dress code at the Ministry mandated long sleeves for witches and wizards alike.

Minerva hung her dressing gown in the wardrobe, then held the robe up to herself whilst looking in the mirror. Well, if she didn’t like it after she had it on, she had plenty of time to change into something else. She pulled her underwear from a drawer in the wardrobe. With this robe, she would require a low-cut chemise. She had worn her nicest one the day before, but selected another one that she liked almost as well, although she would have to cast a Support Charm. Like her favourite chemise, it had tiny mother-of-pearl buttons all up the front, but it had only a touch of lace around the neckline and the straps. Remembering how the yellow robe fit, Minerva charmed the chemise to match the raspberry trim – in case any of the lace peeked out from beneath the robe, it wouldn’t be as noticeable. 

After dressing and putting on the same soft, slipper-like shoes she had worn the day before, Minerva looked at herself critically in the mirror. The shoes looked atrocious with that dress, but they were comfortable. Without much thought, she waved her wand. A little Colour-Change Charm, and they matched the robe’s raspberry trim. The trim contrasted nicely with the almost-saffron-yellow of the raw silk. The raspberry colour created a one-inch edge around the scoop neckline and a two-inch hem at the bottom of the skirt. The arms, while not having true sleeves, had soft caps of the same raspberry colour, which fell from the shoulder. What Minerva particularly liked, however, was the raspberry ribbon that laced up the front of bodice and the wider satin ribbon that was sewn into the garment to create the waist. Minerva thought the robe looked fine on her, but was concerned that it might not be appropriate for a meeting with the Headmaster. On the other hand, she did not want to limit herself only to wearing the robes she would wear under her teaching robe. In that case, she might as well go and buy herself a wardrobe to match Gertrude’s! Perhaps if she put something on over it . . . but she remembered Melina’s admonishment not to ruin the look of the robe by putting another robe over it – she might as well not wear it, Melina had told her aunt, if she was just going to cover it up with something else. Of course, she might get chilly without any sleeves . . . but a Warming Charm could fix that.

An hour until Blampa would report to her, an hour and a half until Albus would arrive. Provided he wasn’t late, of course. Minerva chuckled. If he arrived late, she would have a bit of fun with him, she decided. She wouldn’t let him suffer too long, of course, but it might be amusing to see what he’d do if she were in tears and packing to leave the school! Perhaps slightly cruel, especially after how kind he had been the night before, but she thought that if she didn’t let it go on too long, he wouldn’t mind a small joke at his expense. Nonetheless, Minerva hoped Albus would be on time, and a part of her felt hurt in anticipation of the mere possibility that he might be late after he had apologised so nicely the previous night and had promised to treat their appointments with greater respect.

Minerva made herself another pot of tea, chamomile this time since they would be having a fresh pot of regular tea with their breakfast. Sitting at her window, she remarked that the fog was beginning to burn off already. As she sat and sipped her tea, Minerva thought about the events of the previous day. Albus must have known during lunch that he was going to set their appointment for late in the afternoon. He had engineered their meeting so that he could invite her to have dinner with him. She had felt miserable all through lunch, and hardly much better that afternoon, yet he had known all along that he was going to invite her for dinner and apologise then. There was no point in being angry with him about that, though. After all, it had been her own words that had caused her all of that anguish. And she was sure that he hadn’t put off the meeting just in order that she could be miserable a while longer. Not to mention the fact that she herself had put off going to lunch because she hadn’t wanted to sit next to him. 

Thinking back on it, he _had_ tried to reassure her when he came after her in the Great Hall and rescheduled their appointment. What had he said? Something about wishing they could meet sooner, but that five o’clock was more suitable, and then . . . “my dear Professor,” he had called her. She was probably making too much of that phrase. It was only a variation on a phrase he often used, after all. He had probably said the same thing to many a Hogwarts teacher. Albus was like that. But hadn’t he said something similar the previous night, as well? His toast . . . she had been trying so hard to get a word in and apologise to him, she hadn’t paid it much mind, but hadn’t he toasted “my dear Minerva” just before calling himself a barmy old codger? She sighed. This was absurd. It really didn’t matter what Albus had called her. It was a turn of phrase only. It meant nothing. 

Of course, yesterday afternoon, Minerva had been unwilling to believe that she could hold an important place in his life, and yet the efforts to which Albus went to arrange dinner and craft his apology certainly showed that she was not as insignificant to him as she had believed . . . or had convinced herself. She had spent fifteen years telling herself that she could be nothing to him. And certainly she could not dream of ever expressing her feelings to him fully, of allowing _It_ to emerge for him to see, but perhaps it was only the constant mental repetition of the “fact” that she could mean nothing to Albus that had given the fact its reality. 

Minerva had created a mantra: first, “You can be nothing to him, Minerva, but a student,” and later, “You can be nothing to him but a former student,” then, “You can be nothing to him but a friendly acquaintance with a mutual interest in Transfiguration.” The latest version was, “You can be nothing to him but an employee, a colleague, and a casual friend, Minerva.” Of course, she had wanted a deeper friendship with him, and she had thought perhaps _that_ desire was not entirely unrealistic now that she was working at Hogwarts, but then she had hardly seen him once the term began. Finishing the last cup of chamomile tea, Minerva supposed that was the way it would be even now. Albus might have fewer obligations during the summer, but she shouldn’t have any illusions about spending time with him. It should be enough to know that he had cared enough to go out of his way to have dinner with her the night before.

Albus _had_ said they were friends, though, when he sat with her on the sofa. It had been so nice to have him hold her, to lean against him and listen to his heartbeat. He was so solid and reassuring. And his presence still had the ability to send warm tingles to her nether regions, Minerva thought with a blush. The night before, she had not been in any state to appreciate such feelings – or, rather, to _experience_ them, since she certainly didn’t like it when they occurred. This morning, though, Minerva remembered how he had held her and rubbed her back and how lovely it had felt to rest against his broad chest. She wished that she had returned his embrace more, that she had actually put her arm around him instead of just resting her hand on his shoulder. But not only would that have been too forward, it also would have brought her much closer to him; the way they were sitting together, to have been able to embrace him fully, Minerva would have practically had to have climbed into his lap, rather than just sit beside him. While the thought of being that close to him was a rather pleasant fantasy, she was sure that Albus would have found it peculiar in the extreme. No doubt he would either have thought her surprisingly wanton or else found it childish, for what kind of grown witch would do such a thing?

With a few flicks of her wand, Minerva cleared her tea things. Blampa would be arriving in about forty minutes. She had just enough time for a quick walk. The now-familiar route from her rooms to the front doors took little time at that hour, especially with all of the students away. Letting herself out through the heavy front doors, Minerva cast an Impervius Charm on her shoes and the hem of her skirt before walking down to the damp grass. She set out with no clear direction in mind, but headed toward the greenhouses. She considered gathering a few flowers for the breakfast table, but decided against it. She didn’t want to pick anything without checking with Professor Birnbaum first, and she doubted that he was receiving visitors at that hour, even if she had thought of it before leaving the castle. 

Minerva usually took brisk, energetic walks, but that morning, despite knowing that she didn’t have much time before she had to return to meet with Blampa, she strolled at a leisurely pace past the greenhouses and gardens, pausing occasionally to look at a particularly striking plant, and then proceeding down toward the lake. As she approached the lake, Minerva smiled, remembering the picnic that she and Professor Dumbledore had there just before she began her sixth year. She was still an innocent then, relatively speaking, with no idea that her Animagus training would lead to such unexpected feelings for the one who was to teach her. She would have been horrified had she known, Minerva was sure. Or perhaps not. Minerva doubted that she could have comprehended the strength and power of those feelings before they actually struck her. No, with the arrogance of a particularly bright teenager, she probably would have thought that she could handle them, just box them away or something. She never would have understood that she could possess feelings that would be impossible to ignore, especially as strong as they had been during those first months after the accident.

Minerva stopped, just about where Albus had conjured the glider on that day when she agreed to help him with the wards, and looked out over the lake. If she _had_ known, and _if_ she had been able to comprehend the danger, would she have agreed to Dumbledore’s proposal that day? He had told her to consider it seriously and had implied that the warding project was not entirely safe, that there might be hidden dangers or difficulties she would have to face. But Minerva was completely certain that Dumbledore had had no idea of the danger that had actually overtaken her that evening in his classroom all those years ago and no notion that she might be vulnerable to such a thing. 

Minerva had told herself many times that the accident might have happened regardless of whether Dumbledore had asked for her help with the wards. But Minerva knew that it was unlikely to have occurred if she hadn’t agreed to the second project. She would not have worked so hard to become an Animagus; she would have been satisfied to have achieved the transformation at any time during her seventh year, rather than pushing to accomplish it before the end of her sixth year. She would not have been doing those particular exercises at that particular time; she might even have been better prepared for the exercises – Dumbledore was brilliant and careful, but he was not perfect. Over the last ten years or so, it had occurred to Minerva more than once that perhaps Dumbledore had allowed her to proceed with the exercises too quickly, or that he should not have allowed her to practice the advanced exercises on her own. 

Hindsight is always perfect – or believes itself to be – and Minerva had little doubt that at the time of the accident, Albus had also questioned his own judgment as a teacher. After all, he had not pressed her to return to her training immediately afterwards. He had also seemed ready to blame himself for it, although he only mentioned his entrance into the classroom as the immediately preceding cause and his assumption that he had been the “environmental trigger” and that he therefore must have caused her some unknown grief or harm. Dumbledore had never suggested that they might have been proceeding too quickly with her lessons.

Minerva sighed and turned to walk back up to the castle. Albus had had faith in her ability. There was nothing wrong with that. His faith was usually justified – and, in fact, had been justified when she became an Animagus after a remarkably short training period. She supposed that she would have made the same kinds of judgments about her progress as he had if she had been in his place. His pedagogic decisions, on the other hand . . . . Some of them seemed unwise, at least knowing what she knew now of her accident and the feelings it had freed in her. 

If Dumbledore had maintained a greater distance from her, she would not have had the opportunity to develop such strong feelings for him, even in the nascent form they had taken before her accident. He had never been precisely unprofessional and certainly had never behaved in anyway that could have been calculated to engender such feelings in her, but his casual manner and his affectionate nature had permitted her to become closer to him than she should have. That was not an entirely fair accusation, of course. Slughorn was much more familiar with many of his students – and much more obviously had favourites, even in a classroom setting – but she doubted that any of _his_ students became enamoured of him. Ugh! The thought was revolting! Minerva had even been a peripheral member of his little “Slug Club” for a while, although she had little talent for Potions and no discernable ambition that Slughorn might make use of. Minerva figured out early on that Slughorn invited her to his “soirees” because she was one of Dumbledore’s best students and he wanted to remain in Dumbledore’s good graces for some reason that Minerva hadn’t understood at the time. 

And then, of course, there was that “paw exercise” she and Dumbledore had performed on each other. Perhaps that had been inappropriate between a teacher and a student. On the other hand, Minerva knew that if another teacher had done the same exercise with her – even some hypothetical non-existent Adonis-of-a-teacher – she would not have had the same reactions. And there was no reason for him to have thought that she would have such a reaction. They had a teacher-student relationship; true, it was more casual than most, but Albus was not a particularly formal wizard. He probably looked upon his students as if they were his children and assumed that, insofar as they might develop feelings toward him, they viewed him as a grandfather-figure. Minerva knew that had any other student passed out in his classroom, Albus would have Disillusioned her – or him – and carried her to the infirmary. He would have held the student and tried to calm her, just as he had held Minerva. There was nothing improper in anything he had done. 

Minerva, to this day, did not understand why she had developed the feelings she had toward Albus. Why him and not someone else? If she hadn’t had the accident, would the feelings have burst forth on their own, but just under other circumstances? And why hadn’t time dimmed them? Infatuations and crushes were supposed to pass, especially ones developed by adolescents. Hers hadn’t, and she had actively tried to smother it. Minerva had hoped that, like a plant deprived of sunlight and water, this thing would wither and die if she did not provide it with any nourishment. _It_ apparently had found Its nourishment from _somewhere_ within her soul, however. Even when she went months at a time not seeing or corresponding with Albus and doing all she could to avoid anything that reminded her of him, _It_ remained, sitting there, smug and happy, and ready to inhabit her fully the next time that she saw him – or even the next time she received an owl from him. 

As she walked up the stairs toward her rooms, Minerva remembered with a smile one of the early techniques she had tried in an effort to rid herself of It. Deciding that any _normal_ teenage witch would be put off by Professor Dumbledore’s age, if nothing else, Minerva began spending time watching old men. Hogsmeade weekend would come, and she’d leave Carson in the Quidditch supply shop while she went to sit in the smoky backroom at the Three Broomsticks where old men gathered to smoke and play wizarding chess, draughts, and Gobstones (she had gone to the Hog’s Head once, but that was too disgusting even for this experiment). Much to the amusement of the old men – and the puzzlement of the landlady – Minerva would sit, drink a butterbeer, and watch these old wizards play their games and talk. She had a feeling that they felt somewhat inhibited by her presence initially, but eventually they became used to her and forgot she was there. 

Minerva would memorise every line, wrinkle, whisker, and droplet of spittle clinging to the corner of a sagging mouth. She would concentrate on everything that was unappealing in their manner of dress and speech. Later, when she met up with Carson again, he would complain of how she smelled and cast a freshening charm for her. He didn’t understand her fascination with that backroom, and she explained it to him by saying that she had never known one of her grandfathers and rarely saw the other one, so she liked to watch the old men and imagine they were her own grandfathers. If Carson thought this was odd, he was gentleman enough not to say so. 

In the evening after dinner, Minerva would go to her dormitory, pull the curtains closed around her, and, using some of the vivid recall exercises she had practiced that summer, she would imagine one of the old wizards touching her – nothing terribly extreme, just that one of them caressed her in an un-grandfatherly way, touching her face or embracing her with a leer. Minerva would imagine every distasteful detail that she had so carefully memorised, then add in her memory of the smell of the room. She would quickly become disgusted. In her next exercise, Minerva would imagine a different old man wanting to touch her, and this time, she would try to imagine touching him – touching him in ways she imagined she would like to touch her professor. She rarely got beyond the faintest touch, this exercise repulsed her so, before she would quit. Minerva would still have one more mental exercise to do, however. She would imagine the oldest-looking wizard from the pub coming up to her and kissing her mouth. After that, she would dive from her bed and go brush her teeth.

These self-imposed exercises, which young Minerva thought were probably unfair and unkind to the old wizards who had genially tolerated her presence, established two things: first, concentrating on everything that was unattractive about the old men at the Three Broomsticks did not lessen Professor Dumbledore’s attractiveness to her, and second, she did not have a fetish, or whatever the word was, for old men and did not find old wizards attractive simply because they were old. In her last visit to the Three Broomsticks, she had even tried concentrating on a few of the wizards who could have been said to have retained their looks, and focussed on examining and appreciating all of their good attributes; that evening, she went back to her dormitory, and rather than trying to evoke disgust in herself, she imagined these wizards touching her and tried to become aroused by it. It didn’t work. They were still highly unattractive to her and Dumbledore was still . . . Dumbledore.

Minerva sighed as she entered her sitting room. She would have to find a way of dealing with these feelings. Having thought about them at all yesterday had been a step in the right direction; she had avoided thinking about them since she had arrived at Hogwarts – not an easy task, but she was stubborn. Minerva looked at the small round table and straightened the napkins, although they didn’t need it. Gritting her teeth, gazing at the tablecloth but not really seeing it, she knew there was another aspect of this topic that she would have to confront, one which she really did not want to: it presented too much potential to cause her emotional pain. And there was nothing she could do about any of it. No, that wasn’t true. She could have some control over her own reactions, over her own choices – not that she didn’t have any control now, but it was as though she was doing a Transfiguration without knowing the nature of the object she was performing the spell on; the Transfiguration might be successful, but it might also be disastrous, just as her state of mind yesterday morning had nearly brought disaster down upon her – and upon Albus, as well. 

_Professor Gertrude Gamp._ There. She had named that other aspect. And that was all that she could do, as Minerva had never spared enough thought to it to even be able to articulate _why_ Gertrude was an aspect of the problem. And she couldn’t spare any time to think about it that morning. It would have to wait. Blampa would be here at any minute, and then Albus would be arriving. She would have to be able to hold a conversation with him over breakfast, after all.

There was a sharp snap and Blampa appeared a few feet from her. 

“Good morning, Professor Minerva! You’s looks bright and awake this morning, Professor Minerva! Very pretty robe for breakfast with your Professor Headmaster! Yes, I, Blampa, loves the Professor Minerva’s robe. She looks very pretty! Very pretty!”

Minerva blinked at the house-elf. This creature became more peculiar with each passing day. “Thank you, Blampa,” she said, after overcoming her surprise. “As you can see, the breakfast table is here, and over there I cleared the work table so you can use that as a buffet. I would like the soft-boiled eggs, toast, and tea on the table. The other dishes, including the strawberries, can either go on the buffet or on the table, as you see fit.” Minerva had a sudden inspiration. “I was unable to get any flowers for the table, Blampa. Could you please provide some flowers and –” Minerva was taken aback when the house-elf interrupted her.

“Oh, no, Professor Minerva. Blampa can’ts do that. No, no flowers. No. Sadly. Blampa can’ts. No.” Blampa shook her head and looked at the floor, but didn’t seem as sad as she had the day before when Minerva had not-quite scolded her for popping in when she hadn’t been called. 

These house-elves were truly irritating. The lack of flowers must have something to do with what they were allowed to do at Hogwarts, or something they had been forbidden to do, since Blampa wasn’t offering any excuses for her inability to produce a bouquet for the table.

“All right. I suppose we will do without, then. What else did you have in mind for the breakfast menu?”

Blampa drew herself up straighter and, sounding almost like Wilspy, replied, “Heavy cream, lightly sweetened, for the strawberries; barley scones with Sultanas; sweet butter; grapefruit marmalade; baked onions in cream sauce; sauteed mushrooms; grilled tomatoes; fresh sage sausages; and ginger newts. I, Blampa, choose a few nice, delectable selections for the Professor and her Headmaster.” At the end of that rather dignified recitation, Blampa ruined the effect by bouncing on her toes and bending the tips of her ears forward in anticipation of Minerva’s reaction.

“That all sounds very good, Blampa!” It really did, especially as Minerva was very hungry, having been up for a few hours already. “Perhaps put the bannocks – the scones – butter, and marmalade on the breakfast table, and the strawberries and cream on the buffet with everything else.” Minerva didn’t have the heart to tell her that she didn’t think that she would be eating ginger newts for breakfast. “I’m looking forward to it.” Minerva was about to send the house-elf off about her business when she made a suggestion.

“Miss Professor Minerva, Blampa likes table. Really. But Blampa thinks Blampa likes table –” This time Minerva cut off the house-elf’s speech mid-whine.

“Blampa, you know it displeases me when you talk like that. You’ve been doing a very good job, don’t spoil it. If you have an idea, let me hear it. If I don’t like it, I won’t use it, but I’m not going to be angry with you – and if I were angry with you, it wouldn’t make it any better for you if you were cringing and talking like a, like a, like a very stupid house-elf! Say what you want to say, and say it properly, please,” finished Minerva, who couldn’t fail to notice genuine tears welling up in the little creature’s big eyes.

“Blampa’s sorry, Professor Minerva,” she sniffled to her, “I, Blampa –” Blampa paused to gulp a little. “I, Blampa, thinks I likes little breakfast table at window where Professor Minerva sits.” She cringed a bit, but when Minerva didn’t yell at her, she continued, “I, Blampa, can move Professor Minerva’s chair and table and move little breakfast table and chairs there instead. Pretty view for pretty Professor Minerva and her Professor Headmaster.”

“That’s a very good idea, Blampa. If you have good ideas like that in the future, please tell me.” Before Minerva had finished speaking, the house-elf had snapped her fingers and the room was rearranged. Minerva’s chair and small table were now next to the fireplace instead of beside the window. The breakfast table and the chairs were now nestled by the window. Blampa had also moved the work table so that it was against the wall to the right of the entry door and perpendicular to the window; the sofa now had its back to the door and faced the breakfast table. The effect was pleasing, and Minerva was satisfied that breakfast would not be a total disaster. Or if it was, it wouldn’t be because of the food or the furniture, anyway.

After Blampa had left, beaming with pleasure at her success, Minerva went into the loo and brushed her teeth. She wondered if she should have put on jewellery that morning. She had a number of nice necklaces. Suddenly feeling as though she had no time at all to get ready, Minerva rushed into her bedroom and pulled her jewellery box from her dressing table. She opened the Charmed box and looked at the necklaces that hung from the little “trees” that popped up when the box was open. Several were too heavy for the style of her robe and were easily eliminated. Flipping through the others, she chose a warm amber necklace on a fine goblin-made gold chain. The piece of amber was a bit larger than a galleon and had two small, well-preserved insects in it. Minerva had always thought they looked like bumblebees, but she didn’t even know if such things existed when the amber was formed. She didn’t really care what they actually were; they _looked_ like bees and had reminded her of Albus when she had found the necklace in a small shop. It was the year she spent in Germany doing her Transfiguration apprenticeship: she missed home, she missed Albus, and she indulged in a moment of weakness and bought the necklace despite the fact that it reminded her of Albus – or, actually, _because_ it reminded her of him.

In the other room, she heard sounds that alerted her that Blampa had delivered breakfast. As she was fastening the necklace clasp behind her neck, she heard clanking and barking coming from the landscape in her sitting room. Albus must have arrived, and the knight and his dog had come through to let her know. He was called “The Silent Knight,” and although it wasn’t strictly true that he never spoke, he did so rarely. He claimed to be under a geas that limited to whom and under what circumstances he could allow himself to speak until he had completed some unspecified task, which Minerva thought had to be one of the most ridiculous things she had ever heard coming from a portrait. Thank goodness for the dog, which was under no such constraints and would come and bark for her when she had a guest at the door. The knight himself was practically useless, Minerva thought. She would do just as well with only the dog. 

Minerva hurried from her bedroom, looking with pleasure at the breakfast as she passed through the sitting room. She reached the door, cast a _Tempus_ , and smiled when she saw that it was precisely eight o’clock. Taking a deep breath, Minerva opened the door to her guest.


	29. Breakfast with Albus, Breakfast with Minerva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus and Minerva have breakfast and Minerva has her opportunity to apologise properly; Poppy drops by and Minerva worries about what she is thinking when she sees the two having breakfast together.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Poppy Pomfrey, and Blampa.

**XXIX: Breakfast with Albus, Breakfast with Minerva**

When Minerva opened the door, Albus’s breath was taken away again. “You look stunning, Minerva.” He heard himself say it, although he hadn’t intended to. She looked beautiful that morning, her hair gathered in back, a few tendrils loosely framing her face, her lips plumply red and her cheeks rosy, the colour brought out by the trim of her gown, which showed her feminine figure to great advantage. Yes, his statement had been truthful: he had been stunned when Minerva opened the door, so much so that he forgot himself for a moment.

Minerva blushed as she held the door for Albus to enter. She was pleased by his words and wanted to tell him he looked nice, as well, for he did, but she was afraid it would sound like an insincere response to his own compliment. Instead, she commented on the other remarkable aspect of his appearance at her door – the flowers. “Albus, how lovely that you brought flowers! I was wishing I had some, and these are beautiful.” She took the vase from him and buried her face in a large flower, ostensibly to breathe in its scent, but more to hide her flush.

Albus stepped in. “You’re welcome. I meant to give them to you last night, my dear, but I’m afraid I was so taken by the fair blossom who graced my presence that I forgot the bouquet.” What was he on about! Why did he persist in saying such ridiculous things? She would be offended, he was sure, and he waited tensely for the rebuke he was certain would follow his insensitive remarks. Minerva wanted his respect, and instead, he was offering her fatuous comments about her appearance. Rather than a rebuke, however, he was rewarded with a smile as she lifted her face from the bouquet.

“They are beautiful, Albus.” Minerva turned and placed them on the table with the buffet. The bouquet was so large that they wouldn’t have been able to see each other if she put it on the little round breakfast table. Not very conducive to conversation. Minerva smiled again as she nudged the vase over just a bit. What a lovely gesture. “Did you get them from Professor Birnbaum yesterday?” she asked, turning back to face him. Minerva was glad that she had managed to complete her sentence before she had the chance to really see him. He looked absolutely wonderful; the colour of his robes brought out the blue in his eyes, and the cut of his under-robe emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow hips; even the somewhat-distracting patterned over-robe couldn’t hide the assets that his under-robe presented so beautifully. The many layers Albus so often wore had a tendency to obscure the fact that he was naturally blessed with a clearly masculine build, although Minerva was all too aware of it.

“I asked Johannes if I could help myself to some of the flowers from the greenhouses and gardens.” Albus hesitated. Should he mention that he had selected and picked them himself? She seemed to like them. . . perhaps it would be all right. “I am glad you like them; I enjoyed picking them and trying to make a nice arrangement. It’s not something I have done in a while.”

“Well, they are beautiful. I am glad now that Blampa couldn’t get me any flowers this morning,” Minerva said. “And you look very nice, yourself. Your robes are beautiful, especially the under-robe. The embroidery is quite fine.” She was blathering, Minerva thought. Why on earth did she mention his robe? Of course, he had complimented her when he arrived. Perhaps he wouldn’t think it inappropriate.

“Thank you. The robe is new. The embroidered one, I mean. I hadn’t worn it yet and wasn’t sure . . . Madam Malkin told me it was fine, but she’s in the business of selling clothes.” Why on earth did he continue saying such inanities?

“Madam Malkin wouldn’t do very well, though, if she recommended clothes to people that didn’t suit them. She was right, in this case, anyway.” Minerva could feel her blush deepen as she thought of how attractive he looked. She hoped Albus didn’t notice. “Would you like some breakfast, Albus? The soft-boiled eggs and toast on are the table, but, as you can see, we have a number of other dishes to choose from.”

“Yes, it all looks quite tasty,” he replied, surveying the bowls and platters arrayed on the narrow side table. “Do you mind if I start with the eggs and then decide what else I’d like?”

“Of course not, Albus, don’t be silly. You’re here for a pleasant breakfast. Eat whatever you would like in whatever order you choose,” Minerva said with a smile. “In fact, I think I will join you – I’m actually ravenous this morning, so starting with the eggs sounds like a good idea.”

Minerva noticed as they went to sit at the table that between the time that she had left the room to brush her teeth and the time that she had returned to open the door to Albus, the arrangement of the little breakfast table had changed. It must have been Blampa. Instead of the two chairs facing one another at each side of the window, now one of them faced the window directly, with the other chair remaining where it had been. The place-settings were much closer now, and the tea service was laid out where one of the place-settings had previously been. Minerva would have to have a word with Blampa; expressing ideas was one thing, too much initiative was quite another.

Albus held the chair facing the window and waited for Minerva to sit. “Unless you’d prefer the other chair, my dear?” he asked when she hesitated. 

“No, this is fine, thank you, Albus!” She sat and placed her napkin on her lap. “Tea?”

“Yes, please. A little milk first, if you don’t mind.”

Minerva raised up in her seat a little to reach for the pitcher. After pouring some milk in the bottom of the cup, she stood a bit more to pour the tea. “Sugar? Albus, sugar?” she repeated, looking over at him when he didn’t respond immediately. He looked up at her with a slightly glazed expression. 

“Yes, that would be fine. Just a little.” Albus blinked and gave himself a mental kick. When Minerva had stood to pour the tea and had bent over the table slightly, he had been wildly distracted by the sight that the bodice of her robe presented him. The pretty ribbon lacing certainly was effective in displaying Minerva’s figure to its fullest advantage. He had torn his eyes away just as she turned to look at him, fortunately. He didn’t think that she had noticed his unseemly appreciation of her bosom. It was not as though she were spilling out of her robes or anything like that; the cut was perfectly modest. Albus wished he could slap himself.

Minerva poured her own tea whilst Albus busied himself taking the top off his egg. Perfectly soft-boiled, yet still warm. House-elf magic certainly had a way with an egg. He put the smallest lump of butter on the top of his egg and followed it with salt and pepper, glad to have a routine task to perform whilst he regained his composure. It had not been only his mind that had been distracted a moment ago, and Albus doubted that he could stand just then without embarrassing himself. Just in case, he pulled himself a bit closer to the table to be sure that it fully obscured his lap.

Minerva was eating her own breakfast quite hungrily and didn’t notice Albus’s discomfiture. She had finished her second egg and a slice of toast; Albus was still working on his first egg and a scone. “All right, Albus? Is the egg to your liking?” Minerva didn’t think he looked very well. He had looked fine when he arrived. Perhaps he didn’t like the eggs.

“Oh, yes, it’s fine. Just taking my time, is all,” Albus replied. 

“Well, I think that I will help myself to some of the other things that Blampa thought were suitable for our breakfast. Would you like me to bring you anything?” she asked, standing.

“If you don’t mind, I think I might use your loo. I’ll get myself something after that.”

“Oh, of course! You know where it is; help yourself!” 

As soon as Minerva turned toward the other table, Albus stood. He hoped she wouldn’t turn around before he’d made it to the door, which was behind him just to the left of the serving table. Fortunately, when she did turn, he was at the door and angled away from her. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him quickly. Slumping to sit on the closed toilet lid, Albus let out a sigh. Perversely, once he sat down, his problem began to subside on its own. Cursing the fact that he had left his wand in his bedroom, he cast a wandless Cooling Charm, trying to focus it on the area of his arousal, which was a more difficult task without his wand. He really did not want to cast a deflating spell; they were very uncomfortable and could have unpleasant side-effects for a number of hours afterward. 

The Cooling Charm worked as he had hoped. Albus stood and flushed the toilet, although he had not used it. He didn’t know if you could usually hear it through the closed door or not. 

What was wrong with him? He had better self-control than this. It was having held her the night before. That had got him thinking in directions he should not have. Washing his hands, Albus shivered. Although he had aimed the icy blast at his “nether regions,” he now felt quite chilled through. He imagined that the bathroom must be colder than usual, too, so to compensate, Albus cast a quick Warming Charm just before he opened the door to the sitting room.

In the sitting room, Minerva helped herself to mushrooms, baked onions, grilled tomatoes, and a single little sausage. She would have some strawberries and cream after this. Perhaps she wouldn’t scold Blampa about the place settings, after all. The breakfast was wonderful. Sitting and tucking into the meal in front of her, Minerva considered Albus’s behaviour that morning. He seemed very quiet. He had been quite gallant with the flowers and the compliments, she thought. She smiled to herself. Albus had looked a little overwhelmed when she’d opened the door to him – she had hardly been able to see him over the huge bouquet. She was fairly sure that no one had given her flowers in quite that fashion before. Maybe it was a last minute decision; although it was very sweet of him to have picked the flowers himself. 

Remembering the effort Albus had gone to the evening before and the events that had led up to it, Minerva wondered about the reason for his silence. Perhaps despite their reconciliation, he still felt bad about what he had overheard her say yesterday morning. Poppy had seemed to think that Albus had looked very hurt by her ill-chosen words. Yet he had barely allowed her to apologise, and when she had, he had offered his own apology again, saying that he understood and could not blame her. That must be it, Minerva decided. In typical Albus-fashion, he had forgiven her quickly and had sought to make amends for his own failings. He probably still felt hurt by what she had said, despite his understanding and protests that everything was fine. 

She would have to make clear to Albus that she was truly sorry for her words, but especially for the fact that they had hurt him. Perhaps when Albus had said they were friends, he had been looking for reassurance, too. Clearly, Minerva’s mantra had so well inculcated in her the belief that she could be nothing to him that she hadn’t considered the possibility that Albus might feel unsure in his belief that they were friends. Despite his confidence, his brilliance, and his obvious magical power, Minerva knew that Albus had vulnerabilities, that he wasn’t the unassailable icon so many in the wizarding world believed him to be. Yes, she would apologise again, and this time, she would make sure that he allowed her to complete her apology.

Albus returned and began to serve himself from the side table. 

“You should try the onions and the mushrooms, especially, Albus. I never would have considered baked onions for breakfast, but they are wonderful. I’d take seconds, but I want to leave room for some of Hagrid’s strawberries.” Minerva smiled at him as he took his seat beside her.

“He certainly is proud of his strawberries, isn’t he?” Albus chuckled. “I had the same discussion with him as you did yesterday, but avoided having his fist shoved in my face as we were standing in his garden at the time.”

Minerva smiled, but, remembering her mood during lunch the day before, didn’t reply. They resumed eating in silence. 

Well, this was awkward, Albus thought. It seemed he couldn’t say anything without putting his foot in his mouth that morning. Why did he have to remind her of lunch? She had been clearly upset during lunch, as he had been able to see under her Glamour. After a sip of tea, he decided he needed to ease her discomfort.

“I’m sorry I mentioned that. I know you were . . . not feeling like yourself yesterday at lunch. It was careless of me to have reminded you. I am sorry, Minerva.”

“Albus, if you don’t stop apologising, I shall dump the mushroom pot over your head. Well, I suppose I wouldn’t. The mushrooms are too good to waste, and I wouldn’t want to get your beautiful new robe dirty.” Minerva smiled at Albus ruefully. “None of that was your fault, and I don’t want you to walk on eggshells afraid to say anything to me for fear I’ll be upset by it. I admit that thinking of lunch yesterday reminded me of how I felt at the time, but that’s not likely to be far from my consciousness any time soon, anyway. I think I’ve learned that it’s not a good idea to avoid thinking about something that bothers me, at least not as a long-term strategy, so I don’t think it would be right for me to expect you to avoid mention of anything that could conceivably remind me of everything that happened yesterday. Not only that, but the day turned out very well, in the end. Last evening was more enjoyable than any in a very long time, and I don’t want to forget it.”

At the end of Minerva’s speech, Albus smiled widely. “Very well, Minerva. And I am very pleased to hear that you enjoyed yesterday evening so much, since my own sentiments were similar. I hope we are able to spend more time together like that.” There it was again – the foot in the mouth. She certainly wouldn’t want to spend more time in tears on his couch with him. He was relieved to see that Minerva didn’t seem to notice his gaffe.

“I would like that, too, Albus. Very much.” She rose. “May I get you some strawberries and cream?” At his smiling assent, she went to the table and began to fill two bowls with the strawberries and pour heavy cream over them. As she was doing this, an owl appeared at the window. Hooting softly, she perched on the window ledge.

“You appear to have received some post this morning, Minerva. Would you like me to take it for you?”

She glanced over. She didn’t recognise the parchment. It didn’t look like anything that her parents or one of her brothers would use. Perhaps it was from Melina. She wrote on whatever was at hand. Minerva once received a letter from her written on the back of a Muggle restaurant menu. 

“Yes, please, Albus. Thank you.” She carried their bowls of fruit over to the table as Albus gave the owl a bit of sage sausage from his plate. “I wonder who it’s from.”

“I would say, based on the hand-writing, that it is from the Deputy Headmistress,” Albus replied. 

“Gertrude? Why would she write to me?” Minerva was extremely puzzled, but didn’t doubt Albus. He had worked with Gertrude long enough to be familiar with her hand-writing. “I don’t think I’ve ever received a letter from her in my life. Not unless you count the little notes she would occasionally leave for me that summer I was helping you with the wards. Are you sure it’s for me and the owl didn’t bring it for you?”

“I have not recently changed my name to ‘Minerva Morag McGonagall,’ so, yes, I am fairly certain it is not for me,” Albus said with a grin.

Minerva winced. If there was one thing that she disliked more than being called “Min” or “Minnie,” it was being reminded that her middle name was “Morag.” Thank goodness her mother had prevailed in her insistence that she be named “Minerva” in the classical tradition from her side of the family; “Morag” could remain as her middle name. Minerva would have to remember to thank her mother for that again. She was sure there were many Morags who were quite happy with that name; Minerva doubted she would have been one of them.

Setting the bowls down on the table, Minerva wiped her hands on her napkin before taking the letter from Albus. It was on very heavy, fine parchment. It had been folded rather than rolled, then tied with a narrow piece of brilliant green ribbon and sealed with dark green wax. The Gamp family coat-of-arms had been pressed into the seal. Minerva sat and looked at it. 

Albus watched Minerva, bemused. It was just a letter, yet she was sitting there, holding it gingerly and making no move to open it.

“Are you going to read it now or set it aside for later?” Albus asked. “I won’t mind either way.” He picked up a spoon and began to eat the strawberries Minerva had brought him. 

Minerva still sat there gazing at the letter as if she thought it might do something unexpected and dangerous at any moment. 

“I’ve received many letters from Gertie over the years, Minerva,” Albus said between bites, “and none have contained hidden poisons or curses. I would be happy to check it over for you, however, if that would help,” he joked.

“Hmm? Oh, no. I was just wondering why she would send me a letter.” Minerva remembered her promise to herself that she would explore that other aspect of her problem that was Gertrude Gamp. Now she wished that she already had done that. She had no idea why a letter from the Deputy Headmistress would make her so uneasy. It was foolish, really.

“Well, when I’m wondering why someone sent me a letter, I generally find a clue to the reason in its contents,” Albus said with a smile. “And although as a Slytherin, Gertie’s reasons may not be entirely contained within the letter itself, it is still an excellent place to begin, don’t you think?” 

“Of course,” she replied, quickly breaking the seal and sliding the ribbon from the letter. Unfolding it, Minerva noticed the Gamp family crest adorned the parchment, as well. The McGonagalls had no wizarding family coat-of-arms, but Minerva could use a variant of her mother’s Egidius crest, if she wished. Wizarding society had no official grant or registry for crests and coats-of-arms, and anyone who wished could design one for themselves; first use of a particular design established a right to the crest, which could be shared with family members or remain purely individual. Pure-blood families often had crests with long pedigrees, and they used them as a matter of course. Minerva’s family, however, had never put any emphasis on such things – although she remembered that her grandmother, Siofra Tyree McGonagall, had used the Tyree crest occasionally. 

Minerva put on her glasses and read the letter.

_“4 July 1957_

_“Dear Minerva,_

_“This evening as I enjoyed the healthy Cornish air, I remembered our conversation yesterday at lunch and your mention of a holiday. It occurred to me that a few days here in Cornwall might have a restorative effect following your first term of teaching. If you have not experienced the landscape here, I believe you will find it invigorating._

_“With this in mind, I would like to invite you to visit the Gamp family home next week. If you are so inclined, the ribbon with which this letter is tied is a Portkey set for activation between 8.00 and 8.30 on the morning of Monday the eighth of July. If you are able to accept this invitation, the Portkey may be used at any point within that half-hour with the password ‘ducere.’_

_“I hope to hear from you by return owl that you will be able to accept my invitation. There are various family members visiting, so I believe that you would not fail to find some conversations of interest while you are here._

_“As always,  
“I remain,_

_“Gertrude Gamp”_

Finishing the letter, Minerva didn’t know quite what to make of it. She read it through again. She had never considered Gertrude a particular friend and certainly had never expected to receive an invitation of this sort from her. In addition, Minerva clearly remembered that it had been Gertrude who had mentioned a holiday, and not herself.

“Well?” questioned Albus. “You needn’t share it with me, of course, but I am very curious now, myself – especially since the letter has held your attention far longer than its length would normally prescribe.”

“Oh, here. You can read it,” Minerva said, handing him the letter. “I don’t understand it at all.”

Albus read it. “Well, it’s an invitation to visit Gertie at her family home.”

“Yes, I _see_ that, Albus. I just don’t understand the invitation. And I didn’t mention a holiday yesterday, she did.”

“Perhaps I can translate part of it for you?”

Minerva snorted. “As you said, it’s an invitation.”

“Hmm, yes. But it is an interesting one. And not simply because you did not expect it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, no doubt there is more here than I am able to read, but from her first paragraph, I would say that she is bored. She say, ‘If you have not experienced the landscape here, I believe you will find it invigorating.’ That’s not to say that she doesn’t like Cornwall, just that it’s not new to her.”

“But how . . . she didn’t say anything about how she felt about it, Albus!”

“If someone else had written this, then I might agree with you. However, as un-Slytherin as you might sometimes find Professor Gamp, she did spend seven years in that House, not to mention that most of her family are Slytherin. What might be a straight-forward statement coming from someone else often has another layer of meaning when uttered by a Slytherin.”

“That could be said of anyone, Albus.”

“True, but given that this letter and invitation were so unexpected, and you yourself said you did not understand it, I think it fair to say that there is more to it than a superficial reading would reveal. Of course, it’s your letter,” he said, handing it back to her.

“All right, Albus.” Minerva pushed the letter back toward him. “What else do you think you can read in there – I doubt she is inviting me down there just because she is bored.”

Albus grinned. “Well, notice that she refers to ‘the Gamp family home.’ She doesn’t refer to it as _her_ home, but neither does she call it the ‘Gamp Estate,’ which she could have done. For some reason, she is emphasising the familial aspect of the home, but minimising her own connection with it. She then goes on to tell you that other family members will be visiting at the same time, and she thinks you probably won’t like them much, but –”

“ _What?!_ She says nothing of the sort!” 

“Oh, certainly she does. Here – she says, ‘There are various family members visiting, so I believe that you would not fail to find some conversations of interest while you are here.’ She doesn’t say you’ll meet anyone you would like, or that you would find the people themselves interesting – or even that you would engage in interesting conversations. No, I think she believes that you will dislike her relatives and find their conversations irritating or infuriating. And knowing some of her relatives myself, I believe she is correct.”

“Oh. You just made that up based on what you know of her relatives, then.” Minerva looked slightly put out.

“Well, obviously, knowing that helped, but even so, the sentence speaks for itself . . .” Albus ate another slice of strawberry.

“Why on earth would she invite me to visit a place she finds boring at a time when there are people there whom she thinks I won’t like? Especially since it’s not as though we are particularly close. We’ve never even invited each other to have _tea_ , and now she is inviting me to spend a few days with her at her family home in Cornwall?”

“Well, my dear, I _do_ think that part of the invitation is genuine. She thinks that you need a holiday after your first term teaching. Of course, she doesn’t say the air of Cornwall or its landscape would be restorative, but that a few days spent in Cornwall with her would be restorative. Perhaps she has some particular plan for your visit.” He finished the last of his strawberries.

“But she doesn’t even like me!”

Albus looked up sharply. “Why would you say that, Minerva? I believe she thinks rather highly of you.”

“I don’t know. She never seemed to. Not that she’s . . . well, let’s just say that she and Hagrid have nothing in common, in terms of temperament. She’s not particularly effusive.” Minerva did not want to be rude and call Gertie a cold fish right to Albus’s face, but she was _not_ an especially warm and friendly person.

Albus just grinned at Minerva’s comparison. “No, that she’s not! But she is steadfast and principled, and if she decides you’re a friend, a Hufflepuff couldn’t be more loyal.”

Minerva was very surprised by Albus’s description of Gertie. Not that Minerva had ever lumped her in with the mass of conniving Slytherins with whom she had dealt in school, but to hear a Slytherin described as steadfast, loyal, and principled . . . well, either being sorted into Slytherin had been a hellish mistake or she had changed a great deal since she had been sorted.

Seeing the expression on Minerva’s face, Albus looked at her seriously. “You know, Minerva, just because ambition can make many Slytherins unprincipled does not mean that ambition and principle are mutually exclusive. And although the House emphasises loyalty to oneself, that does not mean that a Slytherin is incapable of loyalty to anyone else – and not necessarily only for self-serving reasons.”

“I’m sorry, Albus. I didn’t mean . . . well, I didn’t say anything like that about her. And I know that she is your friend. You’ve known and trusted her for a long time. So have I. Since you told me about the wards, in fact. I knew that you would not trust anyone who was not worthy of it – or at least, that you wouldn’t do so for very long. I’m just confused by the invitation, I guess.”

“I know. And I have not been particularly happy with the . . . _trend_ in Slytherin over the last several decades, myself. Not that it has ever been a very . . . _comfortable_ House for anyone who is not a Slytherin, but I do believe that some of their more noble traditions and beliefs have been de-emphasised or cast off whilst some of their. . . less progressive ideas and more ruthless beliefs have become exaggerated.” Albus sighed. 

Minerva decided that she would have to learn more about Slytherin House, especially now that she was teaching at Hogwarts. Apparently there was more to it than she had seen from her vantage point as a student. She had never thought of it as having _any_ noble traditions or beliefs.

“Here, let me pour you more tea, Albus.”

Albus studiously watched the teapot as she poured him another cup. 

“I suppose that we should begin discussing school business soon,” Minerva said with a slight sigh.

“Yes. I wish I could spend all day with you, but I do have some work to catch up on this afternoon.”

Minerva brightened at his words. She couldn’t help but smile. He wished he could spend all day with her! Of course, it was probably just an expression. “Yes, that would have been nice, but I understand. . . . You know, Albus, if there’s anything I could help you with, I’d be happy to.” 

“I don’t think so. Not this afternoon, anyway. It’s mostly Ministry and Wizengamot business. I do have some Hogwarts business I would like your help with – your advice, chiefly. Perhaps we could bring our tea over to the couch and talk?”

Minerva was warmed by his words. He wanted her advice. Of course, it may be about something inconsequential, but still . . . . She got up and moved the plant stand in front of the couch and Transfigured it into a low coffee table. Albus carried his teacup and a scone over and set them on the little table. He smiled. “Quite utilitarian, isn’t it, Minerva?”

“Well, it’s what we needed,” she began, somewhat flustered.

“I’m only teasing, Minerva. I just happen to be aware that you are capable of some rather ingenious Transfiguration, and yet you rarely express that talent, that’s all.” He smiled at her and sat down, patting the sofa beside him. “Join me?”

Minerva smiled slightly and did as he suggested. As she sat, she remembered how nice it had been to sit with him before dinner yesterday. She wished she could just cuddle up to him and blushed at the thought. Then she looked at him. “Ingenious Transfiguration? You don’t think I’ve forgotten anything I’ve learned from you, do you, Albus?” She suddenly had a wicked grin on her face. Perhaps she could get what she wanted . . . it wasn’t quite sporting of her, but she would deal with her conscience later.

“I didn’t say that, Minerva –”

There was an almost inaudible pop and beside him sat a beautiful, proud tabby cat. Albus chuckled. “Well, I see you haven’t forgotten how to transform – not that I ever expected that you would have!” he added hastily when the cat beside him rotated a single ear and laid her whiskers back. Albus reached out and petted her, stroking her head and back. Minerva arched and stretched, then flopped down beside him and lay her head on his lap, luxuriating in the rare pleasure of having Albus pet her. She was shameless, she thought as she began to purr, eyes closed in feline bliss.

Albus wished he felt free to do this when Minerva was in her ordinary form. No, he didn’t! If he were to touch her like this, she would run screaming. Well, knowing Minerva, she’d probably hex him first, then run screaming. He sighed. He couldn’t blame her. What witch, young or otherwise, would want an old crock like him touching her? She hadn’t minded last night, he reminded himself. But that was different. She had viewed him as an old friend, emphasis on “old,” comforting her.

Without her realising it, Minerva’s paws had begun to knead the air in front of her. Seeing that, Albus smiled and lifted her more fully onto his lap, and she kneaded his thigh through the two layers of silk. Hmm. Maybe that had not been a good idea. Albus was always aware that the tabby cat was Minerva. He could feel her magical signature as clearly when she was in her Animagus form as he could when she was in her ordinary form. Although he _saw_ a tabby cat kneading his leg, he _felt_ Minerva McGonagall massaging it – granted, it was a rather prickly massage, but it still was having an unfortunate effect upon him. Thankfully, before his problem became acute, Minerva stopped and rolled over, stretching. She curled her paws in front of her and looked up at him.

“Hmm, yes, Minerva, you have perfected the ‘I’m-a-cute-little-kitten and don’t-you-want-to-rub-my-tummy so I-can-suddenly-turn-into-a-fierce-predator’ act. You don’t have me fooled!” Nonetheless, Albus gave in and rubbed her soft tummy, only to have his arm grabbed. Minerva kicked his arm a few times, very gently, before letting go.

“Now, I think you have proven your point, Minerva,” Albus said with a smile. “You haven’t lost your ingenuity.”

Minerva yawned and stretched. It was lovely to be a cat. Rules of etiquette were quite different when one was a cat. Mid-stretch, she transformed back to her ordinary form and immediately blushed to find herself lying with her head in Albus’s lap. She sat up quickly. Too quickly, as she banged him in the chin on the way up and then proceeded to roll off the couch with a thump.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Albus asked with a broad smile, looking down at Minerva as she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. 

“It’s much easier when you’re a cat,” she grumbled.

Albus couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry, my dear. I shouldn’t laugh!”

She grinned up at him as he reached out to help her up. Settled back on the couch, Minerva pushed a stray hair from her face. Her carefully constructed bun must be coming down, she thought. “That’s what you get when you taunt me about my Transfiguration skills, Albus.”

“I shall bear that in mind, then. I do remember the embarrassment you inflicted upon Madame Feuilly at Beauxbatons. Quite vividly. I am sure that everyone else who was present that day does, too.” He tried to maintain a straight face, but his blue eyes twinkled with merriment.

Minerva laughed. She hadn’t thought of that in a long time. Fed up with the Ministry, Minerva had decided to apply for an apprenticeship in Transfiguration. She was a little older than most usually were when they started, but after consulting with Albus, she had been sure that she would be able to get a decent apprenticeship and finish it within a year or so, rather than the standard two or three years – although the master determined, within certain limitations, when the apprentice could apply to be admitted to fully Mastery, Albus had assured her that at her current level of accomplishment, any master worth his wand could bring her up to master level within a year or so.

Minerva soon found, however, that masters didn’t want an apprentice who already came in knowing as much as she did. They relied on having an apprentice for at least two years, and they saw it as hardly worth their effort to work with a witch who would arrive at master level in half that time. Minerva had swallowed hard and begun to offer to include a minimum two-year term in her contract, but recent changes in international wizarding law made such a clause unenforceable: if a witch or wizard had reached master level and their master refused to present them for examination, the witch or wizard had recourse to an expedited and efficient grievance system. Masters could no longer exploit clearly qualified apprentices by keeping them on past the point at which their training should be complete. This meant that no matter what Minerva was willing to put in the contract, she could not sign away her right to grieve if a master did not present her at the end of a year, if she were ready to qualify at that time. No master was willing to take Minerva’s word for it that she would not take advantage of that right.

Albus had offered to assist her in finding a suitable placement, but Minerva had proudly refused, feeling it would be cheating in some way. Finally, the Transfiguration mistress at Beauxbatons had offered to take her; she was willing to have an apprentice for twelve to eighteen months. Albus had looked somewhat dubious when Minerva had met him in a café in Edinburgh to give him the news. Madame Feuilly was not the most talented Transfiguration mistress in Europe, but she was willing to take Minerva, and so Minerva was willing to study under someone who was less talented than her former Transfiguration teacher.

Unfortunately, “less talented” was a kind understatement. Feuilly was competent at performing Transfiguration spells. Barely. She understood the rudiments of Transfiguration theory. Rudiments that Minerva had mastered by her fourth year at Hogwarts. Her method of teaching at Beauxbatons consisted of assigning rote memorisation of the text book and a very unimaginative and basic series of practical exercises. No one at Beauxbatons had taken the French equivalent of a NEWT in Transfiguration in more than ten years, and few students studied Transfiguration after the first four years required by the school.

Needless to say, Minerva was extremely unhappy once the reality of the situation hit her. The only way that she could be allowed out of the apprenticeship early would be if Madame Feuilly agreed to release her. Which she refused to do. Feuilly justified herself by saying, correctly, that no other master would consider taking a witch who had been previously released from an apprenticeship. Minerva felt resigned to reading and grading very dull student essays on very dull topics written in very poor French. The two women avoided each other, and Madame Feuilly did not even make a pretense of attempting to teach Minerva anything, for which Minerva was very glad. If Feuilly had been capable of learning anything, Minerva could have taught _her_. 

One day, in Beauxbatons’ excellent library, Minerva ran across something called the “Apprentice’s Challenge.” It was an old tradition that had never been abolished, although no one had used it in Transfiguration for at least two hundred fifty years. Essentially, the apprentice challenged her master to a duel – not a combat, but a competition. There were set spells that each had to perform in front of an audience, followed by a free-form challenge. The competition would be judged by three other masters from the same field and two masters from unrelated fields. If three of the five judged the apprentice to be “more fit” than the master, the apprentice was released. This did not mean that the apprentice received Mastery, but it would mean that Minerva would be freed from what she considered an intolerable situation. She knew it would be unlikely that she would ever be accepted by another master after such a performance, but decided that she had nothing to lose.

Proud of her daughter, Egeria still kept the clippings from the _Daily Prophet_ , _Transfiguration Today_ , and the French wizarding newspaper, _Le Voyant Clair_. The newspapers were not kind to the French Transfiguration mistress. To have called Minerva’s victory a rout would have been like calling a solar flare a slight spark. Minerva felt a bit bad afterwards; Madame Feuilly was completely humiliated and left Beauxbatons at the end of the school year never to return. Feuilly had brought it on herself, Minerva reasoned. Right up to the point at which Minerva had made the formal Challenge, Feuilly could have been reasonable and released Minerva, but she hadn’t. Once the Challenge was issued, there was no going back. Minerva had given Madame Feuilly the three written warnings required by custom and had also spoken with her personally, practically begging the older woman to see reason and release her before she made the Challenge. Minerva never knew if Feuilly had simply believed that Minerva would never go through with it, or if she had believed that the competition would be rigged in her favour by the other masters, or if she genuinely (and quite naively) believed that she could defeat Minerva. 

One fortunate side effect of Minerva’s Challenge, however, was that Beauxbatons began producing students who were well-trained in Transfiguration. Minerva had met two of them who were visiting London on holiday. She was working in the Office of Experimental Transfiguration when a colleague stuck his head through her door and told her that two French girls were looking for her. At least he _thought_ they were looking for her – they didn’t know her last name and had just said they were looking for _“Minerve, la grande dame de la Metamorphosis.”_ Minerva was embarrassed when they came in and gawked at her. They were fifth-year Transfiguration students at Beauxbatons and had heard the “legend” of how the previous teacher had been driven away by the English Transfiguration apprentice, “Minerve,” and thus created a new era of Transfiguration studies at their school. They were surprised that “Minerve” was so young – at sixteen, they thought anything that had happened before they arrived at the school had to be ancient history.

Sitting there in her room at Hogwarts, laughing with Albus, Minerva felt as though it really had been ancient history, and that nothing that had happened before that moment mattered. He was so handsome, blue eyes twinkling as he smiled at her. Yes, if she could maintain this friendship with him, she would be happy, Minerva thought. It would be enough, more than she deserved, and she would be lucky to have it. She ignored her present longing to throw her arms around him as she laughed – to hold him not out of any sexual desire, but just out of her sense of joy and love for him. Yes, she would make this friendship suffice. It was more than she could have hoped for. Albus brought joy into her life; she would learn how to overcome any pain arising from the necessity of retaining a greater distance from him than she desired. And his happiness was paramount. If there were anything that made him happy, Minerva would be happy for him. Even if his happiness resided in another person . . .

Albus smiled at Minerva and thought that nothing mattered if Minerva were here at Hogwarts with him. It had caused him trouble with the Board of Governors when he refused to hire a new Transfiguration teacher after he had become Headmaster. It was not the most propitious way to begin his relationship with the Board, but it also had given him the opportunity to assert his authority as Headmaster and win. And now he had his dear Minerva here. She seemed to be happy in his company – just as he was in hers, Albus thought, with the understanding, of course, that his happiness was mixed with other feelings that she certainly did not possess. But this, yes, _this_ was worth putting aside his own discomfort, to be able to spend time with her. It would be enough, more than he could expect.

They heard a rap at the door, then the Silent Knight lumbered through the landscape frame, followed by his dog. The Knight bowed and the dog barked.

Catching her breath, Minerva said, “I’m not expecting anyone. If that knight wasn’t so useless, he could tell me who it is.” She pushed herself up off the couch. “Excuse me just a minute, Albus.”

When Minerva opened the door to her, Poppy could see that any worries she had about her friend were for naught. Minerva was pink-cheeked and smiling, hair straggling out from her bun, and behind her, Poppy could see Albus sitting, head half-turned toward the door, on the sofa, and the remains of the couple’s breakfast on the table by the window.

“Good morning, Minerva. I came by to see how you were and ask if you’d had your breakfast yet, but I see that you have,” said Poppy with a smile and a quirked eyebrow.

“Yes, the Headmaster and I just had breakfast. We are meeting now about, um, Hogwarts.”

“I came by last night to see if you were all right,” Poppy said in a low voice, “but you weren’t in. I was a little worried, especially since you weren’t at dinner.”

“I was meeting with the Headmaster,” Minerva responded quietly. “We missed dinner.”

“I see.” Poppy looked past Minerva at the remains of their breakfast. She grinned broadly. “I see! Well, we’ll just have to get together later.” In a louder voice, she said, “I’m sorry to have interrupted your meeting, Albus. ’Bye, Minerva!” Poppy winked at her friend.

Suddenly realising the conclusion that Poppy must have drawn, Minerva blushed. “I will talk to you later, Poppy. I’ll come by the hospital wing. Good bye.” Minerva shut the door without waiting for a response, and leaned on it. Her face was burning with embarrassment, and Albus would notice and want to know why.

“It’s nice that you have such a good friend, Minerva,” Albus said from his place on the couch. “It was good of her to come by and check on you. When I saw her yesterday afternoon, she had said she would drop by to see you in the evening. I didn’t think to mention it to you.” When Minerva didn’t turn around, Albus got up and came around the couch. “Are you all right, my dear?”

“Yes, yes, of course, Albus. It’s just that . . . that it all reminded me of yesterday morning, that’s all.” Minerva turned, relieved that she had found a plausible excuse for her embarrassment.

“Oh, my dear, I do hope you are able to look back at that and laugh someday. It really wasn’t so horrible, you know. Just think, we wouldn’t have had dinner last night – or breakfast this morning – if it weren’t for our mutual indiscretions.”

Minerva gaped at him. “Mutual? You didn’t do anything! You keep acting as though everything was your fault. Even last night, you would not let me apologise properly.” Forgetting that her distress about the incident was supposed to be feigned, just a cover for her embarrassment that Poppy had thought that she and Albus had, had . . . had spent _uninterrupted time together_ since dinner yesterday, Minerva now became genuinely upset. “How am I supposed to look back and laugh when it still makes me cringe to think about it?”

Albus didn’t know what to say. He wanted to say that he was sorry, but it seemed that Minerva didn’t want to hear that. “Perhaps it would help if you talked about it?” he offered.

Minerva sighed. They had been having a nice time, and she had to ruin it. “I don’t know, Albus.” 

He took her arm gently. “Come, sit with me, Minerva.” As he said that, it occurred to him that he would have to be very careful and not do anything unwise.

They resumed the places they had occupied before Poppy had arrived. Albus stayed quiet. He knew that he had a tendency to want to “fix” everything, but it seemed that he could not fix this, and that it might be best for Minerva if he just let her talk.

“Albus, I want you to understand that I really do appreciate everything you did yesterday. The dinner was wonderful, your apology . . . it meant more to me than you can possibly imagine. And I know that you planned it that way in order to please me, to show me that you didn’t mean to hurt my feelings. But Albus, you never gave me a genuine opportunity to apologise for what you overheard me say.” Albus opened his mouth as if to speak, but Minerva held up her hand. “Please let me finish what I have to say this morning. I let you interrupt me last night every time I tried to apologise, but I won’t this morning. You can say what you like when I’m done.”

Albus nodded. Minerva sighed and closed her eyes, gathering her thoughts. It was so difficult to apologise when you could only reveal a small portion of your feelings. 

“Albus, you know that what I said, I said in the heat of the moment, after a long build up. You know that I felt . . . neglected, I suppose, or that you didn’t respect me.” She looked up at him. Albus remained silent, listening to her attentively. “I certainly had no right to feel neglected, nor to have any expectations from you except that you would treat me as a Headmaster treats one of his teachers, and I know now, of course, that you did not act out of any disrespect for me, either. It’s just that . . . you know how a person can have certain hopes and expectations when they start something new? Well, I came to Hogwarts with certain hopes and expectations, and it seemed that . . .” Here, Minerva swallowed and gathered her courage. “It seemed that my greatest hope, which I had feared was simply unrealistic, had been completely foolish.” Minerva looked at her hands, which she had been wringing in her lap. She stilled them with an effort, but did not look up. “I had hoped that we might continue our friendship. That we might become . . . better friends, I suppose. And my hope was raised after you came to the house-warming that Poppy had for me. I didn’t harbour any illusions that we would be able to see each other like that all of the time once term started, of course. But I felt that I never saw you at all. And it got so that I would look forward to every meeting we had – not that there were many – no matter what the subject, and yet you were late to every one of them.” 

Minerva’s voice had fallen to a whisper. “I know that you have apologised and explained, Albus. And you needn’t apologise again. I understand, and it’s all right. I accepted your apology immediately and without any reservations. I am just trying to explain to you – and to myself – my state of mind yesterday morning. I was hurt and angry – and I should have talked to you earlier, I know. But as I said last night, each incident seemed too petty to become upset over, and I care about you so much, I did not want to seem to be demanding anything of you. After I left your office yesterday morning, I just kept going over in my head every little thing that you _hadn’t_ done, and I forgot all of the wonderful things you _have_ done for me – not just in the last six months, but ever since I have known you. By the time I had finished telling Poppy about your rescheduling our appointment because you had to meet with Gertrude and then condition your beard, I had worked myself into quite a state.” 

Minerva swallowed and looked up at Albus again, who was gazing at her with a knitted brow. “I want you to know two things at least, Albus, and please, _please_ believe me. First, I have _never_ said anything like that about you before to anyone – not even just to myself. And second, I would never, ever want to hurt your feelings. I can only imagine what you felt when you heard what I said, especially since you refuse to talk to me about it. And that’s all right. You don’t need to if you don’t want to. But I want you to know that I care for you so, I would rather cut out my tongue than think I would ever deliberately say anything that would hurt you. I am very sorry, Albus. Please forgive me.”

Albus cleared his throat and blinked hard. Tears had come into his eyes during the last part of Minerva’s apology. “Minerva. Of course. You know that I forgave any hurt you might have inadvertently caused me, even before we met at lunch.” He cleared his throat again and reached a hand out to one of hers. A sense of relief flooded him when she took it. “You say that I refused to talk to you about how I felt. But that’s not it. I just could see that I had caused you a far greater hurt, and much more directly. You did not know that I was standing there, listening to what you were saying. And although I did not deliberately set out to hurt you, my actions were of a very different nature. It was easy to forgive you, my dear Minerva. Since you seem to need to know how I felt when I overheard what you said, I _did_ feel stunned and hurt. I had no idea that . . . well, I feared that you might . . . You must know that I care for you, Minerva, and for a moment I feared that everything I had believed . . . I feared . . .” For all that Albus had claimed that he was no longer affected by what Minerva had said, he seemed unable to articulate what he had feared.

“You feared that I was so angry that we weren’t friends any longer? Or that I didn’t care for you?” asked Minerva. 

Albus nodded, looking at their joined hands. Somehow while he had been talking, Minerva had taken his other hand in hers and held them both. “I thought you might even – and I know this will sound ridiculous, it did to me even as I feared it – but I thought you might even . . . hate me,” he ended in a whisper. How could he be the wizard who defeated Grindelwald, he wondered, when he could barely force out those absurd words?

“Oh, Albus!” Minerva let go of his hands, and Albus felt suddenly bereft until he discovered himself in her embrace. “Oh, Albus, I could _never_ hate you. You are right,” she said, drawing back slightly to look at him, “it _does_ sound ridiculous. But it’s all right, because I had the same fear, you know.” She smiled at him.

Albus found his arms around her. He held her close and shut his eyes. Oh, she was wonderful, wonderful. He lay his cheek against her forehead and just held her. “I think I like it when you apologise. I should have let you do it last night,” he whispered. Minerva seemed to melt against him. 

“Last night was your turn; this morning is mine,” she replied. Oh, God, she didn’t want to let him go. Yet he didn’t seem to mind. Finally, Minerva forced herself to sit back away from him, though she left her arms loosely at his sides. “I don’t suppose we should insult each other just so that we can do that again,” she said with a slight smile. She was not sure she should have said it, it came out before she could stop herself, but Albus smiled in response.

“No, my dear, I think that the next time, we should skip the insults.” He wanted to add, _and proceed directly to the embrace_ , but he didn’t.

“Well, I must look quite a mess by now, my hair, especially,” she said, trying to change the subject.

“Your hair is lovely, Minerva. Although perhaps not as . . . perfect as it was earlier.” 

Minerva smiled and could feel a slight warmth creep into her cheeks. “I still think I should take a minute to fix it. And we should probably get another pot of tea, don’t you think?” Without waiting for his reply, she stood and called, “Blampa!”

Blampa appeared with a sharp pop. “Yes, Professor Minerva? How may Blampa serve?”

“Blampa, we would like a fresh pot of tea, and you may clear the breakfast things, except for the scones, butter and marmalade – unless you’d like anything else, Albus? – yes, and you may leave the ginger newts, as well.”

“Did Professor Minerva and her Professor Headmaster have a nice breakfast?” Blampa asked.

Minerva found Blampa a house-elf of many contradictions. She was terrified of doing anything wrong, cringed and whinged whenever she thought she’d displeased Minerva, and yet here she was asking whether their breakfast had been nice. She supposed it was a new way Blampa had to fish for compliments.

“Yes, Blampa, it was very good. Thank you. You did a good job.”

Blampa bounced with happiness. “Good, good! Now I, Blampa, get Professor Minerva and her Professor Headmaster very nice tea! Yes! Yes!” With a final shout of “Yes!” Blampa popped out and was followed by all of the used breakfast dishes.

“So, that is the house-elf that Wilspy spoke of last night.”

“Mmm. Did you notice she brought ginger newts for our breakfast? I am going to have to explain to her that ginger newts are not required at every meal, I believe.”

“Does she always refer to herself that way?” Albus asked with an amused smile.

“That’s new. I am trying to get her to speak more properly; that is as far as we have come. The contrast is a bit peculiar, isn’t it – her high, squeaking voice and that somewhat pompous sounding ‘I, Blampa’?” Minerva grinned. “Well, I’m going to make myself more presentable. I’ll just be a minute, Albus.” 

“That’s fine, my dear. I won’t go anywhere!” He wanted to reach out and touch her again, but he couldn’t. She wasn’t the type to go about hugging everyone, so Albus doubted there was much danger that Minerva would hug him again for a long while, but if she did, he would have to discourage her. It was too difficult for him to hold her and then let her go. Not to mention that he was wary of having his not-so-little “problem” pop up again. That would be disastrous. She may care about him and not wish to hurt him, but he knew that if she had any inkling of the true nature of his feelings, she would not want to have anything to do with him. Even worse, Minerva might pity him, poor, pathetic old sod that he was. Albus could not bear the thought that she might pity him as a decrepit fool in his dotage. He would have to learn how to live with his feelings and take control of his body without resorting to Cooling Charms, that was all there was to it.


	30. Speculation and Facing Oneself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Albus finish their discussion and each speculates about their relationship.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Rubeus Hagrid, and Fawkes.

**XXX: Speculation and Facing Oneself**

Minerva sat at her dressing table. Her hair wasn’t the complete disaster she had thought it was. The braid had helped. Using her wand, she took her hair down completely, then brushed it out. Thinking of her unceremonious return to her ordinary form, she smiled and shook her head slightly. At least Albus had a sense of humour about that. But then Poppy had to show up before she had gathered herself together. Of course, it wasn’t just Minerva’s slightly frowsy appearance that had Poppy adding two plus two and coming up with five. She could have concluded the same thing after seeing the breakfast dishes. Minerva shouldn’t have said anything about having spent the evening with Albus. 

As Minerva picked up her wand to style her hair, she felt miffed at Poppy. Really, that wink! Any _normal_ witch would never have thought that his mere presence in Minerva’s rooms that morning after they’d spent the evening together meant that they hadn’t parted in the meantime. He was the Headmaster! _And_ more than three times her age. Just because Minerva’s _own_ feelings didn’t seem to take those little factors into account didn’t mean that Poppy shouldn’t have kept them in mind. She probably thought that Minerva was desperate for male company and had taken advantage of the Headmaster. How insulting to Albus! As though Minerva would use him that way – or as though he would allow such a thing! Minerva would have to have a talk with Poppy this afternoon. Straighten out her thinking on a few things. 

Albus was not the type for a casual fling. At least not in the years Minerva had known him. Perhaps when he was a young man. She realised that she knew very little about what Albus had done and what he had been like before she had met him. Minerva thought of the book on Animagus Transfiguration he had given her at the end of her fifth year. He had told her he was young when he wrote it, but she realised at some point that year, after learning he had been at school with her Great-uncle Perseus, that he must have been in his fifties at the time – hardly “young” by most people’s standards. What had he done before he came to Hogwarts, and what had he given up in order to do so? Minerva remembered that Albus had said he originally thought he would be at the school for only six or seven years. It had now been twenty, and he was Headmaster. It was unlikely that he would be leaving the school anytime soon. Many Headmasters and Headmistresses died in the post. Poor Headmaster Dippet had died just months before he had planned to retire. Thinking of Headmasters dying in their posts created a constriction in Minerva’s chest. Albus was old. He could die at any time. The normal lifespan of a healthy wizard could range anywhere from one hundred to one hundred sixty years old. She could lose him any day. 

Minerva swallowed hard. She must not think gloomy thoughts; she had to rejoin Albus in just a minute. She would make sure he took good care of himself; she could do that. Poppy always said that he drove himself too hard and took on too much. Minerva felt a pang of conscience. She had complained bitterly about how he had always been late for their meetings, but she hadn’t drawn the obvious conclusion that he was over-worked and was trying to fit too much into his day. And he had a hard time saying “no” when he was asked for his help, Minerva was sure. Albus was a strong enough – and brilliant enough – wizard to be able to take on the work of several ordinary wizards, and people just took him for granted. It was part of his image as the unassailable icon of the wizarding world – he had defeated Grindelwald and then returned to Hogwarts the next week, after all! Dumbledore could do anything, some people thought.

These thoughts increased Minerva’s irritation with Poppy – and with herself. Albus was not only _not_ the type to have flings, it wouldn’t be good for him at his age! He was probably not even interested in that sort of thing anymore. Of course, Albus _was_ a man, he might still feel the occasional . . . “urge” now and then. It was biology, after all. Not that Minerva would _want_ a fling with him. That would be dreadful. How would she ever get over it once it ended? She no longer had any illusions that her feelings for Albus would just go away on their own. A brief, meaningless affair would only make things far worse, not to mention that it would make their current friendship awkward, if not impossible. 

Minerva made a quick trip to the loo before returning to the sitting room. She had been gone for less than ten minutes, but Albus had fallen asleep on her couch. Minerva didn’t think he looked particularly comfortable partially reclined against the arm of the settee. The fresh tea was sitting on the coffee table. Albus hadn’t drunk any of it yet. Perhaps he had fallen asleep before it had arrived, or else he had been waiting for her to return. Minerva hesitated. Albus might need his sleep, but she doubted he would be very happy to wake up and discover that he had lost part of his day. It sounded as though he had a lot of work to do that afternoon.

Although she had decided she should wake Albus, Minerva took advantage of the moment just to look at him. Over the years that she had known him, his hair had turned from auburn and grey to just grey, and now it was becoming grey with a good deal of white. She loved his hair, and the older he became, the more beautiful it was. His glasses were resting on the coffee table. He had been wearing them when she had left the room. Albus had probably decided to rest his eyes for a moment and then fell asleep, she thought. The crook in his nose was more evident when he removed his glasses, and Minerva had always thought that it gave his sharp nose character. The furrows in Albus’s brow were deeper than they had been when she was a student, but there were no more than there had been then, and his skin still looked supple and healthy, his cheeks lightly pink. His lips . . . for some reason, Minerva loved Albus’s lips. She supposed that objectively, they were nothing special, but somehow their shape and the proportion of his lower lip to his upper were perfection. And his beard . . . 

Albus had a magnificent beard. Full and soft-looking, it reached his belt and was nicely shaped at the end. It was a bit rougher than it appeared to be, but not by very much. Minerva had loved the way it felt against her cheek last night as he held her. Albus’s over-robe had fallen open as he reclined on the couch, and with appreciation, Minerva could see his broad shoulders and powerful torso tapering down to slim hips, the cummerbund emphasizing the contrast between his solid, well-built chest and his narrower waist. 

Warmth crept through Minerva. She shouldn’t be looking at him like this. It wasn’t right. But she didn’t simply desire him; she loved him. Heart and soul, body and mind, with the full depth and breadth of her being. Minerva could acknowledge that now. She had to. With that acknowledgment, she could gain some measure of control over her reactions to him and some control over her life. Taking herself in hand now, she approached the couch and bent over him.

“Albus! Albus, dear,” Minerva called, placing a chaste hand on his shoulder. 

He opened his eyes and smiled at her. 

“I’m sorry to awaken you, but I didn’t think you would want to sleep,” she explained.

“Thank you, Minerva. I had just wanted to rest my eyes for a moment.”

“You should try to have an early night, Albus. You need to take care of yourself.”

Albus straightened and sat up. “We shall see. I do have a lot of work that won’t do itself.”

“You know, Albus, you don’t need to take on everything that everyone asks of you,” Minerva said, sitting beside him.

“That would be an impossibility, my dear. I already must disappoint a great many people, I am afraid. However, I do agree that perhaps I should pay more attention to my priorities in the future. You among them,” he added with a smile.

“You needn’t worry about me, Albus. I’m a grown witch. My behaviour yesterday was disgraceful, and I have been very self-centred. You really must not overextend yourself. You will be no good to anyone if you make yourself ill.”

“Yes, Mother McGonagall! I shall remember that. In the meantime, perhaps we could proceed with the purpose of our meeting?”

“Of course. I’m sorry.” 

“I realised after you left the room that the materials you brought with you last night are still in my office. I don’t believe that a discussion of the seventh-year curriculum is urgent, so we don’t need to do it this very moment, although I don’t want to delay too much, either. I know that tomorrow is Saturday, and you probably have plans for your week-end, but if you decide to accept Gertie’s invitation, you will be gone next week. Would you have any objections to meeting tomorrow to go over the curriculum, and this morning we could just discuss the other issues I wanted your thoughts about?”

“No, that sounds fine, Albus. I had nothing specific planned for tomorrow, anyway. Shall I pour us some tea?”

After they had settled with their tea, Albus turned to her with a serious expression.

“You know, of course, that this was Professor Dustern’s last year and that we have been looking for a new Charms teacher. Whilst her resignation did not come as a surprise – in fact, I thought she would have left at the end of last year and actually had a replacement in mind before she told me that she was leaving – her departure leaves us with no Head of House for Hufflepuff. The Charms master I have offered the position to was a Ravenclaw as a student, and Hogwarts requires that the Head of House be a member of that House. In addition, Professor Grubbly-Plank informed me a few days ago that she has been offered a position at the Welsh Green Sanctuary. Although her contract takes her through the end of the next school year, I am inclined to release her early. Such opportunities are not to be had every day, and I do not want to stand in the way of her career. Still, she must give them an answer in a fortnight, and she must be able to take up the position no later than December thirty-first or the offer is void. This unexpected development means that we need to find a teacher for Care of Magical Creatures _and_ a Head of House for Gryffindor.” Albus paused to sip his tea.

“I didn’t realise that you were so well-prepared for Professor Dustern’s resignation, Albus. I was surprised to learn that she was leaving.”

“Professor Dustern and I have always had a civil relationship. When I was Deputy Headmaster, we had a few . . . differences of opinion occasionally, but we worked them out professionally. Despite that, I have always been aware that if I became Headmaster, she would likely leave at the first opportunity. I was more surprised by the fact that she finished her contract term and did not ask to be allowed to resign earlier. Perhaps it was loyalty to the school, or to her House, or perhaps she wanted to see if she could bear working here with me as Headmaster.” Albus was amused by the shocked expression on Minerva’s face.

“You mean she doesn’t _like_ you?”

“Not everyone does, you know, Minerva,” Albus said with a grin.

“Yes, but, well, I thought anyone who didn’t like you either had to be a complete fool or allied with the Dark. And I never saw anything to indicate that she didn’t like you.”

“Mmm. We got along well enough for a while. But she had difficulties with some decisions I took during my first few years here, and that set the tone for our other interactions. But Professor Dustern is a professional, Minerva. She never would have broadcast her feelings on the subject, especially not to a student. I am sure she has had a few choice words to say about me in private on occasion, though,” he chuckled.

Minerva flushed, thinking of her own unprofessional and indiscreet behaviour the previous morning. Of course, Poppy had been right. She had only allowed herself to go on like that because she didn’t believe that there was anyone to overhear.

“I’m not sure I understand why her leaving is a problem for Hufflepuff House, though. You say that the Head has to be a member of the House, but Professor Birnbaum didn’t even attend Hogwarts,” Minerva said, puzzled.

“That turns out to have been the result of a fortuitous joke. Well, not a joke, precisely. But one night after a few drinks with Armando, some of us thought it would be fun to have a private Sorting Ceremony for Johannes. We all trooped up to the Headmaster’s Office, set the Sorting Hat on Johannes’s head, and with nary a hesitation, the Hat shouted out, ‘Ravenclaw!’ When we needed a Head of House for Ravenclaw a few years later, he seemed the natural choice. A few members of the Board of Governors were unhappy – they didn’t think he could be a ‘true Ravenclaw’ if he hadn’t been a student in their House – but the House Roll listed him as its Head, which it wouldn’t have done if he were unacceptable, and he has done well there ever since. However, that brings me to the next staff change. Professor Birnbaum has told me, informally, that at the end of the next school year, he will not be returning. He thinks it is time for him to return to Germany and put together a new life there. He has stayed far longer than he had intended to when he came here in 1943. I understand that. But that means we have to conduct a search for a new Herbology teacher, as well.”

“But at least we have more time with that position. And if the new Charms teacher is a Ravenclaw, perhaps he would be interested in being their Head of House. He’ll have a year of teaching and know the students by then. Who is it, by the way? Do I know him?”

“Filius Flitwick. Good-hearted, down-to-earth, and he has a lot of experience, as well.”

“I think I’ve heard the name . . . didn’t he work at the Ministry in Experimental Charms for a while?” Minerva asked.

“Yes, although he was in another area by the time you started.”

Minerva recognised the euphemism “in another area”; it was what people at the Ministry said when someone had been moved into the Department of Mysteries. Someone’s employment in that Department was not necessarily a secret, but people didn’t talk about it casually, either.

“He must be good, then. I look forward to meeting him.”

“But you do see the quandary we are in, don’t you? We have a surfeit of Slytherins, a few Ravenclaws, and very few Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors.”

Minerva ran through the list in her head:  
-Potions, Slughorn, Slytherin (obviously);  
-Arithmancy, Gertrude Gamp, Slytherin;  
-Herbology, Birnbaum, Ravenclaw;  
-Magical Creatures, Grubbly-Plank, Gryffindor;  
-Charms, Flitwick, Ravenclaw;  
-History, Binns – well, she didn’t know what House Binns had been in, but as he was now a ghost, he would hardly be an appropriate Head of House;  
-Astronomy, Herder, Ravenclaw;  
-Divination, MacAirt, Hufflepuff, possibly, though she wasn’t sure;  
-Defence, Pretnick, Gryffindor – there was a possibility to take over for Wilhelmina, she supposed, although he was a bit peculiar;  
-Ancient Runes, Evandras, Ravenclaw; and  
-Muggle Studies, James – she didn’t know what House he had been in.

“Isn’t Pretnick Gryffindor?” she asked.

“Yes, he is, and I am very fond of Robert, but try to picture him as a Head of House. I don’t think that he possesses the correct disposition. Not that there is any one way to be a Head, of course. But . . .” 

Albus did not want to speak ill of one of his staff, Minerva could see.

“He’s an odd duck, is what you’re saying, Albus. And rather quieter than most Gryffindors, but he may be our only option at the moment.”

“Our _only_ option, Minerva?”

“Well, I don’t know what House James was in. He’s nice enough. Was he Gryffindor?” Many Muggle-borns were sorted into Gryffindor, for some reason, and Minerva had the impression that he was Muggle-born or, at least, that he had one Muggle parent. He wasn’t as much of an idiot as her own Muggle Studies teacher had been – Minerva had doubted the veracity of one half of what he’d taught and the accuracy of the other!

“Norman James was in Hufflepuff, actually. But he made it quite clear some time ago that he does not want to be Head of House. I will mention it to him, of course. Perhaps he has changed his mind or wouldn’t mind stepping in for a year or so, just temporarily.”

“Well, it seems that once we know who you’re hiring to take Wilhelmina’s place, we’ll know what the options are for Gryffindor. And I suppose you’ll just have to talk to James – appeal to his House loyalty. What about MacAirt, though? She must have been a Hufflepuff.” 

Albus laughed. “I do see that I will have to work on your preconceptions, Minerva. Hafrena MacAirt is a Slytherin.”

“Oh. There _are_ a lot of them on the staff, aren’t there?” Minerva thought a moment. “What does Gertrude think?” As Deputy, surely she had a role to play in finding suitable candidates for staff positions.

“I told her she needn’t worry about it whilst on holiday, but she did say that she would think about it and send me her recommendations by owl.”

That must have been what they had been discussing at lunch, then. But she had said something about not changing her mind. She must have been speaking of something else at that point. Emboldened by the fact that Albus was consulting her, Minerva decided to ask about it. 

“Before Gertrude left yesterday, she said something about not changing her mind. What did she mean?”

Albus hesitated, drinking the last of his tea. “It was another matter. Until she comes to a final decision, I think I’d rather not go into it, if you don’t mind, Minerva.” He smiled at her. “We do have enough to discuss already, don’t we?”

“All right. I was just a little curious. Back to the matter at hand, then.” Minerva was surprised that Albus was reluctant to tell her what Gertrude had been talking about. But if he didn’t want to discuss it, she had told herself more than once that their business was their own, and she wasn’t going to press him about it. “Do you have any ideas for recruiting to fill the Magical Creatures position? I agree with you that it seems unfair to deprive Wilhelmina of this opportunity. Do you have someone in mind?” Perhaps Albus knew someone he thought would suit the position, as he had in the case of the Charms post.

“No. I have given it a great deal of thought, of course, and while a few names have come to mind, none are exceptional enough to justify a closed recruitment. I think we should advertise in the professional journals and see what kind of applicants respond. I have a list of journals in my office that I thought would be likely to reach the sort of person we might want. Could you come by my office later today and look at it? There may be one or two that I have missed, and I'd like to submit the advertisements on Monday.”

Minerva doubted very much that she could contribute anything, but didn’t say so, and agreed to stop by his office that afternoon.

“Good. I will leave it out for you, in case I am not there when you arrive. You could retrieve your curriculum materials, as well, while you are there. In the meantime, I’d like you to think about the current staffing situation and tomorrow when we meet, you can let me know if you have any ideas.” Albus smiled at her. He was surprised that she hadn’t offered to take Gryffindor House herself. He might have to come right out and suggest it to her. It didn’t seem as though the idea had even occurred to her. Rather endearing, actually. He felt slightly bad about not answering her question about Gertrude’s remark at lunch, but thought it for the best at the moment. After all, if nothing changed in their situation, there would be nothing to inform Minerva of.

“That’s fine, Albus. I’d be happy to contribute whatever I can, you know that.”

“Would you mind going through the applications when they begin to arrive, then? A first sort-through to eliminate any obviously unsuitable candidates?”

“No, not at all, Albus. But isn’t that the sort of thing that Gertrude usually does for you?”

“As you know, I handled your recruitment personally. And although Gertie took over the correspondence once Filius agreed to take the Charms position, I had my own ‘short list’ of preferred candidates. Since Filius was my top choice, there was no need to do anything else once I offered him the job and he accepted it. So I suppose that we haven’t got a system for dealing with filling vacant positions.”

Minerva thought that was not very organised of them, but didn’t say so. She also thought that if Gertie was the great friend that Albus claimed she was, she would have volunteered to do more to help him. But of course, if she had, then Albus wouldn’t have asked Minerva to help, and Minerva certainly did not want to discourage him.

“Well, as I said, Albus, I will be happy to help in whatever way I can.”

“Thank you, my dear. Now I must be going, I’m afraid. I might be able to get through some of my other work before lunch if I am diligent about it,” he said with a smile.

“It was nice having breakfast with you. I’m sorry we still haven’t discussed the seventh-year classes, but it was good that we got a chance to talk, I think,” said Minerva.

“Yes, it was. And perhaps we can do this again. Breakfast, I mean, before the day has begun making its usual demands on us.”

“I would like that very much, Albus.” Minerva smiled with pleasure as she showed Albus to the door. “I will stop by your office later this afternoon, then, to look at that list. Will I see you at lunch?”

“Possibly. I am not sure. I may need to leave at some point, or I may just have a bite in my office. But I will see you tomorrow – just drop by. I should be in my office or my rooms most of the day. If I step out, I’ll leave a message for you with the portraits letting you know where you can find me. How would that be?”

“That sounds fine.”

Minerva was holding the open door for him. Albus hesitated. Simply saying good-bye seemed so inadequate, not to mention that, although his work called to him, he really did not want to leave. 

“This was truly lovely, Minerva. Thank you for all the trouble you went to.”

“It was no trouble at all, Albus. I hardly cooked the breakfast myself, after all.” She smiled, glad he had enjoyed himself.

“Perhaps not, but for your company . . . thank you, my dear.” As he had the evening before, Albus took her right hand in his and raised it to his lips. This time, though, he did not release her hand as he straightened. His voice low, he said, “I am glad I overheard your complaints to Poppy yesterday, however you might feel about it, Minerva. Whatever else I may have been doing, I had been depriving myself of your company, and that was a great deprivation, indeed.” Albus squeezed her hand slightly and released it, overcoming the urge to step closer to her, to kiss her forehead or her cheek. Instead, he stepped backward through the open door, then turned and walked quickly away. 

Minerva stood and looked after him for a moment as he walked down the narrow hallway that led to the broader main corridor. She closed the door, turned, and leaned back against it. He truly took her breath away. If only she were fifty years or so older, she thought, and had met him when he was younger. They might have been suited to each other, then. Minerva thought that perhaps she might have been able to nurture the friendly affection he had for her until it became something stronger. But she hadn’t been born fifty years earlier. That would have made her about the same age as her mother. Perhaps even then, she would have been born too late. Albus had reached his mid-thirties by the time her mother was born.

Minerva shook her head and stepped away from the door. There was no point in any of this. What was, was, and what is, is. She had to accept it – it was the world she lived in, and she had no choice but to accept it. Minerva sighed, banished the tea set, and began to restore her sitting room to its usual state. 

Minerva wondered whether this had ever happened to anyone before – a young witch who fell hopelessly for a wizard who was so many years older than she. She’d not heard of such a thing, but then, it wasn’t something one would advertise. _She_ had certainly never confided in anyone. After Carson’s death, she wished that she had confided in him. Minerva believed he might have understood. He would have been sympathetic to her, at least, especially after they had become closer during those months in London. She might have confided in him after he had told her his belief that she was meant for someone else. But she never had.

And now . . . there was no one in whom she could confide. Poppy was her closest friend, but despite the wink Poppy had given her this morning, Minerva didn’t think that she could really understand. She might think it acceptable for Minerva to have some kind of an affair, a _fling_ , with the Headmaster, but Minerva doubted that Poppy could understand her feelings about him, nor her hopelessness. Poppy would probably advise her to seduce him or something. Minerva couldn’t imagine that; Albus would find such behaviour repellant and loathsome, she was sure. Minerva could not confide in Poppy. She wouldn’t understand.

Melina would be an even worse confidant. At least Poppy might be able to see Albus as a man; Melina still saw him as her sweet, slightly dotty, old Transfiguration teacher. To say that Melina would be stunned would be an understatement No, Melina was not a candidate for such confidences.

Minerva, to her surprise, had actually become fairly good friends with Wilhelmina after that February evening when she had stopped by to see if she could lend a hand with the Gryffindors. She had come to like the no-nonsense witch. In her forties, Wilhelmina was closer to her own age than many of the other teachers, which made for a more casual relationship. She had also never taught Minerva herself, which also made Minerva feel more comfortable right from the start. But the two were not yet close enough to discuss truly personal matters – Minerva didn’t think she would confide in Wilhelmina even if she were attracted to someone more typical; she _certainly_ couldn’t talk to her about Albus.

Her friends in London were from another life, another reality, and Minerva had never felt as close to them as she always felt she ought. So none of them were within the realm of possibility. Casting about in her mind for anyone else she could talk to, Minerva immediately dismissed her parents. They were wonderful, and she really could talk to them about almost anything. But not this. Not even now, at her age. They might be worried that Albus had done something improper when she studied with him, for one thing. Even if that never entered their minds, Minerva knew that her father would have no clue what to say to such a revelation, and her mother would use it as one more reason that Minerva should leave Hogwarts and go somewhere that she might meet suitable men. As though a “suitable man” would cure her. They couldn’t imagine the strength of her feelings for Albus – and if they could, it would simply alarm them. 

No, she couldn’t talk to her parents. And as much as she liked Malcolm and Morgan, Minerva felt she barely knew them. Murdoch . . . of all her relatives, he was the only one who might possibly listen to her and at least sympathise. But he would probably urge her to start seeing other men. And perhaps she should, she thought. It would be the sensible thing to do. And Minerva prized being sensible. That was one of the most irksome aspects of this situation, to her mind. It was entirely irrational from beginning to end, and Minerva could think of no sensible, logical solution to it – she couldn’t even come up with a logical reason for her feelings to exist, in the first place! Minerva was surprised she was still sane after all this time.

She would work it out on her own. She could do that. She would have to find a way to maintain her friendship with Albus, enjoy his company, and do whatever she could to take care of him and make his life better. Somehow, she would also have to maintain her professionalism, as well. Minerva didn’t think that her behaviour the last two days had been particularly professional. Albus may be her friend, but he was also the Headmaster. The embraces they had shared would have to remain exceptions to their normal behaviour. And they were. He had embraced her briefly when she had first arrived at Hogwarts, before he took charge of her bags and showed her to her rooms. And he had leaned forward and kissed her cheek when he had given her her house-warming present. But that was the last affectionate touch she had received from him until yesterday. Minerva was sure that was as it should be. She doubted that Albus normally sat embracing his female staff members as he had her. She hoped he didn’t, at any rate. . . Of course, if one of them was upset and crying, he might. But now she knew that Albus cared for her and considered her a friend, that made a difference, surely. 

Minerva thought of the way he had stumbled as he had tried to describe his feelings yesterday morning, and his whispered, _“I thought you might even . . . hate me.”_ His hesitant confession had been endearing. That fear had obviously disturbed Albus greatly, even as he protested that it was ridiculous. She did not think that thought would have upset him so if he did not care for her. It was reasonable to believe, then, that Albus behaved differently when comforting her than he might have with someone else. Unless the other person was also a friend. Minerva thought of Gertrude Gamp. Over the years, Albus had often expressed to her what a good and valued friend the Arithmancy teacher was. Somehow, Minerva could not imagine Gertrude dissolving in tears the way she had, though. And Gertrude would likely never have any cause to do so, not on Albus’s account, anyway – she surely must feel secure in her relationship with him and not racked with the insecurities that had plagued Minerva. It certainly seemed she should, at any rate.

Minerva sighed and looked over at Gertrude’s invitation, which she had moved to her mantlepiece when she rearranged the furniture. She supposed she should reply. Part of her wanted to decline the invitation. But Minerva was very curious and knew that the only way to assuage her curiosity would be to accept it. 

Retrieving her glasses from where she’d left them beside the letter, Minerva then went to her work table, drew a sheet of parchment from its single drawer and chose her favourite quill and a deep blue-black ink. Rather than use the work table, Minerva sat at the little table by the window. Smoothing the parchment, Minerva contemplated the blank page in front of her. She Summoned her wand from where she’d left it across the room. Pursing her lips in concentration, Minerva placed the tip of the wand just above the surface of the parchment. _“Sigillum Egidius!”_ she pronounced. The Egidius family seal appeared at the top of the page. The centre of the emblem contained a Rod of Aesclepius superimposed over a diamond with quadrants of blue, white, gold, and green; ivy surrounded the diamond and the motto _Consolari Sat Gignere Medella_ ( _“to comfort enough to bring forth healing”_ ) appeared above it. On her mother’s crest, between two sprigs of thistle, a red deer rested demurely beneath the diamond, but Minerva had replaced it with a grey tabby poised to pounce. 

How to respond to Gertrude’s invitation, then? Well, Minerva was not going to play games with her reply. Simple and straightforward would be best.

_“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
“5 July 1957_

_“Dear Gertrude,_

_“Thank you for your kind invitation. A few days in Cornwall sounds quite agreeable, and you may expect me via your Portkey on Monday morning._

_“As there will be other guests, may I ask whether there is any particular attire that I should bring with me or any occasion for which I should be prepared?_

_“Thank you again,  
“Sincerely yours,_

_“Minerva M. McGonagall”_

Minerva read her letter through. Perhaps her inquiry about clothing was a bit blunt and inelegant, but she didn’t want to embarrass herself and her hostess by committing a social gaffe. And, after all, Gertie _had_ given her a veiled warning about her relatives. She should arrived prepared for these people, she supposed.

Minerva brought the letter over to her work table and got out her sealing wax. A quick charm sealed her letter, and a wave of her wand impressed her modified Egidius coat-of-arms into the emerald green wax. If she were to expect a reply, it would be courteous to post it immediately, but Minerva was reluctant to send it out just yet. Once her acceptance was posted, she would be unable to change her mind. She slipped the sealed parchment into one of the pockets hidden in the seams of her skirt. She would wait just a little while before sending it. In the meantime, she owed Melina a letter.

Settling at her little table by the window again, Minerva composed her letter to her niece. 

_“Dear Melina,_

_“I am sorry I have neglected writing to you. The end of term was busy, as you might imagine, although that is no excuse. As I said in my last letter, I am also sorry that I was unable to come help you celebrate your new status, but you know that you have my heartiest congratulations. Mother said that she and Dad had a good time. It would have been nice to have seen everyone – I don’t remember the last time I saw Great-uncle Perseus and Aunt Helen._

_“I know you’re waiting for me to get to the point and answer the questions you asked in your last letter. I have confirmed my earlier research that I had told you about, and I think I may have found a solution to your quandary. I don’t want to go into details yet, as I still must consult one other person before I am certain. I am sorry to leave you hanging for a bit longer, Melina, but please be patient. I know it has been becoming more difficult for you to explain your absences and your comings-and-goings to Brennan, but since you will be taking a few weeks off now and will be able to spend more time with him, I think you will be able to hold on until I have worked out the details for you._

_“I want you to be happy, Melina, and when I met Brennan and saw you two together, I understood why you like him. It didn’t even seem obvious that he was a Muggle – or that you were a witch, for that matter. I don’t mean that in any insulting way – I hope you realise that. What I mean to say is that you were simply Brennan and Melina, and magic didn’t matter. (I never thought I’d say that!) I hope that Brennan’s suspicions don’t get out of hand. Tend to him carefully while you have this free time – although I doubt very much you need to be told that! – and hopefully you will be able to reassure him of his place in your life._

_“I believe I will be visiting a colleague in Cornwall next week, but know that I have not forgotten your predicament. Before I leave, I will try to consult with the other person, as I mentioned, but if I am unable to, I will do so immediately upon my return._

_“Give my love to your father,  
“Love,_

_“Minerva  
“Friday, 5 July 1957”_

Minerva folded the letter, addressed it to Melina, and sealed it as she had the one to Gertrude, but this time she impressed three intertwined M’s into the wax, rather than the coat-of-arms, which Minerva felt would be pretentious. She put the letter in her pocket with the first one. Glancing at the mantle clock, she saw that it was almost noon. She would have lunch, have her talk with Poppy, and then decide whether to send off her acceptance or not.

When she reached the Great Hall, only Hagrid was there. If Minerva didn’t know better, she would have thought that he looked unhappy. But Hagrid was almost relentlessly cheerful. Even when he was a boy and had been dismissed from Hogwarts and had his wand broken, he had maintained a Stoic bearing that was admirable in such a young wizard; within weeks, once he had been installed as the Groundskeeper-trainee, he had regained his positive outlook on life, and Minerva had been surprised to find him whistling as he worked in the gardens or cheerfully doing rounds to check the physical locks on the gates and doors. Perhaps he had overdone it at the Three Broomsticks last night and was still recovering.

Minerva sat beside him. One more person would have to arrive before the lunch would appear on the table. “I had some of your strawberries for breakfast this morning, Hagrid. They really are wonderful. I don’t think I’ve tasted strawberries that have been so . . . strawberry before,” Minerva said with a bright smile.

“Ta, Minerva.” Hagrid sighed. “Glad yeh like’em,” he said dolorously.

Hmm, this was _not_ the Hagrid she knew and loved.

“You seem a little under the weather today, Hagrid. Is everything all right?”

“Oh, yeah. Everythin’s fine.” He sighed again.

There was definitely something wrong. Just then the door opened and Professor Birnbaum entered with Professor MacAirt. They were speaking together, obviously continuing an on-going conversation. Minerva could not very well press Hagrid about what was bothering him now that other faculty were arriving. He looked like he needed a friendly ear, though. Perhaps later in the day, or over the week-end, she could seek him out and see if he wanted to talk about whatever was bothering him. Of course, by then, he might be over whatever it was. Still, she had benefited from the kindness of her friends; she should at least give him the opportunity to talk to her if he wanted to.

Feeling a rush of affection for the half-giant, Minerva patted one of his large hands. “Perhaps we can talk later, if you want, hmm?” She smiled at him.

Hagrid returned her smile with a small one of his own. “Eh, it’s nothin’. But it would be nice t’ see yeh, M’nerva.” 

He was remembering to drop the “Miss” before her name, Minerva noticed gratefully. When he had started as trainee Groundskeeper, a position that Albus had got for him, Headmaster Dippet had instructed him that he now must address all of the students with respect, and call them “Miss” or “Mister.” After she learned that, Minerva had insisted that he must not call her “Miss McGonagall”; so that he wouldn’t get into trouble if someone overheard, she had agreed he could call her “Miss Minerva.” Old habits die hard, and Hagrid had some trouble adjusting when Minerva had returned as a teacher, alternating between addressing her as “Miss Minerva” and “Professor McGonagall.” While Minerva thought it was perfectly proper for him to use the latter form of address in front of students or strangers, she could not have him calling her “Miss Minerva” under any circumstances. She had insisted that Hagrid call her by her first name when they were in an informal setting, or at least stick with “Professor McGonagall,” if he felt he must.

Lunch appeared on the round table, and soon other staff members joined them. Albus didn’t arrive, and remembering what he had said, Minerva didn’t linger after she had eaten in hopes he might be coming late. She did stop by Poppy’s chair before she left and told her that she would meet her in the infirmary after Poppy had finished eating.

Returning to her rooms, Minerva brushed her teeth and used the loo. On her way back out the door, she paused to smell the flowers that Albus had given her. She smiled again, remembering that he had picked them and arranged them himself. She wished she had seen that – it was bound to have been a sweet sight. The world’s foremost Alchemist and victor over Grindelwald, arranging flowers. And the way he had presented them, vase and all . . . That was probably because he had intended to give them to her yesterday and forgot. What was it he had said? Something about having been distracted by the fair blossom in his presence . . . Minerva’s cheeks grew pink. She wondered what made him say that – being gallant, as Melina would say, no doubt. That was all. She shouldn’t make too much of it. But he _had_ noticed her appearance that morning. Minerva was glad she had made some efforts to look presentable. Perhaps he _did_ appreciate it more than she had thought he would, and after all, Albus might not place a great deal of importance on a person’s appearance, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t have an aesthetic appreciation of it if someone were to take pains with their grooming.

With those pleasant thoughts, Minerva set off for the hospital wing. She would need to make sure that Poppy hadn’t got the wrong idea that morning – or, if it was too late for that, correct any misapprehensions she might have. Minerva was grateful for the advice that Poppy had given her yesterday – and for her concern, as well – so she couldn’t be too upset with her. And Minerva _did_ want to share the good news with her friend that she and Albus had cleared up their misunderstandings and that all was well between them again. Although that much must have been evident from the fact that they were eating breakfast together. Minerva rolled her eyes, thinking of Poppy’s inopportune visit that morning. Yes, clearing up any misconceptions Poppy had was her first order of business.

* * *

Albus hurried down the hallway to the main corridor. As much as he had enjoyed having breakfast with Minerva, he didn’t know what had possessed him to say some of the things he had said that morning. Even while vowing he would be careful around her, he came out with statements that immediately raised questions about his ability to do so. It was one thing to have complimented her the way he had when he had arrived – he recognised that as a witch, Minerva probably enjoyed compliments about her appearance, even though she was by no means vain – but some of the other remarks that had come from his mouth were enough to make a grown wizard cringe. His last comment, for example. That had been entirely unnecessary. He had already apologised, and they had established that they enjoyed spending time together. There was no need to have gone on the way he had about the mistake it had been to have deprived himself of her company – let alone that he had, once again, with all the sensitivity of a marauding Hippogriff, mentioned the incident of the morning before.

It wasn’t simply that he seemed unable to keep the conversation to appropriate topics, either. He would have appeared utterly insensitive had he not allowed Minerva to make her apology. It would have been wrong of him to have denied her that opportunity. But why did he have to say what he had? To have told her, like some first-year Hufflepuff with a bad crush on the Head Girl, that he was _afraid that she hated him_. Minerva had taken it well, Albus admitted. And they had been able to go on and discuss school business, as planned. She had treated him normally, and Albus had joked with her in his usual way, but that did nothing to erase the memory of that embarrassing revelation.

As he reached the gargoyle, for the first time in many, many decades, Albus felt weary and wished he could flee his life. This was worse than the embarrassing debacle a few years ago. Over the course of a long life, that incident had been nothing, really. It certainly didn’t affect him any more. But Albus had no idea how to deal with this on-going situation. He had known when he had hired Minerva that his feelings might be . . . _susceptible_ to her presence in the castle. He hadn’t believed it would prove to be such a difficulty, however. Indeed, it _hadn’t_ been difficult, not until he had heard those words come out of her mouth yesterday morning and realised he was in danger of losing her friendship.

Albus sat at his desk and looked at all of the parchments that he had to read through. Not now, he thought, and pushed himself away from the desk. He went up to his suite, changed into his dressing gown, and prepared the nasty potion that he had promised Aberforth he would apply to his beard weekly. He was more than a day late with it, but there was no helping that. 

Albus sat on the little bench in his bathroom, beard bucket floating in front of him. At least this was an undisturbed half-hour to himself. Perhaps that was one reason he had agreed to participate in his brother’s daft experiment. 

He sighed. Albus now saw that he had been able to maintain his equilibrium despite Minerva’s presence in the castle because he had simply not seen very much of her once term began. He had even brought her dinner in her office a few times when she had been working late, but had always declined her invitation to stay and keep her company.

He had been balanced on a pinpoint, trying to maintain an illusion of friendship with Minerva and stay in her good graces whilst at the same time behaving as though it didn’t matter whether she was in the castle or in London. That was foolish of him. As he had told her when he left her rooms that morning, he had been depriving himself of her company. But now it was as though he were going to the other extreme. And it would have to stop. Surely he could find a happy medium between ignoring her – which would hurt her feelings – and behaving in the maudlin way he had this morning.

Albus shook his head, sloshing the potion and releasing more of its foul odour, despite the charm that was supposed to contain the stench. His eyes watered, and he was happy to blame the potion’s stinging fumes. Why had he said what he had about his irrational fears? He had _known_ they were irrational even yesterday morning; he _certainly_ knew today that there was no truth to them. Was his mawkish sentimentality a way of finding out what Minerva would say about his fear? Or a way to inveigle sympathy from her?

What really bothered him, though, was not the “foot-in-mouth disease” he seemed to have developed that morning – and knowing Minerva’s generous nature as he did, Albus couldn’t believe that his confessed fear would lower her esteem for him – no, what bothered him was how easily he had made the confession. Perhaps not _easily_ , but willingly. It would have been sufficient to have told Minerva that hearing her words had hurt him in the moment and made him doubt their friendship. Instead, he had been so moved by her apology that he had revealed more than necessary. The foolishness of an old man, a greater foolishness than that of youth . . . And then to have allowed himself the indulgence of holding her the way he did and actually telling her he liked it . . . Minerva hadn’t minded only because she hadn’t understood what he had meant. 

Over the last dozen years or so, they had seen each other a few times a year, sometimes more frequently, sometimes less. Usually they had met casually, when he happened to be in London and she had time to join him for lunch or dinner. Occasionally, they had made special plans to meet, as when Minerva was looking for a Transfiguration master and wanted his advice. He had also been present to lend his support when Minerva had carried out her Challenge to Madame Feuilly. Albus smiled at the memory. Although due to his own stubbornness, the incident in France during the war had strained their relationship for a while, the two had maintained an easy, congenial friendship after she had left school. 

During all that time, Albus had no difficulty maintaining his view of Minerva as a friend and former student. True, he would occasionally find himself noticing that she was an attractive woman, but he had been able to admire her in the abstract. And there was nothing wrong with caring for Minerva with the deep affection of a friend and mentor. Affection, _love_ , was a good thing, when it was not twisted by possessiveness or any of the other human flaws that can taint relationships. The trouble was, Albus knew that what he felt was different from the affection of a friend or a mentor – and that it had been for a long time, despite his denial and self-control. It was not even as simple as being attracted to her in addition to being fond of her. Albus had occasion to meet many very attractive witches in his long life, some of whom he had liked quite a bit. But Minerva was not one of those witches.

Albus banished the beard bucket and charmed off the potion. He shed his dressing gown and stepped into the shower to rid himself of the last vestiges of the noxious concoction, although it was not strictly necessary. Would that a charm and a shower could cleanse him of all his troubles.

Albus stood with warm water pouring over him and jetting on his body from all sides. He stretched his arms in front of him, braced himself against the shower wall, and closed his eyes. This was not merely a question of being inconveniently attracted to a very young, pleasant witch whom he had taught several years ago and with whom he now worked. With water streaming over his face and running down his hair and beard, Albus finally articulated to himself what he had known, or should have known, for a long time: he loved Minerva McGonagall. He loved her completely. Being with her made him feel more himself. And the way he loved her . . . he desired her physically, but with more than just simple physical desire. 

Albus didn’t even know when he had begun to love Minerva as something more than a precocious student. It wasn’t as simple as pointing to the day in McTavish Street when he had realised that Minerva was an attractive young witch. She had been very dear to him before that day. Although Albus had always been scrupulously fair in class, he could admit to himself that Minerva had meant more to him than just a sweet child and exemplary student for quite some time before the warm summer’s day when he had first perceived her as a desirable woman.

Albus now wondered about the truth of what he had seen that afternoon in Edinburgh. There was absolutely no doubt that he had been appalled and sickened when he realised he was becoming aroused by the sight of Minerva McGonagall. Even at the time, he hadn’t understood how he could have failed to recognise her. To be sure, Minerva was not wearing school robes, but he had seen her in different clothing before, and although she usually wore her hair down at school, he had seen her when she had it pinned up, as well. There _must_ have been some part of him that had known that he was looking at Minerva. It had not simply been a random witch on the street whom he had found enticing and who later turned out to be Minerva; it had been Minerva herself who had attracted him. Yet Albus had gone on to work with her that summer, then to teach her for another year, and had easily ignored any stray thought that might have led him to appreciate Minerva in a way unbecoming a teacher charged with her care. It truly hadn’t been difficult for him, either; Albus had successfully fallen back into their established relationship – which was closer and more like a friendship than the typical teacher-student relationship, but not inappropriate, either.

In that moment, standing motionless in the steaming shower, a very small part of Albus selfishly wished that Minerva had disappeared from his life after she left school, that she had married and had babies and sent him photographs of her cute little offspring, then sent those offspring to Hogwarts for him to teach. He could have just remembered her as a particularly talented student whose husband was a very lucky man. He could have been a proper elderly wizard chuckling at his memories, and not this pitiable old man who longed for a young witch who seemed so close but who was completely out of reach.

The greater part of him, though, was grateful for Minerva’s on-going presence in his life and glad for her friendship. Albus resolved that he would express his love as one friend to another, as a mentor for his protege. He would not fall into the pathetic role of a wizard in his dotage, making a fool of himself over a young witch. Albus most certainly didn’t need friends and colleagues clucking over what they would see as a pitiful infatuation and discussing whether this was a sign that he had entered his final decline. 

If Gertie agreed to his request, Albus thought as he turned off the shower, it would make the situation a little easier for him – for a while, anyway. Although there were other options available, as she had pointed out more than once, they were less acceptable to him. Still, he could not ask more of Gertie than she was willing to give. She had already been more generous than he had a right to expect.

Albus dried himself, feeling slightly better for having finally articulated what had afflicted his judgment and his behaviour, but he was still subdued. He really shouldn’t feel sorry for himself; he should embrace his friendship with Minerva and be glad of it. As he padded into his bedroom to don fresh robes, there was a burst of flames in the centre of the room. Fawkes was back. 

The phoenix settled at the top of the bed and cocked his head as he watched Albus dress in garnet-coloured cotton robes with a chevron pattern woven through them. As Albus sat to pull on his socks, Fawkes let out a brief trill, and Albus looked up at him and smiled.

“Where have you been, old friend? I’ve missed you the last day or two. I think I either need a holiday or a phoenix’s song, and I haven’t time for a holiday,” Albus said, as the large bird fluttered closer to settle on his shoulder. “How am I supposed to put on my shoes with you sitting there, hmm?” At the look Fawkes gave him, Albus laughed. “You’re right – I am a wizard, aren’t I?”

Albus charmed his shoes onto his feet, and Fawkes began to sing. Albus felt as though a great weight was being lifted from him, or as though he had just woken from a most refreshing sleep after a long and tiring day. He smiled. Yes, he would enjoy Minerva’s presence in the castle. He would cherish her friendship and all of the time they were able to spend together. It was a blessing that she was here with him; even those emotions that he could not express to her were a blessing, and he could appreciate them and hold her dear in his heart, keeping his feelings close and hidden.

Much happier, Albus stood, Fawkes on his shoulder. Stroking the bird’s red and gold plumage, he said, “To the office, then?”

Fawkes trilled brightly in response and, with a flash, transported them both to Albus’s office – a favour rarely bestowed under such mundane circumstances. After feeding Fawkes a few treats, Albus sat down in good humour and set to work through his pile of parchments, looking forward to the next time he would see Minerva.


	31. Curiosity Piqued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva has tea with Poppy, then pays a visit to the Headmaster's office.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey, Dilys Derwent (portrait), and Fawkes.

**XXXI: Curiosity Piqued**

Minerva strode rapidly toward the Owlery. She was going to post her reply to Gertrude before she could change her mind. Her conversation with Poppy had convinced her that she should accept the invitation. Minerva’s curiosity was piqued, and Poppy had agreed to send her an owl late on Tuesday, which Minerva could use as an excuse to leave early if she were having a dreadful time, by claiming a personal emergency that she had to return for. It was good to have friends like Poppy, Minerva thought. Although Poppy _could_ sometimes be as cryptic as a Slytherin.

Fortunately, it seemed that Poppy had just been teasing her when she’d given her that broad smile and wink. Minerva had arrived in the infirmary prepared to disillusion her friend of any misconceptions she may have had, but found it unnecessary.

“Minerva! Thanks for stopping by – I thought we might talk in my sitting room.” Poppy grinned. “You never know who might be standing outside the door here.”

As they walked the short distance to Poppy’s quarters, the two made small talk about lunch and who was still in the castle and when the Headmaster might decide to move the meals to the staff room. As soon as they reached her rooms and Poppy had closed the door behind them, she turned to Minerva with a smile.

“I was very happy to see that the two of you had cleared the air, Min. I was worried when neither of you appeared at dinner last night – I was afraid the meeting had gone badly and you’d both been too upset to come down to the Great Hall. But if you were having breakfast with him this morning, that seemed a good sign.” She gestured to Minerva to have a seat.

“Yes, well, you see,” said Minerva, hoping that Poppy didn’t think that “good sign” meant that she and Albus hadn’t parted company the night before, “we hadn’t finished discussing the curriculum yesterday. We only got about half-way through, in fact. Oh, Poppy,” she said with a smile, recalling Albus’s efforts the evening before, “he was so sweet. He had set the meeting for late in the afternoon in hopes that I would stay and have dinner for him. He had it all planned – I was becoming upset, actually, because I had intended to apologise the moment I arrived, but every time I opened my mouth and tried to do that, Albus interrupted and brought the conversation back around to business.”

Poppy smiled at her encouragingly.

“I accepted his invitation to dinner – although, the way he had extended it, it would have been difficult to refuse – and I resolved that as soon as he joined me in his sitting room, I would apologise. And Poppy, he’s charmed his stairs to recognise me!” Minerva beamed as she remembered that detail.

“You _see_ , Minerva – it was just an oversight on his part, not an attempt to show you any disrespect!” Poppy said, reminding her friend of her reassurances of the morning before.

“Yes, well, anyway, I washed my hands, and when I came out, the table was set, there was a beautiful bouquet of flowers on the table, and I _still_ wasn’t able to tell him how sorry I was. Albus poured us wine, made a toast, and started to apologise again. He was so sweet, Poppy. He had already apologised down in his office for not having charmed the stairs for me sooner; he repeated that apology, and then he asked that I forgive him for not making time for me. Poppy, Albus was so sincere, but I felt dreadful! All day I had been thinking of what I had said, of what he had overheard, and how I must have hurt him. And now he was apologising as though _he_ had been the one who was wrong. I’m embarrassed to say that I burst into tears. The poor man didn’t know why I was crying and thought he must have hurt my feelings. I explained that he kept apologising, but that I felt terrible about what I’d said and should be the one to ask his forgiveness. He dismissed it, Poppy! Albus said that he’d been surprised at what he’d overheard, but that he couldn’t blame me. Then we sat together on his couch and waited for dinner. He told me about his morning and why he had been late – people make such demands on him at all hours, Poppy! You wouldn’t believe!” Minerva shook her head at the thought. 

“Anyway, by the time we had finished dinner, we were both too tired to discuss the curriculum so he suggested meeting early this morning,” Minerva finished, hoping that Poppy drew the correct conclusion that they had both spent the night in their own rooms. It seemed she had little to worry about, though.

“I’m so glad, Minerva. I know I teased you a bit when I came up to your room this morning, but I really was just glad that you two seemed to be on good terms. But dinner, and then breakfast the next day, well, it seems to me that you may get your wish, after all, Minerva,” Poppy said with a delighted smile.

“What do you mean, Poppy?” asked Minerva somewhat sharply.

“Just that you said yesterday that you wanted his respect, and you may remember that I had suggested that you might be looking for something more than his respect, that’s all.” Poppy stood and started toward her small kitchen. “Join me in some tea, Min? I thought the house-elves put a bit too much salt in the soup today.”

“Yes, yes, fine. But what are you trying to say, Poppy?” Minerva hoped that she didn’t have any ridiculous ideas – or had shared them with anyone else!

“Just that you two have known each other for a while, now,” responded Poppy from the kitchen, “and it would be nice if you became better friends, that’s all.”

“Yes, well, you’ve known him almost as long, Poppy. The same could be said of you.”

Poppy reappeared with the teapot, cups, and milk. “Technically true, I suppose,” she said, pouring, “but I didn’t have the contact with him that you have over the years.” She handed Minerva her teacup. “You two have a lot in common, and you’ve always seemed to enjoy each other’s company. It would be nice for both of you if you became . . . closer.” Poppy took a sip of her own tea.

 _Closer?_ Minerva had detected the slight hesitation before Poppy had said that word. “Yes. I suppose we have some things in common. But that could be said of others, as well. He and Slughorn, for example – Potions. And of course, there’s Gertrude.” Minerva didn’t make mention of what they might have in common.

“Yes, but as amiable as Professor Slughorn is, somehow I don’t see him and Albus becoming close friends.” Poppy smirked at that thought. “As you say, though, he and Gertrude _have_ been friends for quite a while. She’s a good friend to him, too.”

Minerva ignored the slight twisting in her gut at Poppy’s observation and sipped her tea. After all, she had been the one to have mentioned Gertrude in the first place. 

“That reminds me, Poppy. I got the most peculiar invitation this morning.”

“Really? Who from?”

“Gertrude.”

“Gertrude? But I thought she was on holiday – at her family’s estate, I believe.”

“Exactly. That’s one of the things that makes this invitation so odd. She has invited me to come and visit her for a few days next week.”

“That is a bit unexpected, isn’t it? You are going to accept, aren’t you?” Poppy asked.

“I’m not sure, Poppy. I have the acceptance written and in my pocket, but once I send it, I won’t be able to back out of it. Albus was there when it arrived. He read it for me and ‘interpreted,’ as he said, the Slytherin meanings contained in otherwise innocuous phrases. But I still don’t know why she invited me. Albus said that Gertie thinks I need a holiday after my first term teaching.”

“ _‘Slytherin meanings’_? Do tell, Minerva!”

“Well, Albus says that Gertrude is bored with her surroundings, for one, and that there will be several other guests – relatives of hers – there whom I won’t like.”

“Really? You _must_ accept, Minerva! It should be interesting. And you can come back and tell me all about her dreadful relatives!” Poppy’s eyes sparkled. “Besides, I’m sure there’s a reason Gertrude is inviting you down – other than boredom and her obnoxious kin. You need to go and find out what it is.”

“I’m not sure I’m up to dealing with a bunch of snooty purebloods, Poppy. You know my opinions on that. And even though all of my father’s grandparents were magical, even if two were Muggle-born, you just _know_ they are going to ask about the McGonagall name.”

“You’re as pureblooded as any of them, I’m sure. How many people don’t have a Muggle or Muggle-born in their family tree? Precious few, I’ll wager. Besides, the Egidius and Parnovon sides of your family tree are even more ‘respectable,’ and you’re related to the Longbottoms and the Macmillans, as well, aren’t you? And you know what they’d do if they learned your grandmother is a Tyree!” Poppy chuckled. The Tyree name was passed from mother-to-daughter as well as from father-to-daughter, and although a Tyree witch might use her husband’s name in order to avoid confusing people outside the family, she never dropped the Tyree name. Tyree witches were notorious for marrying Muggle-borns, even the occasional Muggle, but no one – not even purebloods – ever dared fault them for it. Tyree wizards were more traditional in their choice of mates, but also less remarkable in other ways. At some point in the ancient past, Tyree witches had developed a reputation as fearsome and ruthless witches whom no one dared cross. Although Minerva had seen little evidence of ferocity and vindictiveness in her own Tyree relatives, the legend continued – making their lives a bit too easy, Minerva sometimes thought. Having a reputation, especially an unearned one, as a formidable duellist and patient avenger of wrongs committed against oneself or one’s kin could lead to arrogance.

“Poppy, I am not going to get into a . . . a spitting contest with those snobs and start spouting off the names of all branches of my family that haven’t had a Muggle in the line for more than four generations. And I am _not_ a Tyree, except distantly, so there would be no point in mentioning that.”

“Yes, but at least keep it in mind. You can just sit there smugly knowing you’re right about the stupidity of pureblood ideology and that, on top of it, you’ve probably got a more ‘impressive’ genealogy than any of those snobs!” Poppy wiggled her fingers in the air as she said “impressive.” Having more than a few Muggles in her own family tree, she was the last to subscribe to the pureblood ideology.

“I don’t want to lend credence to any of their bigoted nonsense by even debating it. You know that. Albus says they’re all Slytherins,” she said, changing the topic somewhat. “I’m more concerned about that, actually.”

“There may be people there whom you know, people from school or the Ministry. They can’t all be bad, after all. And Gertrude turned out all right!” Poppy finished her tea and poured another cup, offering more to Minerva.

Accepting a fresh cup of tea, Minerva agreed. “Gertrude has always treated me fairly. That’s true. But we’ve never been friends. I hardly exchanged two words with her after I left school, and we’ve certainly not become close since I’ve returned. I think she’s up to something.”

“I’m sure she is! That’s why you have to go – to find out what,” Poppy said. “I’m sure it’ll be worth your while.”

“Hmm. Perhaps.”

“Besides, she’s friends with Albus. She may just want to be friendly because of that.”

“What do you mean?” There was that constriction in her gut again.

“ _You_ know. She knows you’re friends with him, too. And she _has_ known you for a while. She may just want to get to know you better . . . something like that.” Poppy got up and fussed with the tea set. “You know, I think I’d like a biscuit. Would you?” Poppy hurried out to her kitchen and fetched a tin. Opening it, she offered it to Minerva. “Iced lemon shortbread.”

Minerva took one. Not bad, she supposed. She thought about what Poppy had said. It made her uneasy.

“She had an opportunity to get to know me better this term. I never saw her make any effort.”

“You were both busy.” Poppy bit into her biscuit.

“True . . . Well, I think I will send off my letter, then. Otherwise, I’ll always wonder what I missed.” Minerva was sure that her curiosity would get her into trouble one day.

The two witches spoke a while longer, Minerva telling Poppy of her letter to Melina and the conclusions she had drawn from the research she had done for her. Poppy wanted to hear more about Minerva’s breakfast meeting with the Headmaster, so Minerva gave her an abbreviated account, not going into any private details, and certainly not mentioning Albus’s confessed fear. Nonetheless, Poppy reiterated her belief that Minerva and Albus now had the opportunity to “become closer,” as she put it. Minerva had made the mistake of mentioning the bouquet that Albus had brought with him that morning.

“And the flowers! Minerva, that was a lovely gesture. That must be why he went down to the greenhouses with Johannes after lunch. He really _does_ care for you, Minerva. You must see that now,” she said.

“Of course he does. He was my Animagus teacher, after all. And as you said before, we’ve known each other for a long time. You were right yesterday; I was just a little insecure about my status now that I’ve come back to teach. But that’s all. And it’s over and done with.”

Poppy looked at Minerva oddly for a moment before telling her that she really had to finish some work in the infirmary since she was leaving that weekend. Before Minerva left, Poppy offered to send her an owl on Tuesday evening, “just in case,” and Minerva accepted gratefully. By Tuesday evening, Minerva should have discovered whatever plan it was that Gertrude had up her sleeve, anyway, and if the place was intolerable, she could make a gracious exit when she got Poppy’s letter.

So now she was climbing up to the Owlery, which must have been cleaned recently, since she hardly slipped at all whilst crossing the floor and posting her letters. Minerva chose a particularly hearty-looking Horned Owl to deliver her reply to Cornwall and a smaller Screech Owl to bring Melina’s letter to her in Edinburgh.

As she attached the letter to the Screech Owl’s leg, Minerva reminded her, “If Melina is with a Muggle, don’t deliver this to her. Just bring it to the Egidius Apothecary and leave it with someone there, all right?” At the owl’s hooted assent (at least that’s what Minerva hoped it was), Minerva released the bird and watched her fly off eastward. The larger owl had already disappeared to the south.

Now to stop by the Headmaster’s office and take a look at Albus’s list as she’d promised she would. Minerva doubted that she would have anything to add to it, but she would dutifully examine it and see if she could think of any other publications for his advertisement. Besides, she needed to pick up her curriculum materials. Minerva had been floating when she left his office the night before and had hardly thought of the original purpose of her visit. No wonder she had left her parchments and books behind.

As she approached the gargoyle, Minerva wondered whether Albus was in his office. He had said he might have to leave for a while – probably to go to the Ministry, she thought. She hoped he was there; she had just seen him a few hours ago, but she wouldn’t mind seeing him again, even briefly. She remembered her own confession of that morning, and how she had told him that she had looked forward to every meeting and had been disappointed each time he had been late. Minerva hoped that hadn’t been too revealing of her feelings. But it is natural for friends to look forward to seeing each other. And Albus himself had made the rather startling revelation that he had feared she had hated him. That possibility, as unlikely as it was, had clearly disturbed him. Minerva knew she should feel bad for having hurt him to that degree – and she did – but she also couldn’t help feeling warmed by the affection it implied.

Reaching the top of the spiral stairs, Minerva used the griffin-shaped brass knocker. When there was no response, she opened the door and entered. Albus wasn’t there, obviously, or he would have opened the door to her. His desk did look clearer of parchment, she thought. He had probably left the list on the desk for her, or possibly it was with her teaching materials. She’d just have to look for it – he must have put it somewhere it would be easy for her to find. Minerva stepped into the room and approached his desk when she looked up, startled by a sudden trilled song coming from above. Fawkes was perched on a high shelf near the portrait of Dilys Derwent.

* * *

Albus had a cheese and pickle sandwich and a cup of creamy leek soup as he finished reviewing the changes he had recommended be made to the International Wizarding Treaty on Extradition and Asylum before the Ministry agreed to ratify it. It would be best for him to bring it directly to the Ministry personally. He might not be able to meet with the Minister for International Magical Co-operation herself, but he could make amends for having cancelled their Floo-Conference yesterday by delivering the document in person. He had known Philomena Yaxley, née Flint, for most of his life, after all, and although Albus was sure that she knew of the situation he had been in a few years ago, she had had the grace never to allude to it in anyway, not even obliquely. Of course, she _had_ been in Ravenclaw, not Slytherin, as most Flints were.

Before Albus left, he had to leave out the list and the advertisement copy for Minerva to find. Albus hoped he would be back before she came to look at it, but he might not be if Philomena could meet with him right away. He found the parchments in one of his desk drawers, where he had put them so they wouldn’t become mixed in with his Ministry correspondence or other school business, and glanced at them briefly before taking a fresh parchment and composing a note for Minerva.

_“Friday, 5 July_

_“Dear Minerva,_

_“I am sorry I am not here to greet you, but I had to make a trip to the Ministry._

_“Here is the list and the advertisement I propose to run. Could you read the advertisement and let me know if there are any changes that you think should be made to it? There is room on the parchment for you to make your comments directly on it. Feel free to use my desk, quill and parchment, of course._

_“Have you thought any more about the Head of House positions? Perhaps we can talk about it when we meet tomorrow._

_“I look forward to seeing you. I may return to Hogwarts for dinner, although I am not certain._

_“Thank you very much for your help. I truly appreciate it, Minerva._

_“Sincerely yours,_

_“Albus”_

Albus placed the parchments in the cleared centre of his desk, his note on top. He then straightened the stacks of parchment on either side of the desk, picked up the portfolio in which he had placed his recommendations to Minister Yaxley, and departed via the Floo-Network for the Ministry.

If anyone with sharp eyes had been present in the minutes after the Headmaster had left his office, they might have noticed a rather peculiar draught that seemed to rise up from nowhere to ruffle the parchments on the Headmaster’s desk. The three sheets sitting in the centre of it were wafted gently to the floor, where they came to rest only partially obscured by the furniture upon which they had once lain visible and unobstructed. Such a person might also have observed a similar soft breeze lightly disturbing the neat stack of parchments on the right side of the desktop, exposing the parchments that had been placed at the very bottom of the pile. There was no one there to observe, however, but Fawkes and some rather drowsy portraits, one of whom shook her head and muttered, “Foolish thing,” before falling into an artful doze punctuated by the occasional counterfeit snore.

Twenty minutes later, Minerva, startled by the phoenix song, looked up to see former headmistress Dilys Derwent blinking at her sleepily. “Good-afternoon, Professor McGonagall.”

“Good-afternoon, ma’am,” replied Minerva. What was the etiquette for addressing the portraits of the former headmasters and headmistresses? She had never had one greet her before, not that she could remember. Deciding that returning the headmistress’s greeting was sufficient, Minerva turned away. Her teaching materials lay on the table where she and Albus had been working the day before. As she stepped over to retrieve them, thinking that perhaps Albus had left the list of journals with her parchments, she was halted by the sound of Dilys Derwent’s voice.

“I believe that the Headmaster left you something on his desk, Professor,” the portrait called out to her.

“Thank you, ma’am. I was going to look there afterward.” Quite helpful, these portraits. Although it might get annoying to have them constantly watching everything one did. She supposed that’s why they slept, or pretended to, much of the time. Minerva was very glad that she and Albus had their dinner upstairs the night before. She wouldn’t have wanted dozens of pairs of eyes watching her as she broke down in tears.

Minerva went over to the desk. Hmm, nothing obvious – it must be in one of the stacks of parchment, although she thought it odd that Albus would have wanted her to leaf through his other work in order to find it. Just as she was about to come around the desk to sit in the chair and begin to look through the parchments, two parchments that peeked out from beneath one of the stacks caught her eye. They seemed to be lists written in colourful ink, but they weren’t what Minerva had expected the list of journals to look like. Curious, though, Minerva pulled the parchments out a bit more so she could take a better glance at them, just in case one of them was the list she was looking for.

Getting a better look at the first parchment, Minerva immediately perceived that it was not the list of journals. The second thing she saw was that the list had nothing to do with school business. She froze as she realised the subject of these lists. Reading it upside-down, she could see the headings, “Knowns” and “Possibles,” and the first few items under each one. “She had an appointment with me at nine o’clock to discuss NEWT-level curriculum,” “I suggested the appointment,” and “she came up the stairs with Gertie (who found her caught at the password change)” were the first three items under “Knowns.” “She has always disliked me or held me in contempt (okay, more an ‘Unreasonable Fear’ than a ‘Possible’),” “she has always respected me,” and “she has always liked me” began the list under “Possibles.” The first item under “Possibles” had been struck out in ink of a rather ugly dark orange.

Minerva felt peculiar – slightly guilty for looking at something that Albus had likely thought was safe from prying eyes at the bottom of a pile of Hogwarts forms, but also disturbed by the thought that he had made lists about their encounter yesterday morning. She knew Albus found lists an excellent way to organize his thoughts and solve problems, but was that all she was to him, an abstract problem to be solved? Swallowing her sense of guilt, Minerva pulled the sheet out from the stack just a little further. Now she could see the full list of what he had called “Knowns,” although the remainder of the “Possibles” were still covered by other parchments.

Albus had made a list of everything he knew about their encounter that morning. Minerva shook her head as if to clear it. At the bottom of the list, though, there were a few entries that were unlike his earlier observations: “I want Minerva to stay at Hogwarts,” “I respect her intellect and her character,” and “I enjoy and appreciate her company” were the final items on his list of “Knowns.”

Minerva hesitated, but her guilt and her respect for Albus won out over her curiosity, and she replaced the piece of parchment beneath the rest, just as she had found it, without reading anything more in the other list on that sheet; she didn’t even glance at the second sheet. Minerva didn’t know what to make of what she’d found, but it was best if she behaved as though she hadn’t seen it at all. But where was the list he _had_ left for her?

A voice came from across the room. “I believe that the parchments you are looking for were blown under the desk, dear.”

Minerva turned and looked up at the portrait of the former headmistress. “You could have told me that earlier, you know.”

“I suppose so, but you seemed so interested in what you were looking at,” responded Derwent with a demure smile.

Minerva flushed. The portraits were bound to serve the Headmaster. If Albus asked – or maybe even if he didn’t – the portraits would tell him that she had been looking through his papers! Minerva quickly went around the desk and immediately found the parchments that Albus had left for her. She looked back up at the portrait. “I hope that if you discuss this with the Headmaster, you will first make note of the fact that the parchments he left me were on the floor behind his desk when I arrived,” Minerva said somewhat coolly. 

“Of course I will, if he asks me,” came the response.

Minerva shook her head. She could feel another headache coming on. Why had life become so complicated for her? Sighing, she looked at the note that Albus had left for her. It wasn’t particularly personal, but he _had_ said that he looked forward to seeing her. Minerva did as the note suggested and sat at his desk, only slightly distracted by the knowledge that the other list was by her right elbow and that a portrait might mention to Albus that she had seen it.

Concentrating on the matter that had brought her to the Headmaster’s office to begin with, Minerva first read through the list of journals, then turned to the advertisement seeking a Care of Magical Creatures teacher. 

_“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the pre-eminent institution of magical learning in the British Isles, seeks a teacher for the Care of Magical Creatures class. Students range in age from 11 to 18. Applicant must be capable of presenting students with both lectures on the creatures covered by the curriculum and with practical exercises in handling and caring for select creatures. Applicant must have experience with creatures through the XXXXX rating and ability to handle ones through the XXXX rating for demonstration purposes. Practical experience may be substituted for academic credentials. Applicants should send curriculum vitae to Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”_

Minerva thought for a moment, then at the bottom of the parchment, she wrote:

_“Albus –_

_“I would add ‘with a letter describing their interest in the position’ after ‘curriculum vitae’ – it will help in the weeding process. Also, I think it might be a good idea to mention something about salary, holidays, etc., and, just in case it’s not obvious, the fact that the position requires the teacher to take up residence at the school during term time. You might also want to leave out ‘pre-eminent institution,’ etc. Most people know of Hogwarts. Do we need to brag? Just a thought!_

_“After glancing at your list, I only have one other publication that you might wish to advertise in:_ Bestial Byways _. I know it’s a popular magazine, but if you’re advertising that practical experience can be substituted for academic credentials, you might reach a few likely candidates that way.”_

Minerva hesitated a moment, then nodded to herself. 

_“By the way, when I came in to look for the list, it had fallen on the floor behind your desk. I didn’t notice it immediately and inadvertently saw a few of your other parchments while I was searching for it. I apologise if I may have unintentionally looked at any confidential documents._

_“I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, if not at dinner tonight._

_“Minerva”_

There. It was awkward – and awkwardly phrased – but she didn’t want him to think she had been snooping, even though she had, just a little. He might or might not guess what she had seen; if he asked, she would tell him. And now that Minerva was over her initial surprise at seeing the lists, they really didn’t bother her. After all, from what she saw, they contained nothing that Albus hadn’t already mentioned to her. It shouldn’t be surprising to her that after he had heard what she said, he would try to figure out why she was upset, and his lists were typical “Albus.” Minerva smiled slightly. It confirmed what he had said that morning about being afraid that she hated him – although he had crossed that entry out rather vehemently. And it demonstrated that Albus took her seriously and had spent quite a bit of time trying to work out why she had been so upset yesterday morning. He _could_ have just asked her, of course. But would she have told him? Probably not; besides, he had probably been too stunned by the closing words of her tirade to feel he could come right out and ask. And they wouldn’t have had that lovely dinner; everything would have continued as before, and she would have continued to feel she was insignificant in his life.

Minerva used a quick blotting charm on the wet ink, took the note he had written to her and put it in her pocket, and then arranged the other two parchments in the centre of Albus’s desk, putting the inkpot on them so that they would not fall on the floor again. Before leaving the office, she picked up her own parchments and books. As she opened the door, Fawkes glided from the shelf to his perch, singing as he crossed the room. Dilys Derwent called out, “Good bye, Professor!” Minerva responded in kind and hoped that the headmistress had some sense of discretion. She was glad she had let Albus know that she had looked at other documents and why. It wouldn’t look so much as though she had been snooping if Albus realised that she had seen the other lists he had made.


	32. The Attacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts experiences attacks on its students.
> 
>  
> 
> **Beginning of Part Six.**
> 
>  
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall; young Minerva McGonagall, Tom Riddle, and Professor Dumbledore.

**PART SIX**  
 **XXXII: The Attacks**

Minerva returned to her office, putting her books and parchments in their proper places, then thought about tea. Going back to her rooms and using the loo, Minerva remembered her brief conversation with Hagrid earlier that day. She really ought to pay him a visit. She hadn’t seen much of him since she had returned to teach, as their paths rarely crossed. He seldom came to meals in the Great Hall, she had noticed, although she was sure that Dumbledore had made him welcome at the staff table. Likely a habit from the years when Dippet was Headmaster.

Although many people had been very fond of the previous Headmaster, Minerva’s own feelings for Armando Dippet were ambivalent. He had seemed to respect Dumbledore and value his advice, both of which Minerva approved, and by vesting the wards in Dumbledore, he had clearly been willing to hand the Transfiguration teacher a large portion of the authority that usually accompanied being Headmaster. Nonetheless, the events at the end of her sixth year had irrevocably changed her view of Headmaster Dippet. He may have been an “old softy,” as Poppy had said yesterday, but that was not always a good thing – it depended to _whom_ he was being a “softy,” Minerva supposed. He certainly had not shown much backbone at the time, and he had not listened to his Deputy Headmaster’s advice on that occasion. Minerva remembered those frightening weeks in May and June when she had come to believe that Hogwarts might be closed for good.

Minerva had been surprised to learn at the first prefects’ meeting of her sixth year that Tom Riddle had been made a prefect. Because she had arrived early to begin her Animagus training and to learn about the project with which Dumbledore wanted her help, Minerva hadn’t been on the Hogwarts Express back to school, so when she saw Riddle approaching the classroom in which the first meeting was to be held, wearing a shiny new prefect’s badge on his robe, she was stunned. Riddle noticed her surprise at seeing him, and he looked down at her with an arrogant smile. 

“ _Some_ people know quality when they see it, McGonagall,” he said, sneering as he swept past her and into the classroom. 

“How could you let a bully like Riddle become prefect?” she had asked indignantly the next time she was alone with her Transfiguration teacher. 

“Such things are not up to me, Minerva,” he had replied patiently.

“Yes, but you are the Deputy Headmaster, and you are in charge of the prefects. Didn’t you have _anything_ to say in the matter?”

“As you know, the prefects are chosen, two from each House, by a vote. I am only one vote. And it was pointed out by Professor Slughorn that Mr Riddle is an exemplary student and a leader amongst the Slytherins, demonstrating two of the qualities sought in a prefect.”

“ _Leader_ ,” scoffed Minerva. “He’s a bully, and you know it. He’s even a bully in his own House, even if he goes about it more subtly there. He always manages to come out smelling clean whenever there’s any trouble in Slytherin, but I’m sure that’s only because he’s learned how not to get caught. You _know_ he will abuse his position, Professor. He was bad enough before; now he’s got the school’s blessing to intimidate students from other Houses and to push around the ones in his own – or is that what they call _‘leadership’_ in Slytherin?”

Dumbledore had calmed her down and assured her that he would keep an eye on Riddle. She would, too, for that matter, but when she told her professor that, he looked at her sharply and said, “Be careful of him, Minerva. Your assessment of his character may be correct, but it is incomplete; I can say no more, but remember my warning. Try not to get on his wrong side.”

“If the only other option is to be on his _right_ side, then I’d _rather_ get on his wrong side.” Minerva shook her head in disbelief. He was Head of Gryffindor House, and he was telling a Gryffindor to make nice to a nasty, bullying, Slytherin?

“Just be careful, please. Come see me if there is a problem. I will sort it out.”

Minerva just nodded, acknowledging what he’d said. She was almost of age, though, and she certainly wasn’t going to run to one of her teachers just because a Big, Bad Slytherin might want to intimidate her.

Over the first months of the term, she had caught the boy out after curfew several times, and never in the dungeons, where he might have a conceivable excuse to be. The first time, he had used his prefect’s badge as his excuse, but when Minerva pointed out to him that he was not on the patrol list, he claimed not to have known that curfew applied to prefects when they weren’t on patrol. He smiled at her charmingly, as though that would convince her to forget all of the times the previous year when she had almost caught him browbeating, hexing, or intimidating other students – _“almost”_ because the students involved would always deny there was any trouble and no witnesses would admit to it, either. Minerva didn’t know what it was that Riddle said to someone that would keep them quiet every time they could have reported his behaviour, but whatever it was, it had kept Riddle’s name out of her reports. Minerva actually had begun to report each incident involving the Slytherin, even when there was no complaint and no specific evidence of what Minerva believed he had been doing just before she arrived, but Dumbledore told her just a few weeks into her fifth year that she had to stop making those reports.

“I’m sorry, Minerva. It looks to some as though you have a personal grudge against Mr Riddle; I have been asked to tell you not to make any more reports about him unless you actually catch him doing something that is against the school rules.”

Minerva was angry, and she did not hesitate to let her mentor know it. Was she supposed to turn a blind eye when he bullied other students, especially young ones?

“Minerva, if these students wished, they could complain to their Heads of House, even if they do not wish to speak with you about it. No one has done so. I agree with you that this fact may be meaningless in this situation; nonetheless, it is so. And I would never want you to turn a blind eye to anything that you believe is wrong, you know that. Just make unofficial reports to me when you see such things, but avoid calling unnecessary attention to yourself in the process.”

Minerva had grumbled, but had done as Professor Dumbledore requested throughout her fifth year. And now here he was, almost a year later, “Prefect” Tom Riddle, trying to charm her with his smile. She was having none of it, but knowing what the response would be if she reported him, Minerva let him go with a warning that first time she found him out after curfew. Early in October, she caught him out past curfew a second time, but Riddle had a note from Professor Slughorn with him. When Minerva pointed out that the time on the note was two hours past and that the Potions classroom in which he had supposedly been working was in the dungeons, as was his dormitory, and not on the second floor, where they were, the Slytherin just laughed and told her that if she had a problem with it, she should speak with Professor Slughorn about it. Then he looked her up and down, a leer on his face, and said, “Or you could run to your Professor Dumbledore about it – it would give you another excuse to see him, after all. You should be grateful to me for that, McGonagall.” He licked his lower lip, in what Minerva presumed he thought was a lascivious way, and added, “How _grateful_ would you be?”

Minerva suppressed a disgusted shudder. “You really _are_ a pathetic child, you do know that, don’t you, Riddle? And I _will_ let Professor Slughorn know that you were able to make use of his note. I am sure he will be will be _most_ pleased with you.” The expression of fury that contorted Riddle’s face when she told him that he was a pathetic child did not escape Minerva’s notice; nonetheless, she turned her back to him and walked away, half-expecting that he would hex her. She was almost disappointed that he didn’t – she would finally have had proof that he was the nasty little snake she had always believed him to be. His insinuation about “running to Dumbledore” troubled her little – he was just a revolting Slytherin with a dirty mind. He only had friends whom he intimidated or who were useful to him; what would he understand of her relationship with her mentor? Minerva knew that he was a favourite of Slughorn’s, but she was sure that, whatever Slughorn’s thoughts were when he had admitted Riddle into his little elite group of students, Riddle was gaining more from Slughorn than Slughorn would ever profit from his acquaintance with him.

Minerva only ran into Riddle during her Prefect Patrol three more times; each time, he had a note from Professor Slughorn. Minerva thought that either he was becoming more adept at avoiding her when she patrolled, or else he was checking the Prefect Patrol schedule and had confined his lurking the halls to those nights when she wasn’t on the schedule. She never heard from other prefects that they had found him out after hours, but it wasn’t as though she had taken a poll, either.

Then one evening in May, while on Prefect Patrol, Minerva came across a horrifying sight: a student lying frozen at the feet of one of the suits of armour. As she ran to him, she could see that it was a student from Hufflepuff, a second-year, she thought. Her own heart pounding in her chest, Minerva felt for a pulse and found one. Someone must have cursed him, perhaps with _Petrificus Totalis_ , so she lifted her wand and said, “ _Finite Incantatum!_ ” When that failed to release the young boy from his petrified state, Minerva was unsure what to do. She was patrolling alone. She did not want to leave to get help, but she could do the boy no good by staying with him, either. Yelling for help on the apparently deserted second floor would probably be useless – and if the person who had done this was still around, it would attract his attention, even if no help came. 

Her heart pounding, frightened by the thought that whoever had done this might be nearby, Minerva cast _Mobilicorpus_ and began levitating the Hufflepuff toward the hospital wing, then, remembering how Wilspy had come when she had called her, she yelled out, “Wilspy! Wilspy, come quickly, I need you!”

A second later the house-elf appeared. 

“Get Professor Dumbledore! Tell him a student’s badly hurt and I’m bringing him to the hospital wing.”

Without a word, Wilspy popped away. 

Levitating the frozen student, Minerva was making her way to the staircase that would lead her to the first floor and the main entrance of the infirmary when she heard someone running up the stairs. It was Dumbledore. With relief, Minerva gave the boy over to his care, and at his direction, lowered the student to the ground.

“I have sent Wilspy to fetch Madam Valentius,” he said as he knelt beside the child. Running his left hand over the boy’s body whilst casting a spell with his wand in his right, Dumbledore’s face grew more worried. “This is no curse. I do not know what caused this, but it did not come from the end of a wand.”

In the distance, they could hear others approaching the foot of the stairs on the first floor. Professor Dumbledore Levitated the student and started down the stairs, calling after him for Minerva to follow. 

“It’s Jeremy Flanders, Madam Valentius. He’s been petrified by something; I do not know what caused it.” 

After they had brought the Hufflepuff to the infirmary, Professor Dumbledore drew her into one of the private rooms – she thought it was the one she had stayed in after her accident the previous December – and questioned her about everything she had seen and heard before she had found the boy. But Minerva could think of nothing at all out of the ordinary.

The next few weeks were terrifying. Two more students were found in a state similar to the one young Jeremy Flanders had been in. Minerva cursed herself for not having been more observant before she had discovered him. There _must_ have been some clue that she had missed that evening, _something_ that would have revealed what sinister force was at work, but she had seen and heard nothing, other than the drippy tap in girl’s bathroom, which was hardly unusual.

And then Myrtle was killed. Killed in the bathroom with the drippy tap. 

Despite the new, strict rules in place, requiring all students to remain in their common rooms, to go nowhere but their classes and meals, and then only when accompanied by a teacher, Minerva slipped out of Gryffindor Tower that evening, earning a rebuke from the Fat Lady. She ran quickly down the stairs toward the first floor. She needed to see Professor Dumbledore; she was driven to see him. She didn’t even know why; she just wanted some reassurance that all was well. As she waited for the staircase between the second and third floors to come around to her, Minerva was grabbed by the shoulder, hard, and twirled around.


	33. A Difficult Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva is caught out during an extraordinary curfew; this leads to a difficult conversation.
> 
> Characters this chapter: young Minerva McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, and Professor Gamp.

**Part XXXIII: A Difficult Conversation**

“ _What_ do you think you are doing roaming the castle?! You should _not_ be out of the Tower – and certainly not alone! Twenty points from Gryffindor. I expected better of you, Miss McGonagall!”

“I’m sorry, I just . . . I just,” Minerva stuttered, “I just . . . needed to see you.” She felt horrid. He had never yelled at her before; she had scarcely ever heard him raise his voice or use a sharp tone with anyone. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her face burned red with shame.

The hand still gripping her shoulder relaxed then, and she felt him giving it a gentle squeeze before releasing her. “That is _not_ a good enough reason to be out of your dormitory. I would not be pleased if I had to bear the news to your parents, who entrusted you to my care, that you were lying frozen in the hospital wing – or _dead_. If anything were to happen to you, Minerva . . .” He spoke quietly, his face grim. “Even if _you_ do not care what happens to you – or how I would feel about it – think at least of what it would do to your friends and family.”

This was worse than when he had shouted at her. Unable to look at him, Minerva whispered, “I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t think. I needed to see you.”

The staircase had swung toward them; Professor Dumbledore took Minerva’s elbow and started down the stairs with her. “We will go to my office and talk. You will _not_ leave my sight. Is that understood?” he asked her quietly, an undertone of anger still in his voice.

“Yes, sir,” she answered softly.

He did not release her arm until they were in his classroom. He led her to his office, looked around, and then told her to sit and not to move while he warded the classroom and office. She was startled to see that in addition to warding the doors and windows, he extended the wards to the walls and even to the floor and the ceiling. He then took a pinch of Floo-Powder in his left hand, lit a small fire in the grate, and tossed the Powder in. “Gertrude Gamp’s Sitting Room,” he called out. “Professor Gamp, are you there?” When Professor Gamp responded, Dumbledore raised his wand and cast a privacy screen around himself. It was a variation on the Imperturbable Charm, and Minerva could hear nothing of what was said. He was probably telling the other teacher about Minerva and her flagrant violation of the new curfew. Minerva sank lower in her chair and looked down at her lap. After a several minutes, he rose from the hearth, extinguished the fire, and cancelled the Charm. He stood for a few moments, silently gazing into the empty fireplace.

“It is fortunate,” he finally said, sitting down in the chair behind his desk, “that I placed an additional alarm ward on the door to Gryffindor Tower.” He looked at Minerva over his glasses. “Should I also place them on the windows, Miss McGonagall, or would it be sufficient if I simply confiscated all of the brooms, hmm?” There was no hint of humour in his voice, just cold disappointment.

“No, sir.” Minerva looked at the floor. She had been foolish. If she had caught anyone else sneaking out of the Tower, for whatever reason, she would have recommended detention for the rest of their lives. A student had died, the castle was in an uproar, and she was a prefect who should not only be enforcing the rules instituted for their safety, but who should also be setting an example.

Tears welled up in her eyes again. Minerva fumbled with her prefect’s badge, removing it from her robes. She placed in on his desk and, unable to look her professor in the eye, whispered, “Here, sir.”

“I do not want your badge, Miss McGonagall. It may be meaningless in a few days, anyway. If we do not discover what has been attacking the students, Hogwarts will close. Possibly for good, if we don’t identify the cause of Myrtle MacNair’s death.”

Minerva gasped and looked up. “No!”

“Quite. Do you think that anyone – any teacher or any member of the Board of Governors – would want to invite students to attend a school at which grave injury or death is a genuine possibility? And what parent or guardian would send their child to such a school? Accidents happen, but this . . . there is a malevolent intelligence behind these attacks.”

“Sir?” Minerva asked hesitantly.

“Yes, you risked your life to come to see me, Miss McGonagall; ask whatever questions you may have.” His voice was unyielding in its expression of his displeasure with her.

Minerva took a breath and let it out shakily. She had come for reassurance, not because she had questions to ask him. But what he had said about a malevolent intelligence did raise a question in her mind, and since she certainly was not going to receive any reassurance from him, not when he was still so angry with her – justifiably so – she might as well ask a question. “People are saying something about the Heir of Slytherin, and that Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Is that the purpose of it, then, this Chamber, to destroy the school? Why, and why now, sir?”

“I think that whatever intelligence is behind these attacks has an unclear motive – killing Miss MacNair was likely an accident of sorts. Perhaps she saw something she shouldn’t have, or she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Certainly _each_ of the petrified students was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but those three had something in common with one another that Miss MacNair does not – do you know what that might be, Miss McGonagall?”

Minerva thought a moment about the three students and of the pureblood slogan that had been painted at the scenes of the second and third attacks. “None of the four are from Slytherin; two of the Petrified students are in Hufflepuff and one is in Gryffindor, and I’m pretty sure that none of them are pureblood. The Gryffindor, I know for a fact, is Muggle-born. Myrtle was in Ravenclaw, and I don’t know what ‘purists’ would say about her family background, but I think she would be considered a pureblooded witch.”

“Correct. What does that tell you about the purpose of the force behind these attacks?”

“Maybe that whoever it is just wants all of the Muggle-born and mixed-blood students to be frightened away from the school, or maybe he wants the school to stop admitting them?” she said tentatively.

“That is my supposition, as well. Whoever it was has made a fatal error, however, or has underestimated the value that most in the wizarding community place on all of our children, regardless of parentage. And even if I _am_ wrong, and purebloods care only about their own, the school might have closed even had there been no deaths, if the attacks continued unabated – ‘pureblood’ is just the same as any other blood, and you can’t tell by looking at someone whether they’ve a Muggle in their family line; it was only a matter of time before a mistake was made or an accident occurred and someone from a pureblood family was injured. What pureblood parents would take the risk of that, even if they didn’t care about Muggle-borns?”

“But wouldn’t they just want to close the school to anyone who wasn’t a pureblood, in that case?”

Dumbledore smiled slightly for the first time. “If they were to try that, they would find they had a very small school, indeed. Hardly worth keeping Hogwarts open for them.”

“I see. Well, in that case, if the person doesn’t want the school to close, but only wants to drive away anyone who isn’t a pureblood, he really doesn’t know what he’s doing, does he?”

“I’d say that he knows what he is doing; he just doesn’t know as much about the circumstances as he thinks he does and does not comprehend the larger consequences. Whoever it is, he has made mistakes, both in unleashing the plan and in its execution.” Dumbledore gazed out the leaded glass windows behind Minerva, where the evening shadows were beginning to lengthen across Hogwarts’ lawns.

“What about the wards, sir? Can’t you tell anything from them?” she asked.

Albus removed his glasses, placing them on his desk, and rubbed his eyes. “I have tried, but the foundational wards, which are the ones that should allow us to discover what or who is carrying out these attacks or at least whence they originate, are still not functioning as they should, despite the work I have done on them over the last four years. Most of my efforts were focussed, first, on making sure that the castle won’t physically come tumbling down around us –” At Minerva’s alarmed expression, he added, “oh, yes, the physical integrity of the building is strongly affected by the wards – and, second, on the perimeter wards and the wards that protect the castle itself from outside intruders. These attacks must be coming from somewhere within the castle, _or_ there is some entrance to the castle that I have not yet found.” He sighed. “I have failed to do what I was brought here to do, and now three students lie in the hospital wing and a fourth is dead.” Dumbledore seemed to slump in his chair with his final words.

“That’s not all you’ve had to worry about, though!” cried Minerva, sitting up straight, her heart wrenched at his defeated expression. “You shouldn’t blame yourself, Professor! The Ministry has had you working on the War for years; you are teaching twelve classes of students – and with each class meeting almost three hours each week, and every one of them handing in homework and tests, it’s amazing that you have time to eat or sleep! Plus you are Deputy Headmaster and Head of Gryffindor House – and that’s not even beginning to consider all of the other things you do for people, like giving me Animagus lessons. You told me yourself last summer that you could work on the wards for decades and not be able to restore them to their original condition. It makes perfect sense to start with the wards that protect the castle from intruders and that keep it from falling down around us. You _aren’t_ superhuman, Professor; you’re just one, single wizard, no matter how powerful your magic or how strong your will! You shouldn’t blame yourself,” Minerva repeated. “Where is everybody else? What about the Headmaster? Why should _you_ do everything? I _know_ you have done all you could, sir. You wouldn’t have it any other way. But if you want to blame someone, blame Headmaster Black for destroying centuries worth of warding because he thought he knew better than everyone else! Or blame whoever has launched these attacks. Just don’t blame yourself.”

Albus looked at Minerva with a faint smile. “You could have just called Wilspy, you know. I would have come and fetched you. I am sure we could have thought of a legitimate reason for you to come and visit me without you endangering your life, my dear.”

Minerva teared up at his gentle expression and fond words. “I’m sorry, sir, so sorry. I just didn’t think, and it was more than stupid of me. You would be right to punish me in whatever way you see fit.” She smiled through her tears. “Please don’t expel me, though, sir, unless they decide to close the school.”

Her professor chuckled softly. “You are missing dinner. It is being served in the common rooms. As you would know if you had stayed in Gryffindor Tower. Professor Gamp kindly agreed to oversee dinner in my absence.” He smiled at Minerva’s expression. “Yes, a Slytherin overseeing dinner in Gryffindor Tower as a favour to the Head of Gryffindor House. That is certainly not something that our antagonist would be pleased to see. I do hope that the students comport themselves well. I would hate to take more points from Gryffindor today.”

Minerva looked chagrined as she remembered the points he had taken from her earlier. Not nearly as many as he could have, but probably more than all of the points she had lost over the last six years. Minerva was not one to misbehave or flout rules, despite her temper; it was part of what made her a good prefect – or it had. She still had not picked up her badge from where she had placed it on her professor’s desk.

“Sir, I think I should resign as prefect. I set a very bad example in dangerous times. This was not just breaking an ordinary curfew; Hogwarts is in terrible danger, and I behaved rashly and irresponsibly.”

“Yes, you did. And I _am_ disappointed in you. However, your lapse in judgment, despite its potentially grave consequences, was atypical and did not lead to any harm to yourself or to anyone else – and although Gertie might qualify overseeing the supper of dozens of Gryffindor students as a harm done to her, I think she will recover!” he said with a smile. “Keep your badge, Minerva. You are more deserving of it than most, and I believe that you understand the . . . _foolishness_ of what you did.” 

“Thank you, sir.” After he had mentioned supper, Minerva realised how hungry she was. She wondered if they would save anything for her in the Tower, or if she would just have to wait until breakfast. She certainly could not expect him to feed her after what she had done.

“Of course, Miss McGonagall,” Dumbledore said sternly, “you have also made _me_ miss my dinner, as well, since I was supposed to eat in Gryffindor Tower with the rest of you.” He looked at her over his glasses. “I need to escort you back to the Tower, however. I suppose that the only thing to do is to have you wait for me here whilst I eat, and then I will return you to your dormitory afterward.”

“All right, sir,” said Minerva quietly. She didn’t blame him for not wanting to eat with her. She may have been forgiven for breaking the extraordinary curfew, but that did not mean that he wasn’t still angry with her.

Dumbledore called Wilspy. “Some supper, Wilspy; just sandwiches, please. I have a meeting with Headmaster Dippet shortly.” 

He got up and went to wash his hands, then returned to sit behind his desk again. Minerva sat in her chair and looked out the window as her professor put his glasses back on and began reading some parchments – student essays, she thought, though why he would bother under these circumstances mystified her. A few minutes later, Wilspy popped back into the office with a large platter of sandwiches, a pitcher of pumpkin juice, and two glasses, and then left again.

“If you want to wash your hands before you eat, you had better hurry. I am hungry and may not leave you anything!” Wilspy had brought at least five large sandwiches, so it was highly unlikely that he could eat them all himself.

Minerva washed her hands, came back, and helped herself to a very nice sandwich of cheddar, pickles, and cress. After Minerva had eaten a few bites of her sandwich, washing it down with cold pumpkin juice, Dumbledore asked, “Did you _really_ believe that I was going to eat my supper in front of you and let you go hungry, Minerva?”

“I wasn’t sure. . . Well, yes, actually, I did. I thought it was the least I deserved after what I’d done.”

“Oh, my dear. I thought we knew each other better than that! I _was_ very angry – and I suppose I still am a little upset with you – but not just because you broke the rules. Surely you know that?” he asked.

Minerva swallowed the bite of sandwich she had taken. “I guess so.”

“You ‘guess so.’” He sighed. “Minerva, the danger is very real. You must know how . . . _distressing_ it would be if anything were to happen to you? And not just for your parents.”

Minerva broke off a piece of her sandwich and crumbled a bit of the bread between her fingers. “I suppose my friends would be a little upset, too. I was upset about it when I found Jeremy, and I didn’t even know him. And I felt bad about Myrtle, even though – not to speak ill of the dead – but she was not a particularly amiable person. Still, it wasn’t anything you’d want to happen to anyone you know.”

Albus put down his sandwich and looked at her. “I do hope that you are using the word ‘friends’ in a broad sense and are including me among them.” Minerva continued to crumble the crust of her bread. “Look at me, Minerva.” Minerva raised her eyes. “There are _many_ people who care about you and who are concerned about your safety. I am among them. To say that I would be ‘a little upset’ is an understatement. Do you understand, Minerva, why I was so angry with you?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I know how hard you have worked to help me become an Animagus. And if they don’t close the school, you’ll still have to –”

“ _Minerva McGonagall!_ Do you honestly believe that I care about the time I spent helping you as though it were some kind of an investment? Do you truly think that I would regret your death only because you would be unable to help with the wards?” He seemed perplexed by Minerva’s response.

“I – I don’t know. I suppose you know me pretty well. It’s a bit harder when someone dies if you know them well.”

“I see.” Albus finished his glass of pumpkin juice. “And if I were to be killed by whatever attacked Miss MacNair and the others, you would just think it ‘a bit harder’ because you . . . ‘knew me pretty well’?” he asked.

“ _No!_ ” Minerva cried, responding in horror at the thought of Professor Dumbledore lying cold and dead on a floor somewhere in Hogwarts. “No! That would be _dreadful_. I don’t think I could bear coming back to school. It wouldn’t matter if they closed it or not.” Minerva shook her head at the vision. “It would be just . . . awful . . .” she finished quietly.

“Do you understand now why I was so angry with you, Minerva?”

“I think so. I am sorry, Professor. I just sometimes think . . . well, I’m just one student out of many, you know? Good at Transfiguration, but . . .” 

Albus shook his head. “Minerva, you _are_ one student out of many; the _one_ student out of many; the _only_ one who is Minerva McGonagall. But right now we need to get you back to Gryffindor Tower so that I can go to my meeting.” He rose and banished the remains of their supper. “You know, you really do need to work on your . . . confidence. It is one thing to be modest and unassuming about one’s talents, and quite another not to recognise one’s value, one’s _importance_ , in the lives of others.”

They walked rapidly back to Gryffindor Tower. Minerva noticed that all of the staircases they took led them just to where they needed to go, and she wondered if that was because Professor Dumbledore was the Keeper of the Wards. When they reached the seventh floor, Minerva stopped and put a tentative hand out to touch her professor’s left arm. She had avoided physical contact with him since the day of her accident, touching him only when necessary, which was seldom. Now, though, she allowed herself to touch his upper arm and to leave her hand resting on it lightly. She could just feel the vibration of his magic through his robes.

Very softly, although there was not even a portrait nearby, she said, “Sir, I _am_ sorry. Really. Especially for scaring you. I have been scared for your safety sometimes. Often, actually. But you are, well, you are _you_ , and I always have faith that you will be all right, that you will survive any dangers you face and always come back.” She swallowed. “But if you didn’t . . . I think I understand what you meant earlier, when you said what you did . . . about it not having to do with an investment of time. And about one’s value in the lives of others. I appreciate it, Professor. Thank you.”

Albus reached up with his right hand and patted hers where it rested on his arm. “Very good. And you _will_ have detention with me when this is over, just to make sure that you do not forget your error in judgment . . . Provided we don’t have to close the school, of course.” 

Minerva dropped her hand, and they walked the rest of the way to the Fat Lady’s portrait in silence.

“Brought this one back, did you, Professor?” asked the portrait. “When she left, I thought I’d probably seen the last of her.”

Dumbledore ignored the Fat Lady’s remarks and just gave the password. “Periwinkle,” he said. “I will see you . . . sometime. Perhaps tomorrow. Good-evening, Miss McGonagall!”

“Good-evening, Professor Dumbledore.” 

Minerva entered Gryffindor Tower to find the common room empty except for Professor Gamp. It was truly a peculiar sight for Minerva to see her Slytherin Arithmancy teacher, feet up on an ottoman in front of the fireplace, reading a scholarly journal in the empty Gryffindor common room and eating an apple.


	34. Professor Gamp's Suggestion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva returns to the Gryffindor common room to find someone waiting for her. In the middle of the night, she remembers something disturbing, but she can't figure out its significance.
> 
> Characters this chapter: young Minerva McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, Professor Gamp, Wilspy, and Professor Dustern.

**XXXIV: Professor Gamp’s Suggestion**

Professor Gamp looked up when Minerva entered Gryffindor Tower, but remained seated. Minerva hesitated, then greeted her Arithmancy teacher. “Good-evening, Professor Gamp.”

“Miss McGonagall.” Professor Gamp nodded at her.

Minerva began to cross to the stairs leading to the girls’ dormitory.

“Miss McGonagall, a word, please.”

Minerva turned toward Professor Gamp.

“I do not particularly wish to shout across the room at you, Miss McGonagall.”

Minerva walked over to the Slytherin teacher. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Have a seat.”

Minerva sat down on the edge of the chair across from Professor Gamp.

Professor Gamp removed her feet from the ottoman, put _Arithmancy Today_ down on the table beside her, tossed her apple core into the fireplace, and then just looked at Minerva for a moment. 

“I am sure I do not need to tell you that what you did was foolish and dangerous.”

“No, Professor, I understand that,” Minerva said, looking at the severe teacher.

“Do I also need to tell you that Professor Dumbledore has many worries, many responsibilities, and many, many demands on his time?”

“No, ma’am,” Minerva answered quietly.

“Then perhaps you might spend the rest of the evening examining precisely why you engaged in behaviour that would increase the already significant burdens on him. You are not a child, Miss McGonagall. You have taken on an adult’s responsibilities, and you have carried yourself well, for the most part. Needless to say, your behaviour today showed none of the intelligence and maturity you normally display, not to mention that it exhibited a profound disregard for Professor Dumbledore’s well-being. I never would have expected that of you, Miss McGonagall.”

Minerva did not know how to respond. She was uncomfortable under Professor Gamp’s scrutiny, and yet she could not argue with any of the witch’s statements.

“I know, Professor. I am sorry.”

“Hmmpf. ‘Sorry.’ That’s fine, but what will you do to make reparations? And will you engage in such behaviour again the next time the mood strikes you?” Minerva opened her mouth to respond, but Professor Gamp cut her off. “Those were questions for you to think about, not questions requiring perfunctory, off-the-cuff responses, Miss McGonagall. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I think so, Professor.” Minerva was surprised that Professor Gamp was taking the time to speak to her, and in such a manner. She and Professor Gamp had, of course, spoken outside of class before, but, aside from mundane pleasantries, their conversations had never touched anything outside of Minerva’s Arithmancy homework. Minerva had the impression that Professor Gamp was concerned not only about Minerva’s breaking the rules, but also about Professor Dumbledore and about Minerva herself.

“Your fellow Gryffindors apparently found the presence of a . . . teacher in their common room somewhat inhibiting, and they have retired to their dormitories for the night. I suggest you do the same, Miss McGonagall.”

“Yes, ma’am. And thank you.”

“Good-night, then, Miss McGonagall.”

“Good-night, Professor Gamp.” Minerva rose and walked quickly to the stairs and started up them as fast as she could without appearing to be rude. When she reached her room at the top of the tower, her roommates were not there. Probably gathered in one of the other girls’ rooms, for gossip or for comfort. No doubt they had all noticed that she was missing, and no doubt, as well, they found it odd that Professor Dumbledore had Professor Gamp oversee their dinner in the Tower.

She threw herself on her bed and kicked off her shoes. Rolling over onto her stomach, Minerva closed her eyes and tried not to think. Then, letting out a deep sigh, she remembered Professor Gamp’s questions. As much as she might resent Professor Gamp’s presumption in lecturing her after she had already been thoroughly scolded by Professor Dumbledore, she had to admit that the Arithmancy teacher had made several good points. And, if Minerva was honest with herself, she recognised that Professor Gamp had actually treated her more like an adult than she might have, given the circumstances. She had presumed that Minerva had already recognised the idiocy of her earlier actions, for one thing.

Minerva supposed that the least she could do was to take seriously Professor Gamp’s advice to think about what she’d done, why she’d done it, and how she could prevent it from happening again. And, of course, how to make amends for it. Minerva presumed that Professor Gamp meant that she should make “reparations” to Professor Dumbledore, but she hadn’t a clue of how to go about it. As to not repeating her behaviour, there was little chance of that. And she certainly would think twice before doing anything even slightly rash in the future. As to why she had done it . . . she had thought that she had wanted Professor Dumbledore’s reassurance that all would be well, but it wasn’t merely that which had driven her from the dormitory that evening. She had, after all, been trying to avoid spending too much time with him unless the two of them were working on her Animagus training. To have sought reassurance from him was only a small part of the reason she had sought him out that evening. There was something else, something niggling at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t quite lay her finger on it. Perhaps after a good night’s sleep, she would be able to figure out what was bothering her, Minerva decided. As to reparations . . . that could be a long-term plan, provided, of course, that Hogwarts remained open. OWLs and NEWTs were supposed to be taking place. Would they even continue to hold exams under these circumstances?

Minerva changed into her nightgown and opened the window to let in some fresh air. As she did so, she remembered how Dumbledore had asked whether he should place wards on the windows, as well as on the door. He had been so disappointed in her. And not just because she’d broken the rules, or because she had placed herself in danger, but also because she did not recognise how much he valued her life.

Minerva sighed and sat down on her bed. She could not afford to acknowledge that she might be at all important to Professor Dumbledore. If she did that, she would no doubt begin to exaggerate her importance in his life, and then who knew where such thoughts would lead, but it could certainly only bring her more heartache. Still, it was nice that he had made it clear that he cared about her, cared for her, even in the midst of his anger with her. Perhaps she could allow herself to recognise that he cared for her as . . . as an exceptional student of Transfiguration, and perhaps also like a niece or something. As long as she didn’t develop any delusions that he could care for her in any other way, perhaps she could allow herself to appreciate the affection that he actually did have for her.

Minerva fell into a fitful sleep, waking only briefly when her roommates returned at about midnight. She dreamed of the girls’ bathroom in which Myrtle was killed, dreaming that she was on Prefect Patrol, feeling that there was someone watching her, someone nearby, but there was only a drippy tap; then there was water steadily flowing across the floor, and she saw Myrtle lying in the water, cold and still, unseeing eyes fixed on the sink with the drippy tap, the tap that was flooding the bathroom. Minerva tried to turn off the tap, but no matter what she did, the water would not stop dripping, and she could feel someone watching her. Minerva awoke with a start. The drippy tap. Probably nothing, but Minerva could not shake her sense of unease that there was something about it that was not normal.

After tossing and turning, listening to her roommates’ breathing, Minerva finally got up, slipped her feet into her slippers, grabbed her dressing gown from its hook next to her wardrobe, and walked down the stairs to the common room. At almost three o’clock in the morning, Professor Gamp was, of course, no longer there. Nervous in the empty common room after all that had happened over the last few weeks, Minerva spelled all the candles alight and sat on the couch. This was stupid; it was probably nothing. But Professor Gamp had told her to think about why she had felt it necessary to seek out Professor Dumbledore in such a foolhardy manner, and Minerva thought it was because, somewhere in the back of her mind, there was _something_ about that girls’ bathroom that bothered her. She hadn’t been aware of it when she’d gone haring out of Gryffindor Tower, but she _was_ aware of it now.

Sighing at the thought of disturbing her professor when he surely needed his rest, Minerva finally called for Wilspy. The house-elf appeared immediately, wrapped in a terry-cloth towel with another smaller one wrapped around her head like a scarf. Minerva wondered if the elf slept like that, but didn’t spare it much thought.

“Wilspy, I hate to disturb Professor Dumbledore, but there’s something I’ve remembered, and I need to tell him. Could you see if I can see him, please?”

“Yes, Miss Minerva, I will go now and ask him.” Wilspy immediately Disapparated.

Minerva waited anxiously. She wondered if she should have dressed before calling Wilspy, and she pulled her dressing gown more closely around her, tying the sash in a firm bow. Less than ten minutes later, the portrait hole opened and Professor Dumbledore ducked through it. He was wearing the same dark blue robes she had seen him in several hours ago. It didn’t look as though he had had any rest that night. Minerva felt even guiltier about her stunt the previous evening.

“You wished to see me, Miss McGonagall?” Professor Dumbledore asked as he crossed the room toward her.

Minerva stood. “Yes, it’s probably nothing, Professor, but I think I remembered something. I was dreaming, and I –”

“Not here,” he replied, looking about the room. “Come.”

He led her out of the common room, warding the door behind them, then down the broad corridor to a narrow hall, where they went down a short flight of stairs where they took a sharp right turn, walked a few more yards and went up a seemingly identical set of stairs to a narrow hallway. Minerva had no idea where they were until she recognised the hallway from the prior August when she had stayed in Professor Dumbledore’s guest room.

Dumbledore traced a pattern in the air in front of a portrait of a rather bellicose-looking woman, leaving streams of gold trailing from the end of his wand. He then uttered a password, “Featherlight-Fudge,” and the door opened. After they entered his sitting room, he turned and traced similar patterns in the air in front of the door, this time leaving traces of brilliant blue and red.

“A few precautions were necessary,” he said as he turned back to Minerva. “Please have a seat. What did you remember?”

Minerva sat in a flowered overstuffed armchair and told him about her dream. “And that made me remember the drippy tap. Ever since, I don’t know, late November or early December, I’d often get a peculiar feeling when I patrolled the second floor. I had caught Riddle out after curfew several times, and at least three times that I remember, he was on the second floor. So when I had that odd feeling, I thought that he might be somewhere, trying to avoid me, but I never found him or anyone else. I remember the first time this happened, I had thought I’d heard something, and all I found was a drippy tap in the girls’ bathroom. A few other times when I patrolled the second floor, the tap would be dripping.” 

Minerva looked at Professor Dumbledore to see if she could tell whether he thought she was being ridiculous, but he was just listening to her, apparently taking her seriously. “But the thing is, Professor, I’ve used that bathroom during the day, and the tap isn’t dripping. And it’s always the same tap. Just before I found Jeremy, I had found the tap dripping again and had turned it off. It’s the same bathroom where Myrtle was found. I don’t know why, but it bothered me and I thought you should know. It probably doesn’t mean anything,” she finished lamely.

“I think it probably _is_ meaningful, Minerva, although its significance isn’t apparent at the moment. Thank you for telling me.” He paused and gazed at her. “Is that why you were coming to see me earlier?”

Minerva wished she could have told him that it had been, but she shook her head. “No. There was something bothering me, but I didn’t know what it was. Something in the back of my mind . . . I just couldn’t figure it out. And then Professor Gamp said . . . .” Minerva didn’t really want to repeat to Professor Dumbledore what her Arithmancy teacher had told her. But Dumbledore’s eyebrows raised questioningly.

“Yes? What did she say to you?”

“Well, she suggested,” Minerva hesitated briefly, then continued, “she suggested that I think about what had caused me to behave as I had.”

“A wise witch, wouldn’t you say, Minerva?” Her professor spoke over steepled hands. He made no further comment about what Professor Gamp had said, nor about the possible significance of the drippy tap. “I had hoped to get some rest tonight,” he said with a sigh.

Minerva could see now the dark circles under his eyes, and he seemed to have aged a decade in the last few weeks. “I think you should, sir. I don’t know that anything can be done to investigate that bathroom right now, anyway. And it was always sometime between ten o’clock and midnight that I would find the tap dripping. All of the attacks took place during the day or evening hours. Maybe you should wait until tomorrow; besides, you should probably have someone with you. Everyone who was attacked was alone at the time – except for the attacker, of course. You shouldn’t investigate it on your own. Remember what you said to me about one’s importance in the lives of others – don’t take any unnecessary risks, yourself, sir.” 

Minerva felt hypocritical, and even slightly foolish, asking her professor, with all of his years of experience, not to take unnecessary risks, when she, a mere witch of seventeen, had taken a truly unnecessary risk for no particularly good reason just a few hours before.

Professor Dumbledore smiled slightly, though, and said, “You are correct, Miss McGonagall. But we do need to return you to Gryffindor Tower before I can retire for the night – or what’s left of it.”

“Sir? It may not be a good idea, but if you’d like, I could stay next door. It’s after three-thirty already. By the time you get back, it will be at least four o’clock.”

He sighed. “Probably not the wisest idea, actually, but . . . . Wilspy!”

Wilspy appeared, this time in her usual tea-towel attire. “Yes, sir?”

“Are there clean linens on the bed in the guest room?”

“Yes, sir. They’s fresh and clean.”

“Very well. Miss McGonagall will be spending the remainder of the night there. Could you go to her dormitory and fetch her a change of clothes, please?”

After Wilspy left, Minerva said, “That wasn’t really necessary, sir.”

“I think it would be highly inappropriate for you to wander about the corridors tomorrow morning dressed as you are now. When I escort you back to Gryffindor in the morning, I would prefer not to give the impression that you arrived in the middle of the night, as you did, and then remained here. It is most . . . irregular.”

“Of course.” Minerva felt her face grow hot. Of course: some people might draw the wrong conclusions if she left his chambers in the morning dressed in nothing but a nightgown, bathrobe, and slippers. And now that her own feelings toward him had changed since the last time she had spent the night in his guest room, she could see that it was not such a far-fetched idea – except, of course, for the fact that Professor Dumbledore would never entertain an improper relationship with a student. Nonetheless, given the amount of time that people knew the two spent together, she could see how they might speculate about the propriety of her professor’s interactions with her. She doubted very much that anyone had engaged in such speculation yet – except a toe-rag like Riddle – but in a small community such as that at Hogwarts, it wouldn’t take very much to start up a rumour about a Transfiguration teacher and his pet student spending a night together in his rooms.

Still, she had suggested it, and it was getting later. He needed all the sleep he could get, Minerva reasoned. “I know where everything is, Professor; I’ll be fine. Thank you.” She rose. “Good-night, Professor.”

“Good-night, Minerva. Wilspy will wake you.”

Minerva went into the little room in which she had stayed that one night the previous summer. It looked quite a bit different. There were two large bookcases on either side of the bed, standing in front of the windows, and a few shelves filled with neat stacks of parchment were against the wall next to the small, empty desk. Dumbledore must have had Wilspy move all of those things into the sitting room when she had stayed there before. She realised only then that the windows of Dumbledore’s sitting room had been unobstructed this morning, but for the heavy burgundy-coloured curtains that were closed over them.

Minerva pulled back the covers and lay down on the bed, sure she wouldn’t sleep, only to awaken to Wilspy’s voice calling to her.

“Miss Minerva! Miss Minerva, time to get up. Robes are on the dresser. Must get up now!”

Minerva was exhausted, but she stumbled out of bed and into the little bathroom, snagging her robes on her way in. Wilspy had brought her a plain grey dress, her student uniform robe, and shoes and stockings. No knickers. Oh, well. She wasn’t wearing any at the moment, either, since she never did when wearing a nightgown. She splashed her face with cold water, rinsed her mouth, and used her wand to smooth her hair down. Wilspy popped into the bathroom just as she was finishing, startling her.

“Wilspy will take your nightwear. Please leave nightwear on the floor. All of it. Slippers, too.”

Even though Wilspy would not be freed if Minerva handed her clothing, as Minerva had no authority over the house-elf, she was naturally averse to taking any clothing directly from Minerva’s own hand. “Of course, Wilspy. Thank you.”

Minerva went to the sitting room to find her professor waiting for her. He was dressed in dove grey robes with dusky purple trim, and he appeared slightly better rested than he had a few hours before.

“We have time for a cup of tea before we leave, Minerva. The Houses are having breakfast in their common rooms. Exams have been cancelled for the day, and everyone is confined to the dormitories this morning. Lunch will be held in the Great Hall, however, and certain announcements will be made at that time. I suggest you wait in the common room for your fellow students to join you. With luck, there will be no one up yet when you arrive. Best to avoid awkward questions. Although, if you are asked, do not lie about anything. You may omit mention of whatever you wish to, of course.” He smiled slightly.

Minerva poured their tea, which they drank in silence. After they had finished, Dumbledore lifted the wards he had cast the night before, then warded the portrait behind them again when they left. As they walked down the narrow hallway toward the seventh floor corridor, they could hear something that sounded like someone coming up the main staircase to the seventh floor. Her professor did not hesitate, however, so neither did Minerva. As they walked down the hallway toward the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, Professor Dustern came toward them.

“I was just coming to find you, Professor Dumbledore.” She looked at Minerva when she said this. “I had some questions about breakfast in the common rooms and what will be expected of the Heads of House today.”

“I will meet you in your office in a few minutes, Professor,” he replied to the Charms teacher. “I had a meeting with Miss McGonagall, who, as you are no doubt aware, was the one who found Jeremy Flanders, also on the second floor where Miss MacNair met her fate.”

Professor Dustern’s expression did not change, revealing nothing of her thoughts. “I will see you in a few minutes, then, Professor.” She turned back and started down the stairs toward her third floor office. Minerva and her professor continued to the Fat Lady’s portrait.

“I hope I didn’t cause you any problems, Professor.”

“No, Minerva, you did not. I chose to respond when you called Wilspy this morning. I could have sent her back with a message and met with you later today. The information you have given me . . . I do not understand its meaning at the moment, but I do believe that it is important, and that, with time, its importance will become clearer. I may need to speak with you again this afternoon after lunch. It might be wise to question all of the prefects about what they have seen and heard over the last several months.”

“Don’t bother with Riddle, though, sir. He would lie just for the sake of lying and getting away with it, I think. Besides, he’s the one I caught out after curfew.”

“But not recently?”

“No, not recently,” Minerva admitted.

“Well, my dear, I will see you at eight o’clock. Please let the other prefects know that I will be arriving for breakfast at that time, hmm?”

Minerva gave the password to the Fat Lady as her professor waited behind her to replace the alarm ward on the door. Fortunately, there was no one in the common room, and Minerva found a book and settled down on the couch to read until seven o’clock, which she judged was late enough to go around to the other prefects and tell them about breakfast. If they asked, she would just say that she hadn’t been able to sleep and had been in the common room when Professor Dumbledore came by. She just wouldn’t mention that that had been at three o’clock in the morning.


	35. Hagrid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before paying Hagrid a visit, Minerva remembers the end of her sixth year. The Chamber of Secrets was opened, Myrtle began haunting Olive Hornby, and a certain prefect helped Headmaster Dippet apprehend the culprit in the attacks.
> 
> End of Part Six.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Rubeus Hagrid, Albus Dumbledore; young Minerva, Professor Dumbledore, and young Hagrid.

**XXXV: Hagrid**

Minerva looked at the plate of ginger newts that was left from her breakfast, then at the scones, butter, and marmalade. Everything seemed fresh, still. Some kind of house-elf charm, no doubt. Yes, she would bring a few treats down to Hagrid. She wondered whether she should bring the tea, as well, but then decided that would be insulting. Milk, however, might be acceptable. She wondered if Hagrid’s culinary skills had improved any with the years.

She sighed, thinking of Hagrid’s expulsion from Hogwarts. The unfairness of it all. Yet he had been able to build a life for himself here, with the help of Albus, one perhaps as good as any he may have had otherwise. But there would always be that shadow hanging over him: the disgrace of his expulsion, the shame of being made an inferior to his former fellow students, and the ultimate indignity of having his wand snapped. It distressed Minerva to this day, thinking about it. She wondered if his current unhappiness had anything to do with that or if it were totally unrelated.

She had been outraged when, two days after Myrtle’s death, Professor Gamp had walked her to Dumbledore’s office after her Arithmancy final exam and she had learned of Hagrid’s expulsion. The decision had been made to allow the NEWTs and OWLs testing, as well as the regular final exams for the other students, to proceed as usual, but with an abundance of precautions. No student was to be unaccompanied by an adult, ever, when outside of their dormitories, not even to use the bathroom; when not in exams or taking lunch in the Great Hall – the only meal still served there – the students were confined to their common rooms and dormitories; teachers took shifts in the common rooms to be on hand in case of any trouble. The staff was stretched thin, and their nerves and tempers were on edge, as a result. Professor Gamp was one of the few teachers who seemed the same to Minerva, as though untouched by the additional demands on her time and by the stress that the uncertainty and danger were causing everyone else.

Leaving Madam Perlecta to accompany the rest of the students to their next exams or their dormitories, depending on their schedules – the librarian had been dragooned into chaperone duty, despite her vehement protests that she was unsuited at her age and that she hadn’t used a defensive spell in fifty years – Professor Gamp hurried Minerva out of the classroom and down the hall.

“Where are we going, Professor?”

“The Deputy Headmaster would like to see you, Miss McGonagall. I thought it best if I accompany you to his office myself.” Professor Gamp glanced at the Gryffindor trotting along beside her. “If we hurry, I may be able to relieve Madam Perlecta of a few of her charges and escort them to wherever they are going.”

Minerva hoped that didn’t mean they needed to walk any more quickly. But apparently not. They soon arrived at the Transfiguration classroom, where Professor Gamp rapped on the door. The door shimmered a moment, then it opened and Professor Dumbledore greeted them quietly.

“I will be going now, Albus. I think that Livia could use some assistance. Would you like me to return and fetch Miss McGonagall later?”

“No. No, that will not be necessary. Although I would like to see you later,” Professor Dumbledore replied.

Professor Gamp nodded. After she had left, Dumbledore closed them into the classroom and warded the door.

“Those precautions may not be necessary much longer,” he said with a weary sigh.

“What?! Are they closing the school?” Minerva asked, alarmed.

“No. They, that is to say, the Headmaster and the Board of Governors, are satisfied that the cause of these attacks has been discovered.”

Confused by her mentor’s demeanor, she asked, “But that’s good, isn’t it? Unless . . . you don’t believe that they are right. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Dumbledore led Minerva into his office, where they each sat in an overstuffed armchair. “They believe that the culprit has been identified, and, as you have said, I do not believe that they are correct.”

“What . . . or who was it? Or who do they think it was?”

“Rubeus Hagrid.”

“ _What!?_ ” Minerva gaped at her teacher. “But that’s absurd. Rubeus would no more hurt a student than I would – in fact, it’s less likely! Not to mention he’s only a third-year! How was he supposed to have done these horrible things?”

“It seems that young Rubeus, in his fondness for all creatures, had the extremely poor judgment to adopt one of the wizarding world’s less . . . beloved creatures. He brought an Acromantula into the castle and was raising it in an abandoned room. He is adamant that his spider never escaped into the rest of the school; further, he said that he was removing Aragog – that is the name he gave the spider – from the castle because the spider told him he was frightened by some other beast that has been loose in the castle.”

Minerva listened, mouth open, incredulous. “But, well, I’m no expert, but it doesn’t seem to me that an Acromantula could have such an effect on the students. I should ask Murdoch about Acromantula venom – ”

“There is no need. Professor Slughorn confirmed that, in rare instances, Acromantula venom, even from an immature specimen, can cause complete paralysis in humans.”

“ _‘Paralysis’?_ These students aren’t merely paralysed! And why haven’t any of the standard remedies worked on them, if that’s the case? Why are we still waiting for the Mandrakes? And that must be one huge Acromantula, to have been able to kill Myrtle!”

“Aragog says that he has not harmed any students, but of course, his testimony is inadmissible, as he is a beast. And it would hardly behoove him to inculpate himself. As to his size, he is not yet full-grown – his body is somewhat larger than a Quaffle, although his legs make him seem much bigger than that.” Dumbledore sighed. “I, too, do not find it credible that the Acromantula is responsible.”

“What are they going to do to it? And is anything going to happen to Hagrid?”

When her professor remained silent, dread began to grow in Minerva’s stomach. “They’re going to expel him, aren’t they?”

“Worse than that, I’m afraid.”

“ _Worse?_ ” Minerva whispered. “Azkaban? He would never survive.” Tears sprang into her eyes, thinking of the innocent young Gryffindor who, though larger than most grown men, was one of the gentlest people she knew.

“I think I have forestalled that, although there are still some voices in the Ministry and the Board of Governors that would like to see him sent there. He _will_ be expelled, though; I have had no success in dissuading them from that decision.”

“What will happen to him, then? Rubeus has no parents. He may look as though he can take care of himself, but he’s only fourteen years old!” Minerva had wondered where he had gone over the summer last year after his father had died and had worried about him, then; his situation was much more dire now.

“I think I can provide for him, Minerva. Last summer, he stayed in a room over the Hog’s Head, where my brother tends bar.” At Minerva’s expression, Albus chuckled dryly. “Yes, not a particularly wholesome environment for a child, but the only other option was a Muggle orphanage, as he has no relatives. Can you see Hagrid in such a setting? Or the Muggles’ reactions to him? The Secrecy laws would certainly be stretched.”

“Well, that may be fine for a summer, but what about the next few years, and what will happen to him later? If he can’t take his OWLs, what kind of job will he be able to get? If he’s an orphan, he won’t be able to afford private tutors – ”

“There will be no need for tutors, Minerva,” Dumbledore said softly. “They are going to snap his wand.”

Minerva was speechless. She felt as though someone had punched her in the stomach. Regaining her voice, she asked, “What is to become of him, then? How can they do that to him?”

“I am working on a solution, Minerva. I cannot avert the expulsion, and as for his wand . . . it _will_ be snapped. But I have been appealing to Headmaster Dippet’s sense of fairness. I think I will prevail.” He smiled grimly. “I may not be a Slytherin, but I am quite capable of calling in favours and exerting some . . . pressure, when necessary.”

Now that what her professor had told her had sunk in, Minerva had another question. “How did anyone find out about his Acromantula?”

Dumbledore paused before answering. “A prefect found Hagrid as he was preparing to move Aragog from the room where he had kept him.”

Minerva froze. “Riddle. _It was that bloody toe-rag, Riddle!_ ”

“Language, Minerva,” Albus admonished mildly. “Yes. It was he.”

“How?”

“He had met with Headmaster Dippet, asking to be allowed to stay at school over the summer. Dippet informed him that not only was that impossible, particularly under current circumstances, but that the school might be closed permanently if the perpetrator of the attacks was not caught and if there were no assurances that there would be no more of them.” An unusually cynical smile appeared on Dumbledore’s face as he continued. “Inspired by his ‘loyalty’ to the school and out of ‘respect’ for his deceased fellow student, Mr Riddle scoured the school and caught the perpetrator.”

“Loyalty! Respect! He doesn’t know the meaning of those words! And he was one of Myrtle’s worst tormentors when she was alive . . . You know, Professor, I’ve heard an odd rumour . . . It’s hard to get gossip with all of the current restrictions, but we’ve been hearing that, well, that Myrtle is haunting one of the Slytherin girls and that the fourth-year exams were disrupted by Myrtle’s ghost.”

“It is rather amazing how quickly such a rumour circulates, even under these circumstances. It is only partially correct, however, since it was the fifth-year OWL exams that were disrupted by Myrtle’s ghost, as Miss Hornby is in her fifth year, and it is she whom Miss MacNair has decided to haunt.”

Unconcerned about Olive Hornby’s predicament, Minerva asked excitedly, “Can’t you just ask Myrtle what attacked her, then? It can’t have been Rubeus – if it was any student, I’d lay my galleons that it was that Riddle boy!”

“We have questioned her, Minerva – as soon as she materialised, in fact. Unfortunately, she only remembers hearing a boy’s voice in the bathroom, then coming out of her stall to tell him to leave, and nothing else until she woke up dead in the girls’ toilet. The Mandrake potion will be ready this afternoon, Professor Slughorn tells me, and although we will, of course, question the students who were petrified, I do not expect any more enlightening answers from them. In the meantime, Mr Hagrid is being held in a dungeon room awaiting their final testimony.”

“But surely Myrtle would have recognised Rubeus’s voice, if it had been him! He has a very distinctive accent.”

“Unfortunately, she was unacquainted with him; they were in different years, so shared no classes, and, obviously, they were in different Houses. She knew who he was only because of his unusual size. Oddly enough, she seems to possess no ill-will toward him, even after the Headmaster asked her whether he was the boy whom she heard in the bathroom, preferring instead to blame Olive Hornby for all her troubles.”

“I guess ghosts are like that, fixated,” Minerva replied disconsolately. “What about _Veritaserum_? Certainly in these circumstances, it could be justified for use on Rubeus – and on Riddle, for that matter.”

“Unfortunately, although the Ministry has allowed me to act as an informal guardian to Mr Hagrid, that status has never been officially conferred on me. Rubeus is in the odd position of being unable to consent to the administration of _Veritaserum_ because he is underage, and yet there is no one either to provide or to withhold consent for him, regardless of what may be in his best interest. In addition, because of his parentage, there is some question as to the dosage and even the efficacy of _Veritaserum_. I did make that suggestion, myself, Minerva.”

“Of course.” Curious, she asked, “What did you mean by ‘his parentage’?”

“You are a friend to Rubeus?” her mentor questioned.

“Well, I don’t know him that well,” Minerva replied, “but he is in Gryffindor, and if he ever needs a friend, as he does now, I will be one.”

“Some know this already, and others, it seems, have guessed it. I am surprised that speculation hasn’t been rampant in Gryffindor House. Mr Hagrid’s mother was a giantess and his father was a wizard.”

“Oh. No wonder Riddle was so pleased to incriminate him, then. Always going on about ‘blood.’ Pathetic.”

“Mmm. Mr Riddle does have some . . . interesting views, from what I have heard.”

“Poor Rubeus. How’s he doing?”

“As well as can be expected, my dear. As well as can be expected.”

In due course, the students in the infirmary were dosed with Mandrake potion, questioned, revealed nothing about their attacker, and Hagrid was expelled. To Minerva’s horror, his expulsion and wand-breaking were public events, held in the Great Hall. Wanting to avert her eyes from this travesty of justice, Minerva forced herself to watch, to see what her fellow Gryffindor had to endure, and to lend him her silent support by looking on with respect. If he could bear it, she would bear it with him, however little she could share in his disgrace. She was shocked to see that it was the Deputy Headmaster who actually broke the boy’s wand, and she was coldly furious with him. She could not believe that he would do such a thing.

Storming up to his classroom, pacing outside the door, as her password had not yet been reset after the curfew was lifted, Minerva’s anger boiled. After all that he had said about helping Rubeus, _he_ had been the one to have delivered the final indignity. How could he? She was disappointed in her mentor, almost disillusioned, in fact. This was not the wizard whom she had grown to respect. After forty-five minutes of wearing a path in the flagstone, Minerva looked up to see Professor Dumbledore walking toward her, looking more cheerful than he had in some weeks. Judging his expression, Minerva half-expected him to break out whistling a carefree tune at any moment.

“Ah, Minerva! Good! I had wanted to speak to you. We never finalised our plans before these tragedies occurred. We can talk now, hmm?” He seemed oblivious to her mood, so good was his own.

As soon as they had entered the classroom, Minerva closed the door behind them and stopped there. Dumbledore, realising that she was not following him into his office, turned. Before he could say a word, however, Minerva asked the only question she had: “How could you do that? You had to be there, I know. But did you have to do that? I could not believe my eyes.”

“Minerva, hush. I told the Ministry and the Board of Governors that as the Head of his House, it was my right to do so. I assured them that I would dispose of his wand properly, just as I disposed of the Acromantula last night.”

“Your ‘right’? That is just . . . just sick!” Tears pricked Minerva’s eyes. She walked over to one of the windows, unable to look at her professor just then.

“Hmm. I suppose one _could_ view it that way. I certainly would, under other circumstances. Do you know, Miss McGonagall, how I disposed of the creature?”

“No. I only hope the poor beast didn’t suffer very much.”

“Oh, no. I can honestly say that he didn’t suffer at all. In fact, he thanked me for it.”

“He thanked you? I didn’t know that Acromantulas possessed a death wish,” Minerva scoffed.

“Far from it. No, he was quite pleased with his new home in the Forbidden Forest. Yes, it shall be even more forbidden, now, I fear.”

“His new _home_? But I thought . . . I had heard . . . wasn’t he supposed to be destroyed?” Minerva turned toward him as he walked over to join her at the window.

“I believe that is what the Ministry and the Board of Governors assumed when I told them I would take care of the dangerous creature that could not be allowed to live amongst humans, but I never told them I was going to kill him.”

“Oh. But I _did_ see you snap Rubeus’s wand.”

Dumbledore sighed. “I took no delight in it. But I thought, first, that it might be easier for him, knowing that it was being done by someone who had faith in him, someone who believed that snapping his wand was a miscarriage of justice, than if it had been performed by another. Second, I do intend to ‘dispose of it properly,’ my dear,” he said with a twinkle.

“Oh. Well, I suppose you have something in mind. I wish I had known, though. It was awful, watching you participate in that travesty. It made me quite sick.”

“I am sorry, my dear,” he said, laying his hand over hers where it rested on the windowsill, comforting her. “I wasn’t sure that my plan would work. And there was no time to warn you, either. I know it must have been difficult to watch, as you are fond of Rubeus.”

“It wasn’t that, Professor. Of course, I _am_ fond of him. It’s just that I didn’t understand why you would do such a thing, and I’ve . . . I’ve come to have such high regard for you, it just didn’t match up with what I had come to expect of you.”

With a slight smile, he replied, “So you preferred to believe that you were wrong about my character than to think I may have had a reason for what I did?”

“No. Not exactly. It was just such a shock. I couldn’t think clearly. If I hadn’t seen you today, I probably would have eventually decided that you must have had a good reason for doing what you did, but I still would not have been happy with it.”

“And you are now?”

“Well, I’m unhappy with the whole situation, but not with _you_. I won’t lose faith in you again, I promise.”

“Beware of such open-ended promises, Minerva. Life can be long, and one may change one’s mind along the way,” he responded, but he smiled even as he warned her.

“Not about you, I won’t. I hadn’t really, even now. If I had, I wouldn’t have come to see you to find out _why_ you did what you did, after all,” she pointed out. Her professor’s hand still rested on hers, and _It_ was making _Its_ presence known, but Minerva did not know how to remove her hand from his without belying the words she had just uttered. Ignoring It, she asked, “What will happen to Rubeus now, sir?”

“I have secured him a position at the school. I had to exert considerable . . . influence on the Headmaster, and there are conditions attached, but I believe it to be the best we could hope for under these circumstances. Hagrid will remain at Hogwarts as the Groundskeeper’s assistant and trainee. Ironically, he will spend this summer, and every summer after that, if he wishes, here at the castle. The Headmaster has imposed some rules upon him, in order to impress on him and others that he is no longer a student here, but they should not prove too onerous, I hope.” With a squeeze to Minerva’s hand, he asked, “Would you like to have tea with me, Minerva? If I am forgiven, of course!”

Unable to disappoint her professor, Minerva smiled at him and agreed.

“I’ll be back in a moment, then. I just need to check on a few things, put something away for safe-keeping, then I’ll call Wilspy.”

Minerva remained at the window, looking out. Students had been allowed to leave early and many had left as soon as their last exams were finished, so the Great Hall hadn’t been as filled with gawkers as it might have been. Now there were only a few students lounging on the grass out by the lake, and she saw Hagrid’s bulky form in the distance, watching them from afar. What must he be feeling? She saw him turn and walk away, taking a long route around to avoid the students and heading back behind the castle, then out of view.

Hagrid, as Minerva later learned, had elected to stay in a hut on the grounds rather than take a room next to Ogg’s in the lower levels of the castle. The Headmaster had encouraged this decision, finding it inappropriate for the disgraced boy to reside directly in the castle with his former fellow classmates. The hut had not been intended for habitation, but was an outbuilding for storage or a place where the Groundskeeper could duck in out of the rain or have a cup of tea whilst taking a break from work. Dumbledore told her that, although Dippet had forbidden the Hogwarts house-elves from assisting him, Wilspy had helped Hagrid to clean and clear the hut and to move in with his few possessions.

Minerva shook her head, clearing it of those unhappy memories from so long ago. Hagrid seemed to have done well enough. He was still at Hogwarts, after all. And given his loyalty to Dumbledore, he would be unlikely to leave as long as Albus was Headmaster. She conjured a basket and packed away the biscuits, scones, butter, marmalade, and milk, and headed out of her quarters to look for Hagrid.

She found him on his knees, weeding his pumpkin patch. “Hello, there, Hagrid! I thought we might have tea together. The elves made me far too many scones for breakfast, so I was wondering if you would share them with me.”

“’Lo, there, M’nerva!” He looked up at her and smiled. Even kneeling, sitting back on his heels as he was, he came to her shoulder. “I am a mite peckish,” he admitted. “Jes’ let me wash up a bi’, an’ I’ll be with yeh.”

“Where’s your kettle, Hagrid? Do you mind if I heat some water for tea?”

“Help yerself! Everythin’s the same as it was, pretty much.” As Hagrid went around to the pump on the other side of the hut to wash up, Minerva entered the open door of his hut. It was clean and tidy, quite comfortable, really, although there were peculiar things hanging from the ceiling in one corner of the room. Minerva didn’t look at them too closely, but crossed over to the hearth where she retrieved the kettle and filled it from the pump at the washstand beneath his window. 

As she filled the kettle with fresh water, Minerva looked out the window and saw Hagrid standing at the outdoor pump, shirt off, washing his hands and arms, then splashing water over his torso. Finally, he ducked his head under the pump, which apparently had been charmed to continue pumping on its own, and wet down his head and beard. He certainly was . . . large, Minerva thought. _Huge_ , in fact. She thought that he could be quite frightening, met on a dark night, if you didn’t know him.

Minerva hung the kettle from a hook over the fire. She began to unpack her basket on Hagrid’s well-scrubbed table when he came into the hut and grabbed a towel from where it hung on a peg next to the door. “’Scuse me, M’nerva,” he said, blushing. He ducked out again, apparently to dry himself off, and returned a minute later to repeat the exercise, this time grabbing a cleaner shirt from its peg. The third time he appeared in the doorway, he entered the room.

“Sorry, M’nerva. I ferget sometimes that there’s a lady about. ’Specially durin’ the summer, when jest abou’ everybody’s gone.”

“Don’t worry about my sensibilities, Hagrid,” Minerva laughed. “I do have older brothers, you know. And I’d be pleased to treat you just as I do them!”

Hagrid smiled and blushed, pleased. “I’d be real happy a’ that, M’nerva.”

“Well, then, that’s settled. You now have an honorary big sister! And given that I’ve always been the youngest, it will be a treat for me to have a younger brother,” she said with a smile.

“Yeh’ve always treated me right, M’nerva. Even after . . . yeh know. I was so happy yeh were here tha’ summer.” He sat at the table, eying the treats Minerva had laid out. “I don’ know what I’d ’a’ done without yeh. I don’ think I’ve ever thanked yeh proper for all yeh done fer me then.”

“Nonsense, Hagrid. It was nice for me, too. We had fun, didn’t we? I would have had no one but the teachers to talk to if you hadn’t been here!”

“Well, thank yeh, anyway. I think the water’s on the boil.” Hagrid rose and made them a pot of very strong Oolong tea. It had something else in it that Minerva didn’t recognise. It wasn’t precisely unpleasant, but peculiar, and Minerva was wary of any odd herbs he may have decided to add to his brew.

“Hmm, interesting tea, Hagrid. Is it a special blend?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah. ’Tis one o’ me own, actually,” he said proudly. “Bee balm. That’s the secret. P’rfesser Birnbaum lets me have some from the greenhouse. I useta use lemon balm, but bee balm’s me favourite now.”

Reassured that she wasn’t about to be inadvertently poisoned, Minerva relaxed and drank her tea. It tasted a bit like Earl Grey, she decided. Not bad, really.

She ate a ginger newt, insisting to Hagrid that she really didn’t need anything else when he apologised for not having any of his rock cakes made, but explaining to her that he hadn’t expected a guest that afternoon. That led the conversation around to what visitors he entertained. From what Minerva could tell, Hagrid was just lonely. He didn’t seem to entertain guests very often, although he mentioned that Professor Dumbledore came out occasionally, when he could spare a moment, and that Grubbly-Plank sometimes asked him for his help with some of the animals that she was using in her classes. Other than that, it seemed to Minerva that his social life consisted in going to the Hog’s Head in the evenings. Minerva herself wasn’t one to get out much, really, but she recognised that she had a lot of human contact on a daily basis, especially during term, and with Poppy there, she hadn’t had much occasion for loneliness. She resolved to spend a little time with Hagrid that summer, at least to stop by and chat now and then.

A clean, fresh breeze was coming through the open window and door of the small hut. Taking a deep breath of it, Minerva suggested, “It’s a beautiful day out, Hagrid. I know you have gardening, but won’t you take a bit of a walk with me? We could catch up, like old times.”

Hagrid agreed readily, and Minerva was glad that she had made the suggestion. The poor fellow was lonely. They walked around the castle to the edge of the lake. Minerva conjured two wooden garden chairs for them, sizing his appropriately.

“Yer a wonder with yer wand, M’nerva!” said Hagrid admiringly.

“It’s nothing, really. Not like what Albus can do, certainly,” she replied, although she was pleased with his compliment.

“Yeah, but there i’n’t any wizard or witch what’s like the Headmaster, is there?”

In agreement on that point, the two settled down for a lazy summer afternoon’s chat. Minerva asked him, with a wink, if he still had his pink umbrella, and Hagrid told her he did, safely tucked away in his wardrobe at the moment.

Hagrid filled her in on his own doings, then told her stories that he had heard about various students and former students, and Minerva shared a few stories of her own.

They were chatting quite convivially when Albus returned from his trip to the Ministry. Although he had Flooed from his office that afternoon, he Apparated back after running a few errands in Diagon Alley. Walking up from the gates, he smiled as he saw the two sitting amiably together, Hagrid gesticulating broadly as he illustrated one of his stories.

Albus remembered how young Minerva, after having protested accepting a stipend from him, asked him one day in mid-July, at the end of a long afternoon of experiments, if she could have an advance of two week’s allowance. Although he was inclined to give it to her, he was curious as to why she was asking for it. She paused before answering.

“Well, I have something put aside in one of the shops in Hogsmeade. The owner will only hold it until tomorrow, though. I have almost enough for it; I’m only three galleons short.” Albus knew that her parents, in an abundance of caution, had given her a good sum before she had left for the summer. What on earth could she possibly be purchasing that would take all of her money? He hesitated, worried about her spending all of her money on one item and then having little to carry her through the rest of the summer. But she was of age, and she could make her own choices and learn from them, he supposed.

Later that evening, standing in the Astronomy Tower with Gertie, he had looked out at a heart-warming sight. He could now see what Minerva had spent her money on: she had purchased Hagrid a family-sized broom and was attempting to teach him to ride it.

“Will you look at that, Gertie!”

Gertrude’s lips turned up slightly at the corners. “I had the impression that Minerva dislikes brooms.”

“I don’t believe she’s particularly fond of them. But she’s competent enough. Oh, no, look at that!” Hagrid was hanging from his new broom by one arm. But their alarm was short-lived as Minerva cast a quick spell that caught Hagrid and Levitated him back onto the broom. They were only about twenty feet up, and Minerva was demonstrating how to urge the broom forward, stop, turn, and hover.

“He didn’t take Flying his first year?” asked the Arithmancer.

“They couldn’t find a school broom that would lift him. No one considered using a family broom.” Albus continued to watch Minerva give the young half-giant flying lessons, a broad smile on his face.

“Does this contravene any of the terms of his punishment, Albus? I wouldn’t want either of them to get into trouble. If we can see them, surely others, including the Headmaster, can, too.”

“No. No, I’m sure it doesn’t. He is allowed to use any Charmed objects. He cannot use a wand, but a broomstick is not a wand. There is nothing that would prohibit him from using a broom. Of course, he may eventually outgrow it, since I think he’s got another growth spurt or two coming, but in the meantime, I think he should be allowed to enjoy it. At least while school is not in session. I shall ensure that the Headmaster agrees with me, as well.”

They continued to watch the impromptu flying lesson as it evolved into a game of Swivenhodge. Minerva had Transfigured something into a pig’s bladder and conjured a net to take the place of the traditional hedge. As the two young Gryffindors manoeuvered their brooms to bat the inflated pig’s bladder back and forth across the “hedge,” playing in a more co-operative manner than the game was usually played, Albus’s smile grew. Gertrude turned to him.

“You may want to have a word with the Headmaster sooner, rather than later, Albus. You can watch them play some other time, but if he decides to cut their game short, well, his pride may keep him from rescinding any prohibitions he places on Hagrid’s activities on the castle grounds, regardless of what you may later say.”

Albus had torn himself away and gone to find the Headmaster. Gertrude had been correct. He ran into Armando in the corridor on his way down to the grounds to put a stop to the “foolishness.” Albus had dissuaded him, assuring him that Hagrid would not be flying around the grounds during the school year, and reminding him further that Hagrid would likely outgrow the broom in a few years, anyway. “Come, now, Armando. He’s only a boy. He has borne his punishment like a man. Surely you can let him have a little time just to be a child again?”

Dippet had agreed, and he actually seemed relieved that he did not need to forbid Hagrid yet one more activity. He had done what he felt he must, but had never been completely comfortable with it. He had the sense that he was a pawn in someone’s game, and he didn’t like that at all. But having taken the actions he had, he felt obliged to uphold the edicts of the Ministry and the Board of Governors. Dumbledore’s reassurances that Hagrid’s activities were not forbidden by his life-long punishment were actually not unwelcome. Armando did not like feeling bad about himself. His self-image relied on his belief that he was a kind, fair, and beloved Headmaster. The events of the last few months interfered with that self-image. Dumbledore had helped him to save face, even if only in his own eyes.

As Dumbledore walked up toward the castle those many years later, he thought that Minerva and Hagrid had changed very little in the intervening years, at least not in any essential ways. And from a distance, he could almost believe it was that long past summer, Minerva looked so young, fresh, and beautiful in her deep yellow and raspberry-red robes. Albus veered from his path to the castle doors and walked toward the two.

“Hullo, P’rfesser Dumbledore!” Hagrid grinned at him. “Look who came by fer tea this afternoon!”

“Good-afternoon, Hagrid, Minerva.” He smiled at them both. “It’s good to see you out enjoying the fresh air – although I’m sure Hagrid has been out working on the grounds today.”

They exchanged some small talk, and then Albus said that he had to spend some time in his office before dinner. “I hope to see you both in the Great Hall later. I believe that, beginning tomorrow, we will move our meals to the staff room.” Albus thought an odd expression crossed Minerva’s face when he mentioned returning to his office, but perhaps she just wished he could stay and talk. He smiled to himself as he climbed the many stairs to the seventh floor. Minerva _had_ seemed to enjoy their time together morning. He had, too, and now that he had come to terms with his feelings about her, he could continue to take pleasure in her company.


	36. Dinner and Dessert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus returns to his office, where he finds things not quite as he left them. Minerva admits what she saw on his desk.
> 
>  
> 
> **Beginning of Part Seven.**
> 
>  
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore, Phineas Nigellus (portrait), Dilys Derwent (portrait), Wilspy, Minerva McGonagall.

**PART SEVEN**  
 **XXXVI: Dinner and Dessert**

Albus entered his office to find Fawkes asleep on his perch, head tucked under one wing. As he crossed the room, he noticed that Minerva had left the parchments for him on his desk. The second thing he noticed was that one of the stacks of parchment was askew. Albus knew he had not left them that way. Looking more closely, he saw the bottom-most parchments peeking out from beneath the others. His lists. The lists he had made . . . was it only yesterday? He should have put them away – or destroyed them. But perhaps Minerva hadn’t seen them. Curious, though, that the parchments were disturbed and that those particular ones were visible.

Apprehensive, he came around the desk and moved the inkwell aside from where Minerva had place it atop the advertisement. She had left him a note. Albus pulled his glasses from his pocket and put them on before sitting down to read her note. As he read the final paragraph, he was puzzled. He doubted that she would make something like that up. He had always trusted her, and he didn’t believe that she would gratuitously search his papers. But when he had left that afternoon, the three parchments were safely sitting on his desk. 

“Phineas! Phineas Nigellus! I know you’re not asleep.”

“What do you want now? It’s not term time. Don’t you ever take a holiday?” grumbled the former Slytherin headmaster. 

“Did anyone come into my office while I was out this afternoon?”

“That Transfiguration person was here, but I slept through her visit. You’ll have to ask Dilys.”

“No one else?”

“I was asleep. I don’t see everything, you know.”

Dilys Derwent was not in her frame. Probably off visiting St. Mungo’s. Albus was perplexed. Minerva had said that she may have inadvertently seen “confidential documents.” Given the state of his desk, that could only mean that she had seen his lists. She had seemed perfectly friendly down on the lawn just now. Although she _had_ given him an odd look when he mentioned his office . . . . 

He would have to put it out of his mind until he could speak with Dilys. Albus considered the suggestions Minerva had made regarding his advertisement. Yes, he agreed with all of them, including the one about the description of Hogwarts. But he’d never hear the last of it from certain School Governors if he weren’t to include that bit about Hogwarts’ “preeminence.” Albus took out a fresh parchment and rewrote the advertisement, adding Minerva’s suggestions. He then duplicated it several times, addressed each advertisement, and included one for Bestial Byways. The journals would invoice the school and he would have the money transferred from Hogwarts’ Gringotts account.

As Albus finished that bit of work, he looked up to see that Dilys Derwent had returned and was sleeping in her rocking chair.

“Dilys, Phineas tells me that you were here when I had a visitor this afternoon.”

“Yes, that nice young Professor McGonagall was here. Such a lovely young lady.”

“Was anyone else here?”

“Visitors? Guests?” she asked. “No. She was your only visitor.”

Albus was no fool, and Dilys was no Slytherin. “Who else was here, then?”

“Well, Fawkes, of course . . . and I believe that your house-elf came in to tidy up at some point,” she replied somewhat evasively.

“Wilspy!”

“Yes, sir, Professor?” said the house-elf after popping in.

“Were you in my office this afternoon?”

“Wilspy cleans. Wilspy dusts. Wilspy empties Fawkes’s tray of phoenix droppings.”

“ _‘Wilspy’_ does, does she? What _else_ did ‘Wilspy’ do?” Whenever Wilspy began to speak more like a typical house-elf, Albus was sure that something was up.

“Wilspy may have had a little _tiny_ accident, Professor Dumbledore, sir,” squeaked the elf.

“Wilspy, just tell me – normally – what you did.”

“When I’s dusting. It may be there’s a bit of . . . just a _little_ bit of a draught, sir. Dusting can do that, sir.”

“Mmm. And it did not occur to you to pick up the parchments and put them back on the desk and to straighten the other piles?”

“Oh, no, sir! You tells me, you says, ‘Wilspy, do not touch my parchments if I do not ask you to.’ So I not touch your parchments, sir. No! I’s a good house-elf!”

Albus gave the elf a sharp look. “Very well, Wilspy. But please, in the future, if you accidentally disturb my parchments, you may put them back where they were. Professor McGonagall had difficulty finding the work I had left for her.”

“Yes, sir. Next time Wilspy has an accident with parchments, Wilspy will put them back where they were.”

“Thank you, Wilspy. You may go now.” Albus was still uneasy. If he didn’t know better, he would think that the house-elf had disturbed his parchments on purpose. But she had said that she wouldn’t touch them. He sighed. He hoped that Minerva hadn’t been offended by the lists he’d made. He didn’t doubt that she had read them once she saw them. And it would explain her oblique reference to “confidential papers.”

It was almost time for dinner. He would see Minerva shortly; perhaps he could ask her about it after dinner. If not, they were meeting tomorrow. He didn’t quite know what to say to her. Albus removed his glasses and rested his head in his hands. He had no time for this sort of thing. Between the Ministry and the school, he felt stretched thin. Gertrude had been a saving ghim. Steady as a rock, that one. And thank goodness the Governors hadn’t given him a hard time when he had appointed a non-Head of House as Deputy. It was highly irregular, but he clearly couldn’t ask Dustern; their uneasy truce of the last fifteen or sixteen years would have come to an abrupt and explosive end within weeks, he was certain. And Slughorn, as agreeable as the Slytherin Head of House was, was not particularly diligent, and Albus doubted that he would have applied himself to any aspect of the job that he did not believe would bring him some direct benefit. Grubbly-Plank had enough getting on with as Head of Gryffindor, which was a challenge to the taciturn teacher. There was Johannes Birnbaum, of course. He might have done, Albus supposed. But Albus doubted that the German Herbology teacher had any aptitude for the more practical aspects of running a school. Even with his hands in the earth, Johannes always seemed something of a poet to Albus. Now, of course, he knew that Johannes would be leaving the school at the end of the next year, anyway. 

Yes, Albus was very glad for Gertie’s assistance, given, he knew, out of genuine loyalty and affection for him, although he was certain that others read different motivations into her actions. He smiled thinking of some of the time they had spent together – not always _comfortable_ time, to be sure, but certainly invigorating, even when they disagreed and argued. He hoped that Gertie would return from Cornwall a little earlier than she planned. She knew that Albus wanted her there for the warding, although her presence wasn’t necessary. 

Albus grinned remembering Minerva’s reaction that morning when she had received the invitation from Gertie. It had been unexpected to him, as well, although not the surprise it had been to Minerva. His brow furrowed as he remembered Minerva’s words, _“But she doesn’t even like me!”_ He hoped that perhaps a few days in Cornwall would alter Minerva’s attitude toward Gertie. Not that Minerva had ever expressed _dislike_ for the Arithmancy teacher – although she probably wouldn’t have to him, since it must be obvious that he was friends with Gertie. Perhaps that was why Gertie had invited her. The older witch knew that he was fond of his former Animagus student, after all. She probably wanted to extend a hand in friendship. Albus smiled. It would be good if the two of them got along.

He set off for the Great Hall, wanting to arrive on time. Everyone insisted on keeping to the tradition that had been set in Headmaster Dippet’s day that dinner would not be served until the Headmaster was at the table – unless Albus wasn’t in the castle or he had informed the house-elves that he would not be dining in the Great Hall, everyone had to wait for him to arrive. He _would_ have to change that sometime. Not just yet. It seemed important to the staff that Albus come to dinner. He thought that for Headmaster Dippet, it was a point of his authority that no one could eat until he arrived; for Albus, on the other hand, it was something of a nuisance, more of a restriction on _him_ than a restriction on the waiting diners. Besides, Albus never let them wait, if he could help it. For some reason, though, now that Albus was Headmaster, no one grumbled about the rule anymore. Or maybe they were too diplomatic to say anything. Given the limited time he had to spend with his staff, Albus supposed it was also possible some of the staff saw this as their one opportunity during the day to see him. At least it was only dinner and not lunch, as well.

Albus remembered his promise to Minerva that morning to reconsider his priorities. It hadn’t been precisely a promise, he supposed, but he _did_ want to make sure that he made more time for her and for other people who were important in his life. And he would.

Albus was glad to see that only a few people had arrived for dinner – Minerva and Hagrid were sitting together, chatting, and Johannes Birnbaum and Hafrena MacAirt were sitting on the other side of the table examining a colourful chart. The only other staff left in the castle were Poppy, Wilhelmina, and Norman James. Ogg, who rarely attended meals outside of term, anyway, had left that morning to spend the summer with his family, as had Livia Perlecta; several others who hadn’t left already would be leaving soon. Yes, definitely time to move the meals to the staff room, he thought. Staff came and went fairly freely during the summer, unless they had specific duties to attend to, such as the warding in August. As Headmaster, Albus didn’t have that luxury, and although when Gertrude returned, he would be freer to come and go, he doubted that he would.

Without hesitation, Albus took the seat on Minerva’s left. As soon as he was at the table, the meal appeared before them. Gradually the last few staff straggled in. Poppy sat next to Hagrid, with Norman next to her; when Wilhelmina arrived, she sat between Norman and Johannes. Albus noticed that she and Hagrid didn’t speak; they barely even looked at each other. A far cry from their behaviour yesterday at lunch, he thought. Well, Hagrid was talking to Poppy about the health benefits of bee balm.

Albus turned to Minerva, who was eating her dinner with a good appetite, he was pleased to see. He thought she had not been eating well lately – probably due to his insensitivity.

“Minerva, if you have no plans after dinner, I was wondering if you would care for a walk?”

“I – I thought we were meeting tomorrow, Albus.”

“Oh, we are. This isn’t business, really. Just a few things I thought we could discuss.” Seeing her blanch slightly, he put down his glass of cider and patted her leg. “No worries, Minerva. I just thought we could have a word.”

When his hand touched her thigh, Minerva thought she would expire right there and then. A rush of warmth flooded her and she could feel her pulse increase at Albus’s touch. She blinked, startled, “Yes, yes, of course.” 

Minerva reached for her own glass of cider and almost knocked it over before catching it and raising it to her lips. She had gone from being nervous that he was upset with her about the parchments to being highly aroused by his touch in less than a second. It was all very well for her to tell herself that she would simply not act on her feelings for Albus, but she really must do something about these physical responses. Thank goodness Albus hadn’t noticed, but had begun to eat his meal again.

Next to her, Albus had quickly resumed eating his roast chicken. That had been an error on his part. He had simply meant to comfort her by giving her a reassuring pat. He should have patted her shoulder or her arm, Albus thought. Her gown was a thin summer-weight silk, and he had felt her leg through it as though he had been touching her naked thigh. The sensation had streamed through him, bypassing his brain entirely and shooting straight to his groin. Fortunately, dinner had just begun, there would be time for his reaction to pass, and the robes he was wearing that evening had more drape to them than the blue ones he had worn that morning. He would have to do something to control his physical reactions, though; if he were to allow himself to continue to act on his love for Minerva as a friend, he could not let this recurrent problem go unaddressed. Fortunately, Minerva hadn’t seemed to notice his reaction and was drinking her cider.

Albus and Minerva chatted a bit as they ate. Minerva asked about his trip to London, and he mentioned how much warmer it was there than at Hogwarts. “I was tempted to get some ice cream at Fortescue’s, but I wanted to get back to the castle.”

“You should have, Albus. You need to make time for yourself, you know. And Fortescue’s ice cream is one of the few things I miss about not living in London.”

“Was it very difficult, then, moving back here after having your own life for so long?” he asked.

“No, not really. Things were different than I’d expected, of course. But we never really know what to expect from a new situation, do we? But teaching took so much of my time – and I enjoyed it so much – that I didn’t really think about anything I might have left behind in my London life. What was it like for you, when you returned to teach? You had been gone so long, it must have seemed like an entirely different place. And you must have left a lot behind, yourself.”

“As you say, teaching is time-consuming. And you are aware that I had many other duties. I was so occupied, I never considered that I might have been somewhere else, doing anything other than what I was doing here at Hogwarts.”

Minerva thought about what he’d said. It wasn’t as though her own statement had been particularly revealing, but Albus had known her these past dozen or more years since she’d left school, and he knew what she had been doing, more or less. Albus never talked to her about his past, and, she had to admit, he never really told her much about his present life, either. Even when they met in London, he would ask her about what she was doing, but when he spoke of himself, it was usually only of his duties as teacher, then as Headmaster, and as a member of the Wizengamot. They spoke of articles that recently appeared in Transfiguration journals, occasionally of politics, or of news they had of one of her former classmates, but Albus rarely spoke of himself. It had always been that way. She wondered whether he ever spoke to anyone of his own feelings, of his wants and needs, of his friendships and frustrations, or if he had simply developed the habit over the years of keeping these things to himself, isolated by his responsibilities. 

Albus had had so many burdens to carry during the years she had known him at school, and he had carried those burdens alone, as far as she knew. Although his load may have lessened somewhat with the defeat of Grindelwald, surely he must wish that he had someone to share things with, even if it was just as a friendly ear. But perhaps he _did_ have that friendly ear, Minerva thought. It was not as though she had been there on a daily basis for him to turn to. And he wouldn’t have, anyway, at least not immediately after she had left school. Their interactions after the incident in France during the war were proof of that, and she hadn’t been his student for more than a year at that point. He had not wanted her comfort, her “friendly ear,” then. Perhaps he still wouldn’t. 

After the events of the last two days, though, Minerva thought it worth trying to be more of a friend to Albus, if he would let her – _and_ if she could control her physical response to his presence and his touch. Perhaps she should break out her old Occlumency texts. Those exercises should help her to gain some control over herself.

They had finished the main course and dessert appeared on the table. Albus stayed Minerva’s hand as she reached for a plate with a fruit tart on it. “Let’s skip dessert tonight, my dear. Take a walk with me?”

Minerva, surprised, nodded. Albus led her out through the French doors at the far end of Great Hall, directly out onto the grounds. As they walked down the path leading to the main courtyard, the pea-stones crunching beneath their feet, Albus seemed to have a destination in mind. Just as Minerva was about to ask him where they were going, however, he spoke.

“I looked at your suggestions. They were all very good, and I got the advertisements all ready to send off. The only one I did not incorporate was the one about the description of Hogwarts. Although _I_ agree with you, there are members of the Board of Governors who do feel we should tout our own worth at every opportunity. It is a small thing, so I do not disappoint them,” he said with a twinkle.

“I’m glad I could help, Albus,” Minerva replied, smiling.

“I read with interest the final paragraph of your note,” Albus said as they began walking down the long drive to the main gates.

“Yes, well, I didn’t want you to think I had snooped,” Minerva said hesitantly.

Albus was glad that they were walking side by side; it was a bit easier to broach the subject. He didn’t want to seem as though he were interrogating her, and he _was_ a little embarrassed if she had seen what he thought she had. “So, by ‘confidential documents,’ I presumed you meant that you saw the lists that I made yesterday morning.”

“Yes. I didn’t mean to look through your private things; it was as I said in my note. I’m afraid, though, that once I saw what the topics were on that first sheet, I pulled it out to take a closer look at it. I’m sorry, Albus. I _did_ only look at part of it, though, and then I put it back.”

“I’m surprised at you, Minerva,” Albus said.

“I am sorry, really –”

“I am quite surprised that your curiosity wasn’t overwhelming and that you didn’t read it _all_ ,” he said with a teasing grin.

“Oh!” Minerva laughed slightly. “I _was_ curious, but it didn’t feel right. I didn’t think you had intended that I see them – or did you?” she asked, looking over at him.

“No, I didn’t. But there really wasn’t anything on those lists that we hadn’t discussed. I was a little nervous that you were offended by them, but you had seemed friendly when we met after I returned from London, so I assumed you weren’t. You weren’t, were you, my dear?”

“I was a little startled at first, I suppose, but it was touching, really, to think you had expended so much effort to try to divine what was going through my mind. Especially since I could tell from the first few entries on one of the lists that what I had said _did_ bother you. But you put that aside out of concern for me.”

They were approaching the gates, and Albus stopped and reached out to touch her arm lightly. “ _You_ were my primary concern, Minerva.” He wanted to tell her that she would always be his primary concern, but he didn’t, he couldn’t. “I am glad you understood the spirit in which I wrote them.”

He led her through the gates. 

“I _did_ feel bad again that you could have ever entertained the notion that I might, what was it you said on the list, that I might ‘hold you in contempt,’ Albus, but I was also pleased to see that that particular entry had been vehemently crossed out!” Minerva smiled at him.

“Yes, well, as I said this morning, it was a ridiculous thought.” Albus dismissed his earlier worries.

“Where are we going, Albus?”

“Ah, well, my dear, would you trust me for a moment?”

“Of course, but –”

“ _But?_ Do you trust me or not?”

“Yes, I do, Albus.” Minerva smiled at him and shook her head. Silly, dear man.

“Then, my dear, close your eyes.”

Minerva did as he said, then felt him grasp her upper arms and step closer to her. A shiver went through her as she felt the tingle of his proximity. Then she felt the familiar sense of Side-Along-Apparition. Unlike their first Side-Along, however, this one began and ended with a small crack, and when Minerva opened her eyes, she felt slightly woozy. As Albus released her arms, she stepped back away from him and reeled slightly. He reached out and steadied her.

“I’m sorry, my dear. Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. I don’t get sick anymore. Just a bit dizzy. And a little nauseous.” With Albus’s hand still holding her arm, she looked around. They were in a small side alleyway off of Diagon Alley. “You Apparated us to _London_?”

“Yes, I thought we might have some of that ice cream that you miss and that I neglected to treat myself to this afternoon. It will be much nicer in your company.” Albus smiled brightly at her.

Oh, dear, if he continued to treat her like this, she would end up behaving like a fool who was head over heels in love. But she could not say “no” to his sweet idea and his warm smile. “That sounds lovely, Albus. Thank you!”

Minerva didn’t even think about her plan to try to get him to open up and tell her more about himself. Lying in bed later that night, she could only think of how wonderful it had been to spend time with him and of how thoughtful he was. After their ice cream, they had strolled through Diagon Alley together, and people would nod at Albus and smile, or stop to shake his hand and exchange a few words, but he never let her feel ignored, and he always introduced her to whomever he spoke, then they would walk on. He asked her how she felt about chamber music, and she laughed and told him that she hadn’t really been exposed to it much before Melina had come to London for her training. Melina had sought out Muggle concerts whenever she had an opportunity, and she had often brought her aunt along. Melina particularly enjoyed piano concerts, but she had also brought Minerva to a number of chamber concerts. Minerva herself enjoyed Baroque music particularly; there was something about the orderliness of it that she found serenely calming. Bach especially appealed to her, she told Albus.

They agreed that during the summer, while they both had some time, they should try to go to a concert or two. The two Apparated separately back to the gates, since Minerva did not want to end her evening with nausea. She had offered to Apparate Albus back, since he had Apparated long-distance twice that day, but he claimed he wasn’t tired and could manage just fine. He walked her back to her room and took her hand to bid her good-night. Minerva thought Albus might kiss it again in his courtly fashion, but he didn’t; he just held her hand for a moment and gave it a gentle squeeze before wishing her pleasant dreams.

Minerva wanted to invite him in, but that seemed wrong to her. It had felt almost like a date, she mused as she lay in bed. If she had invited him in, she would have felt that even more strongly, and she couldn’t afford to let her feelings be led astray like that. If she were to do that, soon she would have herself believing that Albus loved her. Although . . . he probably did, after a fashion. Albus was one of the most loving people Minerva had ever met, and she would be denying him his due if she were to pretend that he couldn’t love her in _some_ way. She just had to maintain her perspective, Minerva thought as she lay in bed with the cool night breeze washing across her face. Maintain her perspective and begin practising some Occlumency exercises.

But Minerva fell asleep that night with a smile, happier than she ever remembered being.


	37. Morning Constitutional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva goes for an early morning walk and sees something curious.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, Rubeus Hagrid; young Minerva and Professor Dumbledore.

**XXXVII: A Morning Constitutional**

Minerva stretched and yawned. She didn’t remember sleeping so well in years. She smiled, thinking of the previous evening. Albus had been so wonderfully sweet. That he would take her mention of Fortescue’s and use it to create such a lovely – not a date, exactly, but an outing – certainly proved the truth and sincerity of his promise to make more time for her. Minerva hoped that the last two days weren’t aberrations; Albus was a very busy wizard. She believed that he would truly try to make more time for her, but it was probably best not to count on Albus’s time being his own.

She rolled out of bed and looked out at another glorious day. A nice morning to begin her new regimen of healthy walks. And Occlumency. She couldn’t allow this beautiful friendship developing with Albus to be derailed by uncontrollable physical reactions.

Minerva showered quickly and chose a set of deep green robes with a v-neck and long sleeves. It was still quite cool out, so, paired with a light-weight cloak, the green outfit seemed appropriate, although she never would have worn it in London in July. She sat at her dressing table and gazed at her reflection a moment. Perhaps some kind of chignon? A wave of her wand, and the sides of her hair were pulled back gently from her face, gathered in a pony-tail, and loosely wound at the back of her head; another swish, and the hair that still hung down her back was gathered, flipped up, and wrapped around the first low bun. A few Charmed hairpins later, and Minerva was satisfied. She hesitated, then inserted a few more hairpins for good measure. It didn’t really matter what she looked like, of course, and if her hair came down a bit, there wouldn’t be anyone to see her, anyway.

After a quick cup of tea, Minerva grabbed her light-weight green tweed cloak and set off for her walk. It was a brisk morning, but Minerva walked quickly around the greenhouses and toward the lake. As she walked, she thought that on such a gorgeous day, she should really take a bit of a run. With a pop, she Transfigured to her Animagus form and began to trot along briskly. She was less interested in the lake now, though, and veered off toward the edge of the forest, following it along and occasionally breaking into a brief sprint. Near Hagrid’s cabin, there was a stand of trees that didn’t quite belong to the Forbidden Forest, and it was those trees that called her. It had been too long since she had climbed a tree!

Reaching the small grove, Minerva first sharpened her claws vigorously on an old, rough-barked tree. It felt very good. The ground was still a bit dewy, but there were some old, dry leaves left from the previous autumn, and she couldn’t resist rolling in them a bit. In the years since she had become an Animagus she had passed through phases of being more and less comfortable in the form until now she felt almost as at ease in her tabby skin as she did in her ordinary one. Minerva stretched, chin almost to the ground, tail high, then took off at a break-neck pace, chasing at nothing around and through the trees. Coming upon a nice specimen with well-spaced branches, Minerva leapt the first five feet from the ground to the trunk of the tree, grabbing onto it with all her claws. She hadn’t done this in a while, and she almost slipped before she had her grip established. From there, it was an easy job to climb to a nice branch about twenty feet up. She could probably have climbed a bit further, but Minerva was sure this limb would support her quite comfortably, and the narrower branches above didn’t look as secure.

Minerva stretched out along the branch, which was directed toward Hagrid’s hut and the castle. She had never had any success practising Occlumency exercises whilst in her Animagus form, more’s the pity, because that tree branch would have been such a comfortable place to do so. Unfortunately, although it was quite suited to her current form, Minerva doubted that the branch would support her in her ordinary form.

Minerva half-dozed, eyes slitted, when she suddenly perked up. Someone was coming down from the castle. Another early riser. A witch, from the look of it. Wilhelmina, she guessed, even before she could see her very clearly. There weren’t very many people left in the castle. Instead of her heading toward the paddock, Minerva was somewhat surprised to see Wilhelmina approach Hagrid’s cabin. Well, perhaps she had arranged for him to assist her with something before breakfast.

Minerva could hear Wilhelmina knock on the door, then Hagrid must have told her to enter, because she opened it immediately and went in. Minerva shifted slightly on her branch, watching curiously. Just two or three minutes later, the door opened again, and Wilhelmina reappeared. Hagrid was behind her in the doorway, dressed only in an old pair of shorts. Minerva was more than slightly surprised that Wilhelmina would have walked in on him like that, not to mention that Hagrid was not scrambling for his clothing. Of course, perhaps he had, and what he was wearing was the result.

Minerva wished she’d chosen a tree just a bit closer to Hagrid’s cabin. She couldn’t hear very much, but it appeared that they were having words. Or at least that Wilhelmina was. Hagrid was just standing there, in the half-open doorway, looking down at her, shaking his head, and making occasional brief responses. Hmm. Perhaps Wilhelmina had thought they had an arrangement for that morning, but Hagrid hadn’t realized it, and she was trying to convince him to help her with something despite the early hour. After a few minutes of this, Wilhelmina turned around to leave, and Hagrid shut the door. After taking a few steps, Wilhelmina turned toward the cabin and looked at it for a moment before finally beginning her walk back to the castle.

Well, that was curious. She should get up early and take morning constitutionals for reasons other than her health, it seemed. Minerva wanted to know what was going on, but doubted that she would find out. She couldn’t very well go up to Wilhelmina and say, “By the way, Wilhelmina, I noticed that you visited Hagrid this morning. While he was dressed in his underwear. What was that all about?” And given how embarrassed Hagrid had been when she had seen him with only his shirt off, Minerva doubted that she could broach the subject with Hagrid – at least not directly.

Minerva was beginning to get a bit hungry, so she came down out of her tree and trotted directly toward the castle, thinking of breakfast. She didn’t transform back to her ordinary form until she reached the great oak doors. Too bad there was no cat door. It felt good to exercise her Animagus form. She hadn’t done that enough during the last few months. But once Minerva transformed to her ordinary form, she remained in it and began the trek back up to her rooms. She would have to use a Scourgify on her cloak – probably on her robes, as well – after her excursion.

Minerva ate a quick breakfast in her rooms, brought to her by “I, Blampa,” and thought about her meeting later with Albus. They hadn’t set a time, but she thought that she would see if he was in his office a bit later in the morning. Before that, she wanted to gather her research together. Although Minerva was fairly certain that Albus would be familiar with what she had found, she wanted to be prepared in case he had any questions or wanted to refresh his memory. She hated being yet another person making demands on his time, but she thought it only logical to approach him; she’d really rather not go through official channels if she didn’t have to.

Minerva pulled out her oldest and most trusted book on Occlumency, _Occlumency: From Clearing to Clouding_ , and skimmed its table of contents. Opening the book to the chapter titled, “Maintaining Emotions, Mastering Physiological Responses,” Minerva reviewed one of the exercises that she had practised assiduously during her seventh year. She didn’t believe that her practice was a success at the time, but now, as an adult, Minerva believed that her maturity would help her master this particular exercise. It appealed to her because it did not focus on eliminating the emotions altogether, as some of the other exercises did, but only on eliminating the individual’s physiological response to those emotions. Of course, some physiological responses were tied more closely to external stimuli than to a specific emotion – Minerva thought of Albus’s hand on her thigh the evening before at dinner – but the book promised that even those types reactions would be lessened once the technique was fully mastered. 

She did not want to practise the exercises that aimed at completely eliminating all physiological response to external, emotionally-laden stimuli, insofar as that was even possible, because that would involve divorcing herself too fully from her experiences and her emotions. Minerva thought that would be very unhealthy, particularly if practised on a daily basis. The book even warned of the “rebound effect” that could occur with those exercises – emotional outbursts, hypersensitivity, feelings of rage, and so forth – if a practitioner relied upon them too much. Minerva thought they might be useful if one were a prisoner of war, but were otherwise too dangerous.

Minerva remembered how she had come to view her Occlumency exercises in a different light after her accident in the Transfiguration classroom. It had suddenly occurred to her one day in January that Albus Dumbledore was reputed to be a master Legilimens. Her heart rose to her throat as the fear began to form in her that her professor would be able to look into her mind and see what she was thinking about him, what she was feeling for him, and what she had experienced that day in the classroom. She hadn’t read the Occlumency book very thoroughly before that, concentrating only on the few chapters with exercises that seemed related to her Animagus training, so she went back and re-read the single introductory chapter dealing with Legilimency.

Minerva learned that a highly skilled Legilimens need not even speak the incantation in order to perform Legilimency, and although direct eye-to-eye-contact is often required, some Legilimens were able to perform the spell without it, although obtaining less information than if they had made eye-contact with the object of the spell. In addition, the more emotionally-laden the memory, the more easily a Legilimens could find the memory and view it. Although Legilimency was not mind-reading, and so the person practising it could not “read” the on-going thoughts of another like a book or a script, a Legilimens could easily see the current emotions of the person they were “reading” and could pick up the other person’s concerns and what they were focussed on. The book said that some Legilimens who practised it regularly could pick up another person’s thoughts and emotions without even trying to.

The thought that Dumbledore might read her mind at any time and discover what she felt about him terrified Minerva. Clearly, the thoughts and memories that she didn’t want him to see were highly laden with emotion, and therefore easy for a Legilimens to find; every time she was with Dumbledore, she experienced strong emotions. She would be very vulnerable if he used Legilimency on her.

Minerva was trying to gain some control over her emotional response to her professor, but had not made much progress. When he insisted that she return to her Animagus training, at least for a trial period, Minerva had no idea how she could continue to avoid eye-contact with him. It seemed rude and cold, as it was, but in the context of one-on-one lessons, it seemed impossible. She knew that becoming a truly accomplished Occlumens could take years. Even attaining the stage of being able to Occlude completely without the added finesse of misdirection would be the work of months, probably much more without a teacher.

Finally, one day at the beginning of February, Minerva decided to directly address the question with her mentor.

“Professor Dumbledore, I have heard that you are a Legilimens,” Minerva said bluntly.

“Yes, I have studied and practised the Art of Legilimency,” he replied. “If you wish to learn it, I recommend waiting until you have finished your Animagus training, however. It is very demanding, especially if one does not have a natural talent for it.”

“No, no, that’s not it . . . I was just wondering, um, can you perform it without casting the spell?”

“Yes, I can; why do you ask?”

“I was just re-reading _Clearing to Clouding_ , and I read the chapter on Legilimency. I had some questions, that’s all.”

“I see. And have I answered them all?” Dumbledore asked with a smile.

“Well, no, actually. The book said that if a Legilimens is accomplished enough, they can read someone’s thoughts without even trying to, kind of accidentally . . .”

“Ah. I see. Yes, occasionally someone’s emotional state is such that they broadcast their feelings and thoughts quite loudly; there was a brief period during which this posed a problem for me. I do not like to eavesdrop on the private, internal thoughts and feelings of another. My control is now such that I have to be consciously ‘listening’ in order to eavesdrop, and I do that very, very rarely. Is that what you were wondering about?”

“Yes, but . . . well, what’s ‘rarely’?”

Albus smiled. “‘Rarely’ means ‘almost never,’ my dear. I would have to have a very good reason for it. I might use it to detect whether someone is lying to me about something of truly vital importance – life and death matters, my dear, not whether someone ate the last biscuit in the staff room biscuit tin. And I would not practise full Legilimency on someone without their permission except under similar circumstances – although that is more difficult than simply ‘eavesdropping,’ and it is hard to prevent the object of the spell from becoming aware of what you are doing, even if you do it without a wand or the incantation.”

“So you wouldn’t just . . . if there were a student, would you . . .” Minerva didn’t know how to ask her professor if he eavesdropped or practised Legilimency on Hogwarts students.

“If you are asking me whether I practise Legilimency on my students, the answer is ‘no.’ There might come an occasion upon which I might believe it appropriate to eavesdrop to a degree, but only, as I said before, in matters of truly vital importance – not to discover whether someone cheated on an exam. I can use completely mundane skills acquired through years of experience to tell whether someone is lying to me about things like that, my dear!” Albus smiled brightly at her.

“So you wouldn’t just . . . read my mind?” Minerva asked hesitently.

“My word, no, Minerva! And certainly if I ever were to use Legilimency on you, I would seek your permission first. I honestly cannot envision any circumstance in which I would even merely eavesdrop on your private, internal thoughts, my dear. I do occasionally pick up on things from you, of course, but without Legilimency involved in any way. I have come to know you fairly well, Minerva, and so I may sometimes accurately guess at your thoughts and feelings.” Albus paused, looking at her. “You know, Minerva, Animagus training, more so than many other branches of magic, requires trust between the student and the teacher. You have told me before that you trusted me. Has that changed? You have been . . . behaving differently since your accident. I truly _am_ sorry that I caused it, you know.”

“Oh, yes, sir, I know you are. And it was an accident, as you say, and not your fault. I do trust you . . . it’s just that after reading that chapter, I began to get nervous, that’s all.”

Professor Dumbledore looked at her, somewhat sadly, Minerva thought. “Before you were of age, I would not have practised Legilimency on you in any form even with your consent. Now that you are of age, I still would not do so without your consent.”

“What about those ‘life-or-death’ circumstances?”

“In that case, I have faith in you, enough trust in you, to believe that you would not lie to me about anything, and so it would be unnecessary for me to resort to Legilimency.”

Minerva blushed slightly; of course he trusted her. And she should trust him, as well. For the first time in weeks, Minerva met her professor’s eyes without quickly looking away again.

“Thank you, Professor. I guess I sometimes get silly ideas, that’s all. I do trust you; it’s just the idea of anyone listening to my thoughts or feelings . . . well, like you said, they’re private.”

A silence came over the two, and Minerva thought that Professor Dumbledore was trying to decide whether to ask her anything else. Finally, he said, “Minerva, you know that you can trust me enough to talk to me, to tell me things, and that I would respect your confidences, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied quietly, hoping that he would not again ask her about her feelings about the accident.

“Good. You don’t need to tell me anything at all, of course, but I hope you trust me enough that you feel you could do so.”

“You know that I trust you, Professor.” Feeling as though that answer were incomplete, she continued, “It’s just that sometimes I have to work through things on my own, you know?”

“Yes, I know, Minerva. You are very independent. But if you ever have a burden, know that I am here to share it with, if you wish.” His gentle look as he said those words almost tore through Minerva’s self-control, but she took a steadying breath.

“I am fine. No more burdens than the usual, sir!” She smiled at him.

“All right, then, my dear. I am glad I was able to reassure you.” He hesitated again. “You would tell me, wouldn’t you, if someone were causing you trouble or harming you? You wouldn’t hide such a thing from me?”

“Of course not!”

“No one is bothering you, no boys . . . ?” he trailed off, the question in his voice.

“Oh, no, sir, nothing like that. Really.” Minerva remembered how, in her fourth year, a sixth-year Hufflepuff had tried to poison herself after being repeatedly “bothered” by a pair of Slytherin boys. The girl had never said anything to anyone because, as she later explained, they never really hurt her, they “only” touched her and said disgusting things. Fortunately, she was barely adequate at potions-making, and she survived her suicide attempt. The boys were given detention five nights a week for the rest of the school year and were placed in common-room-confinement at all times they weren’t at meals or in classes. Many thought the punishment was too harsh – after all, they had only teased the girl, they hadn’t poured the potion down her throat – whilst others thought they got off too lightly. However, as a result of their common-room-confinement, their House Quidditch team lost a Beater and a Chaser, so the lesson that certain lines weren’t to be crossed was extended to the rest of Slytherin. Minerva didn’t think it was a lesson that was learned, but Headmaster Dippet made such decisions, not she.

“Good. You would tell me, or another teacher, if someone were bothering you like that, I hope?”

“Of course. But I don’t think anyone would dare,” Minerva said with the confidence of a competent young witch.

“Perhaps not, but many things can happen to any of us that we might formerly believe impossible, Minerva. It is not a weakness to ask for help.”

“I know, sir.”

Minerva hadn’t had another conversation like that with her mentor, although she did believe that Dumbledore was still concerned about her reaction to the accident in the Transfiguration classroom for quite some time. In retrospect, Minerva thought, she should have made up some story for Albus, something that was true enough not to be a lie and yet far enough from the truth that he would not know what it was she had really experienced that evening in the Transfiguration classroom. He might have left the subject alone if Minerva had had some answer for him right from the beginning. It was fine to look back on the events years later and imagine what she might have done differently, but Minerva was quite aware that she still had difficulty as an adult dealing with her feelings for Albus; how could she expect that, at seventeen, she could have dealt with them any better?

After Minerva spent almost an hour practising the exercise aimed at mastering her physiological responses, she gathered her curriculum materials and her research into the “Melina-Brennan” problem and headed off to the Headmaster’s office.


	38. Requests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus makes some requests of Minerva; they visit the Transfiguration classroom.
> 
> End of Part Seven.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall.

**XXXVIII: Requests**

Albus sipped his peppermint tea and smiled as he remembered his meeting with Minerva. He had been glad to offer to help her – and Melina, of course – with their slight problem. He had been impressed by the thoroughness of Minerva’s research. He could have saved her quite a bit of time, had she spoken to him about it earlier. Minerva told him that she had wanted to speak with him about it for some time, but an opportunity had never presented itself, so she had used the time to do her research. Albus felt a twinge of regret that he had not made himself more available to Minerva during the term. He now recognised that he had likely subconsciously avoided spending time with her in order to avoid the need to confront the issues that had recently presented themselves rather explosively. He was not usually a man to avoid problems, or even to avoid acknowledging his own weaknesses, but when it came to his relationship with Minerva, it seemed he had repeatedly turned away from her rather than face the truth about his feelings.

Albus sighed. The trouble with facing the truth about his feelings was that now he also had to face the sad fact that came with it: no matter what his feelings were, no matter their strength or their breadth, he could not act upon them in any way other than as a friend. He could no longer bear using the phrases “as a grandfather,” or “with fatherly affection.” What he felt for Minerva made those expressions seem perverse, and Albus knew that however inappropriate his feelings for Minerva might be, they were not perverse. She inspired in him only positive feelings of love and desire, and to claim otherwise would degrade them both. 

Minerva had looked quite beautiful that day, rosy-cheeked and happy, her green robes bringing out the colour in her eyes, her hairstyle fetchingly revealing the lovely nape of her neck just begging to be kissed, calling forth the vision of him loosing her hair from its hairpins and running his fingers through it . . . These kinds of thoughts would get him into trouble, he was sure of it. But their meeting had been quite satisfying, he thought with a smile. And there was no doubt that when he had left her at her door that evening, she had been reluctant to say good-night – as had he. Of course, her feelings were of a different nature than his own, but he was happy, nonetheless, that she enjoyed his company. 

He was reluctant to go to bed; he felt as though, if he were to go to bed and sleep, he would wake up to an entirely different reality in the morning, one in which Minerva viewed him as nothing more than her employer and former teacher. Albus feared that their friendship was ephemeral – a fear that he recognised was unreasonable, even foolish, given all that they had shared over the last few days, let alone what they had shared over the past twenty years. He set down his teacup and prepared for bed. As he fell asleep, he smiled, remembering how lovely it had been to spend more time with Minerva, even if it was just discussing Hogwarts business.

After agreeing that Saturday the twentieth would be the best day to meet with Melina and Brennan, whose name had seemed oddly familiar to Albus, the two had moved on to discuss school business. Albus had broached the subject of Gryffindor House again, and their need for a new Head of House once Wilhelmina left. Minerva asked whether he had approached Professor Pretnick about the opening; she said that even though he was a little on the quiet side, he seemed quite nice, and she had heard good things about his teaching. 

“I think that he could do quite well, Albus, given the opportunity. And since we don’t know who will be applying for the Magical Creatures position, we can’t count on there being another Gryffindor to choose from.”

“Well, I believe we can, my dear.” At her quizzical look, Albus smiled and said, “Have you forgotten that you are a Gryffindor?”

“Oh, well, I couldn’t be Head of House,” she stammered.

“Why ever not?”

“Well, I’m too young. And I haven’t been here very long –”

“I don’t believe that there is an age qualification for the position, Minerva. And Robert has been at Hogwarts only six months longer than you, having taken the job when Professor Hardwick retired at the end of last year. I think you would do quite well – unless you don’t want to be considered for some other reason?”

“No! No, I just never . . . I always see you as the Head of Gryffindor House, I suppose. It is odd to imagine anyone else in that position, and very difficult for me to see myself as Head.”

“I understand from Wilhelmina that you have been a help to her the last few months.”

“I offered, just once, to help her out when the students were having dinner in their common rooms, and after that, she did ask me my opinion on a few things, yes.”

“She said that when she hasn’t known what to do about a student who’s having some problems, she asks you for your advice, and it’s been invariably good.”

“I am glad she thinks so, Albus, but really, I haven’t done much. It was all just common sense.”

Albus grinned at her broadly. “You see, Minerva, you would do quite well! Would you think about it, for me?”

“Of course I will consider it, Albus. I hope that Pretnick doesn’t feel passed over or slighted – even if it’s only by six months, he’s still been here longer than I have. And he’s older.”

“As I said, there is no age qualification for the position, and I rather doubt that Robert will mind, but I will speak with him, nonetheless, and ask him his opinion. I believe he will also find you the best person for the job.”

The two went on to finish discussing the seventh-year curriculum, by which time it was noon. Albus hesitated to ask her to have lunch with him in his quarters; he felt that too many such invitations might make her suspicious of his intentions. Instead, he suggested that they take a break to eat lunch in the staff room and then pick up their meeting immediately afterward. Minerva expressed some surprise, saying that she hadn’t thought they had anything else to discuss, but that she would be happy to continue their meeting in the afternoon.

After eating lunch with a few of the others who were still at the castle, they walked together to his first floor classroom and office. 

“I thought we could meet in my classroom office, my dear. Probably the last meeting I will hold there.”

“That’s fine, Albus.” As they entered his office, Minerva looked around wistfully. “I remember the first time I was ever in this office. It was my second year, and my Transfiguration teacher was supposedly quite upset with me because I had Transfigured a textbook.” She smiled slightly at the remembrance.

“I, too, remember that meeting very vividly. I am eternally grateful that you found my Gryffindor tea parties so dull that you had to bring a book with you!” Albus laughed.

Minerva laughed, as well. “It wasn’t that they were boring. I was just . . . shy, I guess. I spent most of my childhood around adults. I didn’t have a lot of practice talking with people my own age; I never knew what to say. And I always felt like I never understood the jokes, and as though I found things funny that no one else seemed to. Those Teas were actually good for me, I think. They made me socialise more, and it got easier as I got older. But you are right. I cannot imagine what my life would have been like if I hadn’t come to know you, Albus.”

“I believe we would have become friends, regardless,” Albus said. “I doubt I would have failed to notice your talent for Transfiguration, and we . . . we have always got along well. With a few minor hiccups, of course – to be expected in any friendship. But you are right: it is difficult to imagine life without having come to know you when you were a student and, later, as an adult. Extract Minerva McGonagall from my life over the last twenty year, and it seems quite barren!”

Minerva laughed. “Oh, I’m sure it wouldn’t have been at all barren, Albus. But it is very sweet of you to say so.” She looked at him for a moment, “My life, on the other hand, has been shaped so completely by my acquaintance with you, I find it quite impossible to imagine what it would have been like without it. I am certain I would be a different person.”

Albus was suddenly serious, as well. “I do hope that my presence in your life has been a positive thing. I know that you could be doing something quite different now if you hadn’t agreed to come to Hogwarts to teach.”

“Yes, that’s true, Albus. That’s one reason the Ministry wouldn’t let me out of my contract early – they had offered me the position of Deputy Minister for Magical Accidents and to be put in charge of the Committee for Experimental Transfiguration, reporting directly to the Minister for Magic; they were hoping that if I stayed through my full contract term, they would be able to convince me to take it. I told them last February that I had already agreed to come to Hogwarts, but it wasn’t until I signed the contract last June that they actually believed I was serious. They were rather displeased with me, I’m afraid!” She laughed.

“You might have become a Minister one day, if you had stayed, Minerva. Do you ever regret –”

“No, I don’t. I never wanted to become a Minister for anything, Albus. If anyone had ever asked me, I would have told them that I wanted to be the Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. I didn’t really believe it would ever happen . . . you were here, and you were clearly not going anywhere. I knew it was likely that you would become Headmaster when Dippet retired – although given that you have refused to be considered for Minister of Magic, I wasn’t sure you wouldn’t refuse Headmaster, as well – but when I heard that Dippet was to retire and you were going to be Headmaster, I still didn’t really believe I would be selected to be the next Transfiguration teacher.”

“Why ever not?” Albus asked, mystified.

“I’m so young. It is very rare for anyone under fifty to become a teacher here, and it is almost unheard of for someone under forty. And to follow _you_ . . . I was sure that there would be some older, very learned Transfiguration master who would be more appropriate than I,” she answered.

Albus smiled. “I could not hand my students over to anyone else. I never envisioned anyone but you taking the position. I do not know what I would have done, actually, if you had refused me – it. I would have advertised and found everyone else wanting.”

Minerva laughed. “I could never refuse you anything, Albus. And certainly I could not have refused this job!”

“Well, that brings me to one of the reasons we are meeting here, my dear. I noticed that you have settled in quite nicely in your new classroom, so do not feel you must agree to my proposal, but I was wondering if you would care to use this classroom from now on. If not, there may still be some things here that you might like for your own classroom –”

“No! Oh, I’d like to use this classroom, if that’s really all right?” Minerva seemed hardly able to contain her excitement.

“Of course it’s all right, Minerva!”

“I’d always imagined teaching in this classroom,” she said, turning to look out at the classroom behind them. She sighed. “I suppose I shouldn’t admit this . . .”

“What, my dear?”

“Well, I’m sure you will find it silly of me, but . . . I had always assumed I would be teaching in your old classroom, the classroom in which I was a student. I was . . . disappointed to find I would not be. Just one of those ridiculous expectations I had . . .”

“No, not ridiculous at all, Minerva! I wish you had said something to me earlier. I thought it would be easier for you if you had your own classroom, a neutral place to begin your career here. It is difficult to come in and take over a class in the middle of the year. I thought that the students would adjust better to the change if their classes met in a different room. They might have been more likely to accept you for who you are as a teacher, and less likely to make constant comparisons with the teacher who had taught them up until just a few weeks before in that very classroom. I have no doubt that our teaching styles are somewhat similar, since I taught you, but we are . . . temperamentally different. I didn’t think it would be fair to you, my dear, to place yet another hurdle in your path.”

Minerva was silent for a moment as she stood in the doorway and looked out into the eccentric Dumbledoresque classroom. Albus became nervous, afraid that she had taken his words as a criticism or as a negative comparison with himself. Just as he was about to say something reassuring to her, Minerva turned back to him, a slight smile on her lips. “You are always so thoughtful, Albus. I was just thinking of how I would have felt as a student if, half-way through the year, another teacher came into this classroom and replaced you, even if I had been anticipating the change for a year. You are right, of course. I would have been the teacher who was teaching in Professor Dumbledore’s Transfiguration classroom.” She sighed and walked back toward Albus. “I do wish you had explained that to me immediately. Even before I got here, in fact. I was rather unprepared – psychologically and practically – for teaching in a formerly vacant classroom.”

“I am sorry. I just didn’t think of it.” Albus could now understand better something she had said the previous morning at breakfast. “Had I known that you were looking forward to it so, I would have explained and let you know it would be only a temporary situation, just until you were settled.” He stood and sighed, then reached out a hand to her, resting it lightly on her arm. “I think that we both have to learn to talk to each other more. Perhaps it is because we have known each other for so many years . . . and in different contexts. Minerva, my dear, please feel free to talk to me, both as Headmaster and as your friend.”

“I never wanted to seem as though I were asking for anything from you based on our friendship, I suppose. And I also know that you have many demands on your time. I did not want to become just another burden in your life.”

“Minerva, I have told you on many occasions that you could never be a burden. And if you ask something of me as a friend, I shall respond as a friend. If you ask something of me as Headmaster, I shall respond as Headmaster. And if there is ever any confusion or any question, we will discuss it, all right, my dear?”

“You are right, Albus. And very sensible.” She grinned at him. “I guess it’s just an adjustment for us both.”

“Indeed. And I’m still just learning how to be the Headmaster. Despite all of my years here as Deputy Headmaster and the duties that Armando delegated to me, it really has been quite different to actually be the Headmaster. Gertie has been a great help to me. She’s actually more sensible than I. In fact, she asked me why I’d given you the classroom I had. Of course, she never told me that I should impart my reasoning to you, but I’m sure she believed that I would draw that conclusion.” He shook his head slightly.

“I am glad that Gertrude has been such a help to you as your Deputy, Albus . . . She has been a good friend, as well?” Minerva said, her tone indicating the question in her mind.

“Very much. As I said, she has a great capacity for loyalty, and I have been fortunate enough to have somehow earned that loyalty. I hope that you get to know each other better while you are visiting her in Cornwall.”

“Yes, well, perhaps that is her intent.” Minerva looked out the window and saw Hagrid crossing the lawn, looking somewhat downcast. “Albus, do you know if anything is bothering Hagrid?”

“He has not mentioned anything to me,” Albus replied.

“As you know, we had tea yesterday. I think he’s a bit lonely, but . . . it seems as though there’s something more going on . . . he was perfectly cheerful just a few days ago.”

“It was good of you to go down and see him, Minerva.” Albus smiled. “Seeing the two of you yesterday, talking there by the lake, reminded me of the summer you spent at the castle and the way you spent your entire savings to buy Hagrid that broom then took the time to teach him to fly it.”

Minerva laughed. “As I told Hagrid yesterday, I had fun, too. And it was just a used broom, nothing special, but as soon as I saw that it could carry a family of four, I thought of Hagrid.” She laughed again, remembering their games of Swivenhodge that summer.

“Nonetheless, it was good of you and demonstrated, once again, your sweetness and generosity of spirt, my dear.” 

She looked over at him, pulling her gaze from the window, and they caught each other’s eye. Minerva’s breath suddenly hitched, then she remembered her Occlumency exercises and calmed her breathing and her pulse. There was such warmth in Albus’s gaze, Minerva felt that his mere glance could sustain her life. Despite herself, she raised her hand to his face, where it hovered a moment before she allowed herself to briefly caress his cheek before she dropped her hand again.

“You are very kind to say such a thing, Albus,” she said softly, lowering her eyes from his, suddenly feeling very exposed despite her physical calm.

Albus cleared his throat. Her touch had unnerved him. She was so dear. Despite his self-control, he wished he were able to tell her, just once, how much she meant to him, how much he loved her, and then hold her, nothing more, just hold her.

“It is not kindness that inspired me to say it, but truth, or if it was kindness, it was yours, not mine,” he said, somewhat hoarsely.

Minerva looked up at him again. They were so close; she could take one step toward him and wrap her arms around him. But she would not. She had promised Albus truth, but she had never promised him that she would tell him everything. In fact, she had warned him that she could not do so. Still, at some point, avoiding the truth was tantamount to a lie. And just that morning, she had thought that she should have told Albus some part of the truth all those years ago. Perhaps there was some room for a little bit of the truth now.

“Thank you, Albus. To hear you say that . . . you are very important to me, Albus. And to have your good opinion means a great deal to me.”

“You have that, Minerva, and much more,” he replied quietly. 

For a long while, they stood in companionable silence by the window, looking out across the lawn, watching Hagrid toss bits of food out to the Giant Squid, neither Minerva nor Albus aware that their hands, which rested side-by-side on the sill, had crept closer to each other until they were just touching.


	39. A Startling Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Albus share a lovely breakfast before she sets off for Cornwall. Her first morning there is filled with surprising revelations.
> 
> **Beginning of Part Eight.**
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Gertrude Gamp; Gamp house-elves Krantzy, Brue, and Shirfy; and Cormac Quinlivan "Quin" MacAirt.

**PART EIGHT**  
 **XXXIX: A Startling Revelation**

Minerva woke at six o’clock Monday morning. She had packed for her trip the day before, having made a quick trip to her parents’ house to retrieve some dress robes; she was determined not to worry about how fashionable she appeared or whether she would be able to make conversation with Gertrude’s visiting relatives. After all, she had attended many Ministry functions, and even a few Muggle black-tie affairs, when she lived in London, not to mention that during her apprenticeship in Germany, she had been escorted to a number of rather exclusive parties. It wasn’t as though she were an inexperienced twenty-year-old. And really, how dreadful could those people be?

When Minerva had suggested to Albus the day before that he join her for breakfast, she thought she detected some hesitation before he agreed. She hoped that he wasn’t beginning to twig to her feelings toward him. Just as she was about to withdraw her suggestion, Albus had smiled and accepted her invitation. He said he would come to her at seven o’clock, so she still had an hour yet.

After showering, Minerva selected a robe that she had brought with her from her parents’ the day before. It wasn’t a dress robe per se, but it was, she thought, too flamboyant for Hogwarts. A peculiar slate green, almost the colour of green lake water, the silk robe had a low sweetheart neckline and sleeves that fit closely to the arm until they reached elbow, where they opened into an expansive, wing-like, asymmetrical bell. Silvery-grey embroidery stitched a complex pattern of spirals and waves over the lower half of the sleeves, which was echoed around the neckline and hem. The skirts of the robe consisted of yards and yards of gathered fabric which whished lightly as she walked. Definitely too much for Hogwarts. But she would look respectable enough at the Gamps, she was fairly certain.

Rather than putting her hair in a bun, Minerva took a pair of inlaid hair clips that had been a gift from her mother and drew back the hair from the sides of her face. She then coiled the length of her hair into a roll, exposing her neck. She used a charm, as well as a few hairpins, to hold it in place. Minerva wasn’t sure she liked it; she had seen a similar style in a Muggle magazine the summer before. The woman in the photograph had looked sophisticated and sultry. Minerva didn’t think she could ever pull off sophisticated and sultry, but she really didn’t want to arrive at the Gamps’ looking like a schoolteacher, either – even though she was one. Minerva sighed, regretting for about the hundredth time having accepted Gertrude’s invitation. And Poppy wasn’t even here to ask her opinion, having left for her holiday the day before.

Hoping to achieve at least a modicum of sophistication, Minerva cast a charm to enhance the natural colour of her lips, then, after a slight hesitation, applied a rouging charm to her cheeks. Deciding she looked like a Muggle clown, she reduced the colour in her cheeks until it resembled a healthy glow rather than great red blotches. The woman in the photograph had a curled-under fringe, but Minerva, unaccustomed to using such charms, feared that she would create a fringe only to be unable to reverse it without going to a Diagon Alley hairdresser. Before she had begun seeing Brennan, Melina had often used such charms; perhaps when Minerva returned from Cornwall, she would visit Melina and ask her to show her a few more useful ones.

Minerva hadn’t heard from Melina yet, but she had only owled her the morning before about meeting with Brennan on the twentieth. Melina’s owl would find her in Cornwall, Minerva supposed, provided she used a hearty Post-Owl rather than her aging Tawny, Bootsie – which had a rather disagreeable disposition, in any event. Minerva didn’t think Bootsie had ever delivered a letter without also delivering an unwanted scratch or bite along with it. Of course, if she had been named “Bootsie,” Minerva thought, she might have been equally ill-natured.

After straightening her bedroom, although it didn’t need it, and placing her luggage on her bed, Minerva went into her sitting room and perused her book shelves, looking for something to bring with her to read in the evenings. She had packed the most recent copy of _Transfiguration Today_ , but she might be in the mood for something lighter. Minerva smiled. Something Muggle, in fact. The idea of bringing a Muggle novel into a bastion of pureblood superiority appealed to her. Melina had recently sent her a copy of a new book by some Russian-American Muggle named Nabokov. Melina claimed it was quite funny, yet sad. Where was it – there. _Pnin_. Peculiar title, though. And apparently quite filled with modern Muggle notions, from what Melina had told her. Just the ticket for this holiday. Minerva hesitated. She wasn’t entirely sure how prepared she was for “modern Muggle notions,” herself. Better bring something else along, as well, just in case it proved too abstruse for bedtime reading. She plucked an Agatha Christie from her shelf. Not high literature, perhaps, but it wouldn’t keep her up all night reading, either.

Just as she was placing the two books on top of her carpet bag, she heard a clattering and barking coming from the other room. The Silent Knight and his dog – “Fidelio,” Minerva had learned yesterday, was the hound’s name, _not_ , the Knight emphasised, “Fido” – and Minerva ran out to answer the door. A smiling Dumbledore greeted her cheerily and handed her a small wrapped parcel. “For later, my dear,” he said.

“Thank you, Albus! What is it? You really didn’t need to . . .”

“Of course I didn’t – that’s why it’s a surprise! Open it this evening before you retire – no peeking before then!”

“All right,” she laughed. “I’ll try to restrain my curiosity until then. And it will be nice to have something pleasant to look forward to – I’m rather nervous about what other surprises may be awaiting me today.”

“It’s just a little something, my dear. But may I say you look particularly lovely this morning; I am certain you will be the most beautiful witch at the Gamp Estate today, so I hope that is not one of your concerns.”

“Thank you, Albus.” Minerva worked to suppress her blush, with only partial success. “I wasn’t sure. I was wishing Poppy were here, earlier; I wasn’t sure about the hair, the dress, or, well, any of it,” she said, not wanting to mention her lack of practice with make-up charms.

“Your hair is always lovely, Minerva, and those . . . hair things are very nice.” Albus stopped, not sure whether he was saying the right thing or not.

Apparently he was, however, since Minerva brightened and said, “Do you like the hair clips, then? They were a present, but I rarely wear them. I wasn’t sure if they were appropriate or not.” She hesitated. Albus was probably no expert on witches’ fashions, but he had no doubt socialised with the likes of the Gamps for many years. “I also wasn’t sure about the dress; it’s not new –”

“It is most becoming on you, Minerva. It makes me feel quite guilty that I brought you to Hogwarts where you wear teaching robes almost ten months out of the year. You should not feel out of place in it, I believe – not to mention that it brings out the colour of your eyes.”

Minerva smiled. “Thank you, Albus. You probably think I’m foolish to be nervous.”

“I am afraid that might also be my fault,” he answered with a smile, “isolating you here at Hogwarts when you should be in London, spending your free time . . . doing whatever it is that young witches do. I am certain that you had many beaus who are now pining for your company,” he joked.

Minerva laughed. “Not at all, Albus. Obviously, my life in London was quite different from what it is here at Hogwarts, but nothing like what you are suggesting.” 

She chuckled at the image of her that Albus was presenting – as though she had been some kind of sought-after heartbreaker. She had dated now and again, but nothing serious since she had returned from her apprenticeship almost eight years ago, and she certainly had never been as popular among the wizards as Albus seemed to think. Minerva suspected that word had got around that she was “independent” and not looking for a relationship – not to mention that she put off any physical intimacies with every wizard she had dated. She had probably got the reputation, at best, of being cold, at worst, of leading men on. It was nice that Albus thought she might have been popular, though. Quite sweet of him. Of course, had _he_ been one of the wizards seeking her attentions in London, it would have been quite a different story . . . Minerva quashed that thought firmly. Albus would certainly have been interested in a more mature, more interesting, and more sophisticated witch than she.

She excused herself for a moment, and after safely putting Albus’s present in her carpet bag, Minerva called Blampa to serve breakfast. She was glad that Albus had agreed to join her that morning; it kept her from becoming more nervous about her upcoming trip. She really wasn’t sure why she should be so apprehensive about it; as Minerva had told herself before, it wasn’t as though she were a complete social novice. And she had certainly dealt with many difficult people before, so Gertrude’s relatives shouldn’t pose too much of a problem for her. No, it had more to do with her uneasiness with the invitation itself. Gertrude’s motivations were still opaque to her. All the more reason to go, she reminded herself.

Time passed quickly as Albus and Minerva ate breakfast and talked. He had owled the advertisements to the publishers, so he anticipated that they would begin receiving responses soon, although it would be a few weeks before each of the journals had published their next issue, so they would probably continue to trickle in for some time. Minerva promised that as soon as they began receiving owls from applicants for the Care of Magical Creatures position, she would start reviewing them and sending out acknowledgements right away. Better to keep up with it from the start, she thought, although they could wait to make any decisions about who to consider.

Minerva sighed when she realised that it was ten minutes to eight. She really would prefer to stay at the castle with Albus . . . not that he would necessarily have any time for her, but she could see him at meals. As much as Minerva was determined to mask her feelings for him, the more time she spent with him, the more time she wanted to spend with him. It was probably a good thing for her to get away for a few days.

“Well, my dear, it is almost time for your Portkey. I suppose you will want me to leave so that you can gather your things.”

“No need for that, Albus. I am all packed. I just need to stow my books in my bag, and I can be off. The Portkey is active for a half hour, so there’s no real hurry.” Minerva thought of something. 

“Have you been to the Gamps before, Albus? The reason I ask is that I was wondering where I’d be likely Portkeying to.”

“Ah, yes, I have. You will most likely arrive in their small vestibule which has been designated for such purposes, although you may also arrive in front of the house, on their drive.”

“All right, then. So I’ll be prepared to find myself either in a small, closed space or outdoors!” She smiled. “I’m sure I will manage.” Minerva hesitated. She really was loathe to say good-bye to him this morning, and despite his words, Albus had made no move to rise from the table. “If you’d like, if you have the time and don’t mind, I would be happy if you saw me off. You don’t have to, of course,” she added hastily.

But Albus smiled and said, “I would love to, my dear.”

“I’ll just fetch my bag, then.”

“You can Portkey from within your rooms, Minerva; no need to fetch it . . . unless you wish to. I can, of course, see myself out. Unless you would prefer not to, of course, in which case, we can just step outside your door together.”

“No, I had planned to Portkey from here. I’m sure you can be trusted, Albus!” she laughed. “In fact, if you would like to borrow any of my books, please feel free to. I doubt I have any scholarly texts that you don’t already own, but I do have some literature, which you may enjoy.”

“I may peruse your shelves, then, although I confess I have little time for pleasure reading.”

“It’s important that you find time to relax occasionally, Albus, or you’ll wear yourself out!”

“Very well, Mother McGonagall, I will find a nice novel and take your advice,” he replied with a grin.

“Well, I suppose there’s no point in putting this off any longer. Blampa will take care of the breakfast dishes after we’ve left.” Minerva got up and Albus followed her into her bedroom.

He smiled as he saw her tuck her books into her bag. “It is good to see you follow your own advice, then, regarding reading material.”

“Yes, although I did pack _Transfiguration Today_ , as well.” Minerva closed up her bag and turned to face him.

“If I wish to return a book in your absence, may I let myself in?” Albus asked, then added quickly when he saw the expression on Minerva’s face, “That was rude of me. I am sorry, my dear. Just another symptom of my feeling comfortable with you.”

“No, not at all, Albus. And of course you may let yourself in. I am glad you feel so comfortable with me . . . and after all, you have charmed your stairs to recognise me.” Despite herself, Minerva blushed. “It’s just that my password . . .”

“You needn’t share it with me, Minerva. I was far too presumptuous.”

“No, it’s not that. And I’m sure that, as Headmaster, you could gain access to any rooms in Hogwarts without needing a password.”

“I don’t, though. Except perhaps in an emergency.” Albus hastily, apparently eager to reassure her of that fact.

“I wasn’t suggesting you wander about the castle entering others’ private quarters, Albus,” Minerva said with a chuckle. “For one thing, you are far too busy! No, that is not my concern, it’s just that my password is a bit silly. Just slightly embarrassing. That’s all.”

“More embarrassing than ‘Chocolate Frog’ or ‘Peppermint Imp’?” he asked, smiling.

“I happened to be thinking of you at the time.” Minerva took a deep breath. “It’s ‘ _alvarium album_.’”

“Hmm. Not ‘ _apiarus albus_ ’?” he asked with a smile, reminding her of his nom de plume.

“No,” Minerva’s blush deepened. “That would have been even more embarrassing, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t be embarrassed, Minerva. It’s rather flattering, actually.”

Minerva noticed that Albus seemed to be blushing slightly, himself. She said, “I hadn’t thought I’d be sharing it with anyone . . . If it’s inappropriate –”

“Flattering, not inappropriate,” Albus answered. He smiled happily at her. “Now, you do not wish to miss your Portkey!”

“No, no, of course.” Minerva picked up her carpet bag and the Portkey with her left hand. “I will see you in a few days, Albus. Feel free to borrow any books you like, in the meantime.” She raised her hand for him to shake, and was momentarily surprised when he took it in his left hand instead of his right. He stepped closer to her and placed his other hand on her arm.

“I hope that you enjoy your trip, Minerva, or that you will at least find it interesting. I look forward to hearing all about it on your return.” Albus leaned toward her and kissed her cheek gently. He drew away, releasing her hand and stepping back.

Minerva let out a breath she hadn’t known she had been holding. Albus was smiling at her, his cheeks still slightly pink from his earlier blush of embarrassment. She remembered herself and returned his smile. “I will look forward to telling you about it, then.” Wishing she wasn’t leaving, Minerva concentrated on the green ribbon in her hand and said, “ _Ducere_.”

The familiar and unpleasant sensation of Portkeying overtook her, and within seconds, she found herself looking at a face quite different from Albus’s. She had apparently been deposited in the vestibule, as Albus had said she might, and there was an old grey house-elf with great, hairy ears waiting for her. When Minerva appeared, he hopped off the bench and bowed low, his ears sweeping the floor.

“Krantzy is happy to be welcoming the Professor McGonagall of Hogwarts to the Noble House of Gamp. May Krantzy serve and assist the Professor McGonagall with her bag?” the elf asked, his eyes fixed on the hem of Minerva’s dress.

“Yes, thank you, Krantzy.”

“Oh, Krantzy not be thanked! No no. Brue will bring the Professor McGonagall to see Madam Gamp, yes, and Krantzy bring bag to the Professor McGonagall’s room. Yes?”

“Um, yes,” Minerva replied, wondering whether “Madam Gamp” was Gertrude, her mother, or some other household matriarch. The house-elf popped away with the carpet bag, never having looked up at Minerva’s face. Almost immediately, he was replaced by another house-elf, a younger one, from the look of it. He – Minerva believed it was a “he” – was wearing two tea towels tied together at the shoulder, belted with what looked like an old curtain tie-back.

The elf glanced very quickly at Minerva’s face before bowing low. His ears were much smaller than Krantzy’s were, and so did not reach the floor, but his long nose touched his toes. “Brue brings the Madam Professor to Madam Gamp now,” he squeaked, his statement sounding more like a question.

“That would be fine, Brue,” Minerva said, carefully not thanking the elf. She followed the small, bluish fellow out of the vestibule into a large entrance hall, past a grand staircase, and a short way down an open corridor to a set of white double doors. Brue flicked a forefinger at them and the left-hand door opened to reveal a large, bright room with a high ceiling and many windows. Minerva didn’t have the opportunity to look around much, however, because the house-elf led her through the room to a set of French doors that opened out onto a terrace.

Brue bowed and indicated that Minerva should precede him through the doors. As soon as she had passed through them, there were two cracks in quick succession. Brue was now standing beside a chaise on which a witch was reclining and reading the _Daily Prophet_.

Brue bowed deeply. “The Professor McGonagall of Hogwarts School,” he announced in his high-pitched voice, then, with another crack, he was gone.

The witch turned her head and stood. Minerva saw that it was, indeed, Gertrude; she hadn’t immediately recognised her because of the large-brimmed, woven hat that she was wearing – and the fact that, rather than her usual school attire, Gertrude was wearing a fine, pale blue robe with three-quarter sleeves. Minerva felt foolish for assuming that Gertrude would wear the same drab and unadorned robes as she did at school.

Gertrude smiled. “Welcome, Minerva. No problems with the Portkey, I trust?”

“It was a very smooth arrival, Gertrude, thank you.”

“I was just having some coffee, but I haven’t eaten yet. I was hoping you might join me.” She indicated the round table a few feet away, set for two.

“I ate something before I left, but I would be happy to have some tea,” Minerva replied.

Gertrude snapped her fingers and another house-elf appeared.

“Shirfy is happy to serve,” squealed the elf with a curtsy.

“Good, Shirfy. I’ll be having breakfast now, and bring tea for our guest.”

The two witches sat, and Minerva felt at quite a loss for words. She looked out at the view afforded by the veranda, which was slightly higher than the surrounding garden. “What a lovely garden,” she offered, glad she had found something to say. It truly was a lovely garden, as well.

“It is one of the pleasant aspects of the estate,” Gertrude said, nodding. “After breakfast, we can take a walk in the garden. And later this afternoon, if you like, we might change clothes and have a bit of a tramp.” Gertrude took a sip of her tea. “There are some interesting features. Standing stones and such. We also have a rather nice hill fort. Not fully intact, of course, but hasn’t been trampled by a lot of Muggles grubbing about for building materials or artifacts. Our Muggle-Repelling wards are among the most extensive in Britain. Grandfathered in when the Ministry began regulating such things more tightly.”

Minerva wasn’t quite sure what to say to this information, and so was quite pleased when Shirfy reappeared with their breakfast. Despite having had breakfast already, Gertrude encouraged her to try some of the cheese and the fresh rolls.

“The cheese is local. I prefer this sort of breakfast. Bread, cheese, fruit. Something I miss.”

“I’m sure you could ask for this kind of breakfast at Hogwarts. The elves, I’ve found, are fairly agreeable in accommodating one’s preferences.”

Gertrude gave a short, barked laugh. “Yes, they are. And during the summer, or whenever I take breakfast in my rooms, I do that. But it isn’t concern for the house-elves’ inconvenience that keeps me eating the same cold toast and egg every morning.”

“You . . . want to eat what the rest of the staff is eating?”

“Mmm. Although I draw the line at porridge. Forced too much of it down my throat as a child,” she said with a grin.

Minerva, who had become accustomed to eating bread and cheese for breakfast when she apprenticed in Germany and had come to like it, herself, pulled a crusty roll apart and closed it around some pale yellow cheese. The two witches ate in silence, but Minerva was pleased to find that she no longer felt as uncomfortable. After finishing her roll and taking a sip of tea, Minerva looked out over the garden and could see where the carefully-groomed acreage ended and the rougher, wilder lands began.

“I would enjoy a walk this afternoon, I think. When I visit my parents’ home, I take walks every day, usually along the cliffs and, sometimes, even down to the shore to walk beside the sea . . .”

“Not something you could do in London. You lived there a number of years, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but there are wonderful parks in London. On a Sunday, I would sometimes take a book and go sit in one of the parks, but I rarely read much. I would watch the people go by, mostly.” She smiled crookedly. “Anyway, I enjoyed taking walks in the parks there, although it is, of course, very different from walking out in the country.”

“Did you spend a lot of time in Muggle London, then?”

“Some. Quite a bit, I suppose. Life would have been rather dull if I had confined myself to the Ministry and Diagon Alley, after all.” Minerva wondered whether Gertrude’s question had been a veiled criticism of her enjoying what Muggle London had to offer. It was not an attitude that she had observed in Gertrude before, but they had never really spoken of anything that was not school-related, either. Minerva found it hard to believe that someone who disliked Muggles could be very close to Albus, though, since he was well-known to appreciate Muggles and harbour no prejudices against them. And Albus seemed to . . . like Gertrude, as well.

“Yes, I suppose it could be, particularly when you’re young and energetic. I haven’t lived in a Muggle city for so long, I have forgotten what it’s like.”

“You lived in a Muggle city?”

“Mmm-hm. More than one. Not at the same time, of course,” Gertrude responded with a crooked smile. “I spent several years in Berlin during the twenties. And when I was first married, we lived in York, which, while not a large city, is quite definitely Muggle.”

Minerva almost choked on her tea, but recovered quickly. “You were married? I’m sorry if I am rude to ask, but I didn’t know, and your name –”

“It’s not just Scottish witches who may prefer to keep their family name, you know,” Gertrude said mildly. “Although I was flexible – I answered to ‘Gertrude Crouch’ if someone wished to call me that.”

“And, if I might ask, what happened?”

“Killed. By Grindelwald. Early. One of his first British victims. One of his first victims at all, actually.” Gertrude held her coffee cup in front of her and gazed out over the gardens.

Minerva now felt as though she had trespassed where she had no right to be. “I’m sorry . . .”

“Hmm?” Gertrude looked over at her, slightly bemused. “Oh, it’s a long time ago now. Reginald was a Gryffindor and he never disappointed me.” Her cheek twitched. “I don’t suppose I could have expected him to live a nice quiet life, get ahead in the world, survive to dandle grandchildren on his knee, and what not. I am proud to say, however, that he was one of the earliest to realise the danger Grindelwald presented and to oppose him, and that Grindelwald perceived him to be such a threat that he took the first opportunity to kill him.”

Minerva sat, somewhat overwhelmed by these revelations. Since Gertrude seemed to be so forthcoming, she asked, “That was before you came to Hogwarts?”

“Yes, a few years before, in fact. Albus was . . . supportive. And when he asked me to come to the school to teach Arithmancy and to help him with the wards, it didn’t seem as though there was anything better I could be doing. So I joined him at Hogwarts.” She finished her coffee and stood. “You know, I think I feel rather like having that tramp this morning. Do you mind leaving the civilised garden stroll for later in the day and joining me now?”

“No, that would be fine.” Minerva looked down at her voluminous skirts. She really didn’t want to Transfigure them. She thought that clothes wore out more quickly if you Transfigured them every time you turned around, and so generally restricted herself to simple colour charms when she felt the urge to alter something.

“Good. I will show you to your room myself, then, and we can change into something more suitable.”

Gertrude led Minerva through the large house, up the grand staircase, and along a hallway to the room she would be staying in. The bright, comfortably furnished room had east-facing windows. A large four-poster bed was against one wall, but in no way could it be said to dominate the large room, and there was a small sitting area across from a fireplace. There was an inlaid screen in one corner that concealed a washbasin and marble-topped vanity.

“You can wash up here, as there’s hot and cold running water. I’ll show you where the toilet and the bath are before I go to change. The house-elves have no doubt unpacked for you and hung your clothes in the wardrobe.”

Minerva was not particularly pleased with the idea of the Gamp house-elves unpacking her bag. She hoped they hadn’t done anything odd with Albus’s present – or unwrapped it! That thought reminded her, however, that she had brought a bottle of very old Scotch whisky with her as a gift for Gertrude. She had no idea if Gertrude drank whisky – or if she might even be offended by receiving something so Muggle in origin – but her father had given it to her when she had come by the house the day before to retrieve her dress robes, and he had assured her that it would be most appropriate, and if it wasn’t appreciated, it was a sure sign her hosts had no taste whatsoever.

“Just a moment, Gertrude. I have something for you, if I can find it.” Minerva took a look and found that, although her clothes had been unpacked, the house-elves had left everything else in her carpet bag, which was on the floor of the wardrobe. She pulled out the bottle of whisky. “Not a very ceremonious presentation, I’m afraid, Gertrude, but I thought you might like this.”

Gertrude took the bottle of Scotch whisky and read the label closely over her lowered glasses. Smiling, she pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “This looks quite nice, thank you, Minerva. I will offer it around after dinner, I believe. Which reminds me, there are a few other guests here at the moment, and more to arrive later today and tomorrow, so you may run into a few. If they haven’t the good manners to introduce themselves, don’t let it bother you. Just ignore them or introduce yourself, whatever you wish.”

After Gertrude had shown her the bathroom and toilet, she said, “I’m one floor above you, in this same wing of the house. If you need me, you can call Brue, and he will find me, or you can just wander up there. Third door on your left.” She turned to leave, then stopped. “Oh, I often prefer to wear trousers when out for a hike, much to the horror of my family.” She grinned. “I’m afraid I’m rather scandalous. Anyway, if you’d like to borrow some trousers, you could Transfigure them to fit you. I’ll send a pair down with Brue.” With that, Gertrude left Minerva standing outside the bedroom door. _Trousers?_

Minerva returned to the bedroom, wondering what the etiquette was in refusing the offer of an article of clothing. Her father hated trousers and, if he had to be out amongst Muggles, would sometimes even don a kilt in order to avoid them – although he always said he didn’t have the knees for them, not to mention that he felt chilly. Murdoch and Morgan often wore trousers, since they lived in such close proximity to the Muggle world, and once they had left school, Carson had worn trousers every day. He said he had grown up wearing them and that he actually preferred them to robes. Minerva, however, had never worn a pair of trousers in her life. She knew that some Muggle women were increasingly beginning to wear them, and Minerva supposed that for some types of Muggle work, trousers were more practical than skirts, but she simply couldn’t imagine wearing them herself. When she went for her walks, she always just shortened her robes a bit and made sure she was wearing stout shoes.

As she was standing in the centre of the bedroom pondering the peculiarity of witches in trousers, Brue popped in, a neatly folded article of clothing hovering above his head, no doubt the trousers that Gertrude had promised her. Minerva reached out and mechanically took them from the elf. Without a word, Brue popped away again.

Minerva held up the trousers, shaking out the folds. Unremarkable. Brown. Two legs. An opening at the top. Buttons. Belt loops. Perfectly ordinary. Completely impossible. No, Minerva just couldn’t imagine herself wearing such a garment. On the other hand, who knew what kind of “tramp” Gertrude had in mind? She hesitated. Sometimes when scrambling along the cliffs, she had had to split her skirts with a charm in order to give herself enough room to move about and not get caught or trip. Of course, there was usually no one with her to see her half-naked legs. These trousers would at least cover her completely.

Minerva undressed, carefully hanging her robe in the wardrobe. She found a pale blue robe that buttoned up the front and, with a slight grimace at the violence she was about to do, cast a severing charm, removing the skirts. Another quick charm, and her new blouse had a hem. With some trepidation, Minerva put on the top, exchanged her stockings for a pair of woolen socks, and then stepped into the trousers. They were too long and too big through the middle. Minerva removed them and Transfigured them to fit her. After trying them again and deciding that they fit, she pulled on a pair of dragon-hide boots.

She uneasily turned to look in the mirror and was surprised to find that she didn’t look as outlandish as she felt. Although she would have to do something about her hair. Sighing, thinking of the effort she’d taken with it, Minerva removed the hairclips and hair pins and ended the charm holding her hair in its coil. She shook it out, brushed it, and charmed it into a braid before pinning it into her usual bun.

Minerva took a few minutes to use the loo, then went back to the bedroom to wait for Gertie. She hoped that they didn’t meet anyone on their way out of the house. This was not the first impression she wanted Gertrude’s relatives to have of her. She began to worry that Gertrude had only sent her the trousers to see if she would be fool enough to actually wear them, and she was just about to change out of them into a more sensible robe when there was a knock at the door.

“Minerva? Ready to go?”

Minerva sighed. Too late now. She opened the door to find Gertie standing there dressed in dark grey trousers and a white blouse, her hat in her hand. “Good, you decided to try them. I wasn’t sure. Most witches look at me like I have two heads when I offer to loan them a pair of trousers. Hoped you wouldn’t be typical. Need a hat?”

Minerva had only brought her peaked dress hat, and she doubted that would be appropriate for wearing with her current outfit, but she shook her head. Who knew what kind of hat Gertrude would offer her, after all?

They left the house, and Minerva could hear plummy voices coming from one of the rooms as they passed by, but they met no one on their way out. Minerva felt strangely naked in the trousers and took short steps; she had no idea how Gertie could walk about in them so freely.

As they crossed the lawn, Gertrude looked over at her and gave her another of her half-grins. 

“You usually stride along so confidently, Minerva. It’s even easier to do that in trousers. Come along.” Gertrude picked up her pace, forcing Minerva to lengthen her stride in order to keep up with her.

As they walked, Minerva became more comfortable and realised it was rather liberating to be wearing the somewhat close-fitting trousers. Gertrude pointed out various landmarks of interest, and Minerva could see the remains of a hill fort in the distance. The land on which the Gamp Estate sat was gently undulating for the most part, but the hill fort sat up on a higher hill with steep sides.

“It seems that the people who built the original fort first enhanced the hill, building it up, making it both higher and steeper. From the west, the rise is gentler and the ditches more degraded with time, but I always prefer this approach.”

Gertrude went on to explain that the hill fort had originally been constructed approximately two thousand years before, and reused on and off by succeeding generations until it was abandoned during the Roman occupation of Britain. The main portion that was now visible had been rebuilt during the sixth century and expanded to include an animal enclosure on the west side. The ditches they were now clambering through had once been deeper, with steep walls, and were meant to provide another layer of defence before one reached the fort’s first stone wall.

After climbing through two ditches and the remains of the hill fort’s two outer walls, the witches finally reached the top of the hill and the main structure. Much of the fort wall was still whole, rising to over thirty feet in height at some points. Gertie led Minerva over some fallen rock and into the fort itself. “Careful here. There are steps, but they aren’t completely intact. You’ll have to do some scrambling.”

Minerva followed Gertie up the ancient stone stairs that hugged the eastern wall. She could tell even more clearly now that the main fort had consisted of a circular stone tower. They reached the top, and Gertrude pulled herself to the top of the broad wall and proceeded to walk confidently a few more feet before she sat and dangled her legs over the edge. “You won’t find the likes of this anywhere else, I’d imagine.” She grinned. “Of course, I haven’t tried to, either. One castle is enough for me,” she joked.

Minerva, despite a childhood spent clambering about the rocky cliffs near her home, was less comfortable with the idea of climbing up onto the broken wall. After a moment’s hesitation, during which she reminded herself, first, that she was a Gryffindor and a McGonagall and, second, that it was unlikely that the Deputy Headmistress would want to have to tell Dumbledore that she’d got his new Transfiguration teacher killed, Minerva took a deep breath, grasped the edge of the wall, scrambled a bit, then pulled herself up. Feeling less confident than Gertrude, who was, after all, familiar with the site, Minerva declined to stand, instead transforming herself to her Tabby form to walk over and join the other witch. She sat and looked out. It truly was a magnificent view. Glancing slightly to her right, Minerva could see the Gamp house, megaliths dotting the landscape between the cultivated lawn and the hill fort. With a slight pop, she returned to her ordinary form.

“This is quite a view. Do you come here often – when you are home, I mean.”

Gertrude gazed out over the rolling countryside. “Not as much as I used to. I thought you might like it.”

The two sat in silence for a while, legs dangling over the edge of the stone wall. Minerva glanced surreptitiously over at the older teacher. Gertrude looked quite relaxed, her hat pushed back slightly on her head as she surveyed the landscape before her. She certainly was not the one-dimensional witch Minerva had always perceived her to be. She still did not know why Gertie had invited her to come to Cornwall, though. It couldn’t have been simply to share the view from the top of her “castle.” For someone like Albus, that might have been reason enough, but not for a witch like Gertrude, who, despite some of her idiosyncrasies, was still a Slytherin, Minerva reminded herself. 

The thought of Albus distracted Minerva from her musings about Gertrude’s motivations. Remembering his gentle kiss before she Portkeyed away, Minerva’s heart rate increased. It was just a friendly kiss on the cheek, but it had been so very sweet, all the more so for being unexpected. Minerva flushed with the memory of her hand in his, his breath on her face, his lips on her skin . . . Minerva blinked. It had been a friendly kiss, that was all. Nothing more. Minerva stole a glance at Gertrude; the older witch was sitting there looking out at the scenery, a contemplative expression on her face.

Minerva looked down at her legs encased in the borrowed trousers. She had gone to considerable trouble to make a good first impression on Gertrude’s relatives, and now they would likely meet her while she was dressed like an American hillbilly. Not that she had any idea how a hillbilly dressed, but she did know that she certainly wasn’t looking particularly respectable at the moment. She smiled slightly. At least she had made a good impression on Albus; he had liked her “hair things.” She wanted to laugh, thinking of it now, but Gertrude would think she had lost her senses. Which she no doubt had: she was sitting thirty feet up on a stone wall, wearing trousers, and trying not to daydream of a wizard who was far beyond her reach, not to mention that he was over three times her age. Albus surely looked upon her as a granddaughter and would be appalled if he had an inkling that her feelings went the direction they did.

Minerva sighed as she reminded herself, for the thousandth time, at least, of the cold, hard reality of her situation. Even if he didn’t look upon her as a granddaughter, there was very little likelihood that he could ever return her feelings . . . It would never occur to Albus to view her in that way, Minerva was sure. He had known her since she was twelve, after all. It’s not as though he would wake up one day, take a look at her, and think that she was an attractive witch whom he might like to see socially – perhaps even to court her, or however he might think of dating.

Minerva took a deep breath and sat up straighter. Were they just going to sit here the rest of the morning? They hadn’t been there that long, actually, but Minerva was growing slightly uncomfortable on the cold stone. Gertrude looked serene, however, and unlikely to move any time soon.

“Would you mind if I got down, explored a little?” Minerva asked. “I thought perhaps in my Animagus form, if that’s all right with you.”

Gertrude turned her head and nodded. “Be careful, though. The stone blocks may look secure, but they do sometimes fall or shift. If you end up somewhere you can’t get out of . . . well, I suppose I’ll find you.” She turned back to her silent contemplation of the green vista before her.

After that remark, Minerva wondered whether exploring on her own was such a good idea after all, but not wanting to sit still any longer, she cautiously stood and walked along the wall back to the broken stair. Now that she had been sitting up there for a while, it didn’t seem as precarious. She sat and lowered her legs over the edge and slid down to the first step. Deciding to wait till she had reached the bottom to transform, she carefully climbed back down the stairs. With a whisper of a pop, Minerva Transfigured into her Tabby form and began to explore the rock-strewn floor of the hill fort. After she had satisfied her curiosity there, she climbed back out over a broken spot in the wall.

She was looking south now; the Gamp house was to the east. Minerva could still see standing stones peppering the landscape below. She leapt on top of a large stone that must have fallen from the tower many years ago, and lay down on the sun-warmed rock. Placing her head on her paws, her mind turned again to Albus. She recognised that she should not think about him so much. It wasn’t healthy. She simply could not help it, though. Minerva stretched her legs and flipped her tail over them. Eyes half-open, she watched some birds swoop and land on some rocks nearby, then fly away again. Her human thoughts predominate that morning, she felt very little urge to chase after them.

Gertie had certainly made some remarkable disclosures over breakfast. Minerva had never dreamed that Gertrude had ever been married. She was aware of other of her former teachers who had been married – even to each other, although that was not supposed to be general knowledge – but it never would have occurred to Minerva that Gertie ever would have married. Gertrude’s life, as far as Minerva had ever been able to tell, consisted of Hogwarts and Dumbledore, with occasional visits to Cornwall. She had said that Albus had been supportive of her. Minerva inferred from the way she had said it that he had been helpful to her after her husband had been killed by Grindelwald. One of his first victims, she had said. That must have made it the late twenties or early thirties, Minerva supposed. Gertrude had been a widow for twenty-five or thirty years, then. And had spent almost the last twenty of them at Hogwarts. With Albus. Because he had asked her to come. He, not Dippet.

Minerva blinked slowly and curled a paw under her chin. That was the part about Gertrude Gamp that had always disturbed her, she realised. Gertrude had an easy, open relationship with Albus. Minerva had been able to recognise that even when she had been a student. Oh, Gertrude herself still seemed stiff and detached, of course. It wasn’t as though she ever became bubbly or emotional around him. But Gertrude always seemed to . . . unbend somewhat when she was with Albus, and she was more demonstrative with him than Minerva had ever seen her be with anyone else. And she allowed Albus to take her arm or place his hand on her shoulder . . . Minerva couldn’t imagine anyone else even thinking to do so.

But Albus was a naturally warm person – not that he tended to be overly physically demonstrative, but he easily bestowed an affectionate smile on his friends and students and would often pat someone on the shoulder or hand briefly. It should not be surprising that he would offer Gertie gestures of affection, particularly if they had known each other for a while even before she came to teach at Hogwarts, and if they were somewhat warmer gestures than those he gave others, that should not be surprising, either. And that she should accept them from a friend who had supported her during a difficult time in her life was not an odd thing. However, that Gertrude, a naturally reticent and undemonstrative witch, might return those gestures did seem noteworthy. Not that Minerva had witnessed many such occasions, of course. But the one occasion that did stick out in her mind had created an image that Minerva had never been able to dislodge from her memory.

Minerva remembered arriving in the Astronomy Tower early one morning that summer she had helped with the wards and finding Albus and Gertie standing quite close beside one another and looking out across the grounds. Albus was standing near the edge, leaning forward against the wall, head down, and Gertrude was slightly behind him, her hand resting on his upper arm. Gertie must have heard Minerva come up, because she dropped her arm and stepped quickly away. It had disturbed Minerva terribly at the time, although she had managed to hide her feelings in the moment by pretending she had forgotten something and running back to her room, where she splashed her face with cold water and drove the image from her mind.

Minerva stretched and let the sun warm her belly. In retrospect, it didn’t seem as awful as it had at the time. She knew that Albus had a lot weighing on his mind during those years, things he would not share with someone as young as she had been at the time. She had been his student, after all. He had been protective of her, and looking back, Minerva could not fault him for that. Gertrude had provided him adult friendship.

Minerva stood and jumped from the rock. She made her way around to the side of the fort where she had left Gertie sitting on the wall. Minerva looked up in time to see the older witch sliding over the side of the wall, presumably down to the steps. She transformed back to her ordinary form and found a pile of rocks to lean on while she waited. A moment later, the Arithmancy teacher appeared, climbing through the hole in the wall.

“We will have an appetite for lunch, I would say, wouldn’t you, Minerva?”

Minerva nodded, somewhat subdued after her introspection. They began the long walk back to the house.

“Having a hearty appetite should help you make it through lunch, at any rate. I shall be frank with you, Minerva. Some of my relatives are less congenial than one might hope. That was one reason I was glad you accepted my invitation. You will be something of a relief for those of us who have the misfortune of not finding them the most scintillating and gracious company.”

Minerva laughed shortly. “So I am to provide entertainment?”

“I didn’t mean that, precisely.” They were climbing out of one of the steeper ditches, and Gertrude paused till they reached the top. “But I did think it only fair to warn you. One in particular, actually. Not just of her, but also of what others may say of her.”

Minerva did not have the slightest idea what Gertrude was driving at. This was what she considered “frank”?

“Whoo! I think I need to catch my breath a minute, Minerva. Even the stairs at Hogwarts haven’t kept me in shape for this walk, I’m afraid. I’m getting old.”

The two sat side by side on a fallen megalith, sunk deep into the earth.

“Valerianna Yaxley, née Crouch, to be precise. My late husband’s cousin.” Gertie turned her head to look at Minerva. “She will seem quite the model of respectability – gentility, even – at first. But when she learns who you are . . . you may hear some things that . . .” Gertie looked back toward the house, as though it would tell her what to say.

Minerva waited. Finally, her curiosity aroused, she asked, “What? What things?”

“It’s more likely that you’ll hear something about her from someone else once they learn that you teach at Hogwarts with me.” Gertie let out her breath slowly. “It really isn’t my place to tell you this, and if it weren’t for the fact that it would be worse coming from someone else, I wouldn’t, you know.”

Minerva had never known Gertrude to be this round-about before. She might expect veiled meanings, but not this meandering discourse. It was most peculiar. “Well, if you wish to tell me something, why don’t you just come right out and say it.”

Minerva had absolutely no idea what Gertrude might be about to say. She’d never heard of this Valerianna, although she had met some Crouches and had known a Yaxley when she was in school – both the Crouches and Yaxleys were pureblood families with money and influence.

“Valerianna was married to a friend of my husband’s, as may not come as a surprise, since she was his cousin and they were all at Hogwarts at the same time – my husband was almost ten years older than I, so we weren’t at school together. Her husband – Gordon Yaxley – was killed during the war, shortly before your seventh year, I believe. It was a rather a nasty business. Gordon had been working with the Ministry on a project that involved breaking the wards that Grindelwald was using. Albus was in charge of the project, as you may or may not know. Gordon normally did no fieldwork; he was a decent chap, but not particularly powerful, although his ability with runes and Arithmancy was outstanding, and he was highly valued for his contributions.

“At some point, the Ministry determined that there was a small Grindelwald stronghold in Belgium that was strategically important. The Dark Wizard had been operating the outpost to manipulate Muggle activities in that area; it was also serving as a base for kidnapping local wizards and witches and transporting them back to Grindelwald’s headquarters. It was believed to be very lightly guarded, however. Ministry spies had information indicating that the outpost relied heavily upon its wards and that if the wards could be brought down, the Aurors would meet little resistance.

“Albus was supposed to have gone on the mission to bring down the wards and destroy the outpost. The Ministry moved up the time of the mission and when Albus arrived in London, they had already sent the team out. The Ministry, in their belief that the target was a minor one, lightly guarded, decided to send Gordon instead of Albus. Gordon was quite keen to go, too. He had worked out many of the spells for taking down the wards; he wanted to see them work.

“Albus was furious; he left the Ministry without so much as a by-your-leave and caught up with the team. By then, however, it was too late for him to be of much help. Gordon and two of the eight Aurors were dead, and another two were gravely wounded. They had captured the base and, through some stroke of luck, had been able to capture or kill most of the wizards who had resisted, allowing only a few to escape.”

“So his wife was angry with Albus?” asked Minerva, wondering if all this had just been a lead up to learning that one of the other guests disliked the Hogwarts Headmaster.

“No, Valerianna never seemed to blame Albus. In fact, I don’t believe she did. She had been happy enough in her marriage, I think, but had never really come to terms with the fact that Gordon’s greatest ambition was to devise spells for others to use. But Gordon had been a Ravenclaw, unlike most of his family, who tended to be sorted into Slytherin. His joy came from achievements that his wife could never appreciate. So although I would never say that she was happy he had died, she was _not_ displeased to be free of the life they had led.”

Minerva shook her head. “She actually _told_ people that?”

“Of course not; she’s Slytherin, through and through. No, she said she was glad that he had died doing something he loved and that his sacrifice had been worthwhile.”

“Then, if she didn’t blame Albus, and she was happy to be free of her marriage and the widow of a war hero, I don’t understand . . .”

“A few years ago, Albus began seeing Valerianna socially. Of course, he had done so before, and she was on the Hogwarts Board of Governors at that time. But he began to . . . escort her to various Ministry events and other wizarding social occasions around London. She was quite pleased to be seen with a living hero, a wizard who was not only intelligent, but powerful, as well. She believed that it was only a matter of time before Dippet retired and Albus was named Headmaster. Valerianna was aware that Albus had been approached twice before to become Minister for Magic. She believed three times is the charm, and that with the proper persuasion, Albus would eventually agree to become Minister for Magic after serving a few years as Headmaster.”

Minerva sat, somewhat disbelieving, staring at her former Arithmancy teacher. Why would this person have cared whether Albus became Headmaster or Minister for Magic? Was Gertrude saying that Albus had been . . . involved with this witch?

“And so . . . ?” Minerva finally asked.

“Valerianna Yaxley wanted to be the wife of the Minister for Magic, Minerva. She thought that she could influence Albus into, first, marrying her, obviously, and then into agreeing to become Minister for Magic.” 

Minerva stared at Gertrude, open-mouthed and incredulous. “I don’t believe it.”

Gertrude looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “There are some very ambitious witches in the world, Minerva; I thought you would be aware of that by now.”

“Well, of course, but Albus wouldn’t . . . Albus just . . . he never said anything.” Minerva thought that Albus would have mentioned _something_ to her if he was seeing some witch socially – seeing her often enough that the witch thought they might marry.

“Mmm. Fortunately, before she managed to completely sink her claws into him, he discovered Valerianna was not the witch she presented herself to be. I think they only saw each other six, perhaps eight, months.”

Six or eight months. About three years ago. Minerva hadn’t seen much of Albus then. She remembered that he had stopped by her office once at about that time, but only to say hello; unlike their usual custom, they hadn’t gone out for lunch or dinner. Albus had said he had some other things to attend to in the city. Minerva’s stomach clenched at the thought. It wasn’t as though Albus had owed her anything; she was a former student, a casual friend, that was all. But the thought that Albus had been seeing some witch for several months and had never mentioned it to her, not even in the offhanded way that people mention a date or a friend, bothered her. And he had never mentioned it since, either.

“So he stopped seeing her?”

“Oh, yes, he broke it off quite completely. Valerianna was left with absolutely no doubt that Albus was not going to become Minister for Magic and that she most definitely was not going to become his wife, regardless of anything else he might do.”

Minerva stared off across the moor, unseeing. Not even really thinking.

Gertrude stood. “We had best get back. Lunch will be served soon, and we need to make ourselves presentable.” She grinned, “Easier for you than for me.”

Minerva tried to return the older witch’s smile. She was not sure what to make of all she had just been told. As they walked, one question rose in her mind that she knew Gertie could answer.

“Why did you tell me this?”

“Because if someone made some . . . joke about it, I did not want you to be taken completely unawares. As it is, you are obviously taken aback. It was not my place to say anything. And I am sure that Albus would prefer not to discuss the matter. But since Valerianna will be here – and there will be others here, as well, who are aware of the former situation – I thought it best to say something before someone made a remark that would leave you with no idea what was going on or how to react.”

They walked along in silence a while longer. “Also, Valerianna has no doubt heard your name from Albus. Even if she says nothing about Albus, she may imply something about having heard of you before. As I said, Minerva, Valerianna is a literate and superficially charming woman. I did not want you to become a source of amusement for her – even though she is such a Slytherin, you might not even be aware she was laughing.”

“I see. And you knew she would be here when you invited me?” Minerva stopped and looked at Gertrude, unsure of what, or who, she was seeing.

“I knew she would be arriving sometime this week. I did not know that she would also be arriving this morning, however.” Gertrude considered a moment. “There are a great many relatives coming and going this week. Many, however, will only be here Wednesday and Thursday, for the engagement party. I was unsure whether Valerianna planned only to attend the party or not. When I learned she was coming earlier, I decided I should warn you sooner rather than later.”

“Engagement party?” Gertrude had mentioned a party in her second letter, but she hadn’t said that it was an engagement party.

“Yes. Don’t worry, you are quite welcome. I think you will find the engaged couple quite suited to one another – they are both equally horrid. One of my cousins – actually, my cousin’s son – is marrying one of his cousins. Isn’t that pleasant? So very convenient when you both already share the same last name – no bother at all.”

Minerva suppressed a shudder. The Egidius and Parnovon families had often intermarried over the last few hundred years, but they always married people they were only related to by marriage, or who were several generations removed. 

“They’re _cousins_?” Minerva asked, her mind temporarily distracted from the revelation that Gertrude had made.

“Not first cousins, although the Blacks have been known to do that, as well. Helps keep all the nastiest traits in the family.”

They had reached the house. Gertie turned and gave her a crooked grin. “Is the lioness ready to face the vipers?”

Minerva smiled and shrugged, unsure what response to make.

They entered only to be practically run down by two laughing children. “Ooo, sorry, ma’am, Madam Gamp. Very sorry,” the boy panted, pushing his red hair back from his eyes.

“I told you two not to run in the house. We are visitors here, and I expect you to be on your best behaviour! And you know what that means!” A mild Irish brogue turned the scolding sweet.

“Yes, Da,” said the girl, nodding vigorously. The boy echoed her words, but with a little more nonchalance.

Minerva turned to look at the speaker, a tall wizard with dark hair with some white strands running through it. He was wearing a dark Muggle suit with a white shirt and tie. He wouldn't looked out of place on Bond Street, if it weren't for the wand hanging from his belt in a rather ornately decorated sheath.

“Now be off with you!” the man said with a smile, shooing the children out the door.

The two children ran out, glad to be free of the house and the adults for a little while.

“I apologise for me ‘wee beasties,’” he said, turning to Minerva. “I did tell them to wait until they were outside, Gertrude. But you know Alroy and Ainya. And who is this vision of loveliness you have brought with you, then? A goddess sprung from beneath the standing stone?” he asked, turning back to Minerva.

Minerva blushed, well aware of her current appearance. Was this one of the dreadful relatives, and was he making fun of her? She looked up at him to see him smiling down at her; the mirth in his bright blue eyes was contagious, and she could not help but smile back.

“This is Minerva McGonagall –” Gertrude began.

“Ah, the Saviour of Our Sanity!” He took Minerva’s hand and bent over it, sketching a quick bow. “Gertrude told me that I might find at least one agreeable companion while I was here; you do look promising!” Just then, they were interrupted by a loud screech and several bellows coming from the front drive. “Uh-oh, must be off to see what damage me ‘wee beasties’ have done this time,” he said with a wink. With that, he dashed out the door behind them.

“Who _was_ that?”

“Cormac Quinlivan MacAirt. The children, as you may have guessed, were his son and daughter. Alroy starts at Hogwarts in September.” Gertie shook her head. “God save us. But come, we need to change. Lunch is in twenty minutes. Brue will fetch you.”

* * *

_**Author’s Note:** The password that Minerva uses, " _alvarium album_." is a variation on Albus’s nom de plume, "Apiarus B. White," which we learned in chapter eight, "Minerva’s Project," hence Albus's question. " _Alvarium album_ " and " _apiarus albus_ " both mean "white beehive." "Apiarus B. White" is a play on Albus's name, as "dumbledore" supposedly means "bumblebee." Thus, Minerva was embarrassed, though not as badly as she would be if she'd used his actual name!_


	40. Horrid Relatives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva gets to know a few of the other guests at the Gamps.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Quin MacAirt, Columbine Gamp, Valeriana Yaxley, Francis Flint, and others.

**XL: Horrid Relatives**

Minerva collapsed on her bed and kicked off her shoes, exhausted. Lunch, as Gertie had promised, had been _interesting_. And, just as she had also promised, Gertie had rather horrid relatives. It was hard to put her finger on exactly what made them so horrid, but Minerva felt that part of it was that they seemed so superficially _nice_. Pass the time of day with one of them while waiting for a goblin at Gringott’s, and you would never know how perfectly dreadful they were. If it hadn’t been for the fact that she had been seated to the right of Cormac MacAirt and to the left of Gertrude’s mother, the older “Madam Gamp,” Minerva thought she would have embarrassed herself by running screaming from the table. 

The first indication of trouble came when, after Gertrude had introduced Minerva to her mother, Columbine Gamp, a tall, reedy woman with snow-white hair piled high on her head, the elder woman insisted that Minerva be seated beside her. A dark-haired older witch who had just entered the dining room stiffened visibly. 

“I am sure dear Val won’t mind, will you, Val?” Madam Gamp had said to the woman, making it a pronouncement rather than a question. “I’m sure that you can bear to be separated from Francis for a short time.”

Val gave a tight smile. “Not at all, Columbine, although I had been so looking forward to talking with Cormac. It’s been such a _long_ time,” she drawled.

Minerva guessed this “Val” must be the Valerianna whom Gertie had warned her about. Madam Gamp turned back to Minerva. “Professor McGonagall, have you met Valerianna Yaxley? Oh, you two _don’t_ know each other! Well, you’ll have an opportunity this week, won’t you, dear?” Addressing Valerianna again, Madam Gamp continued, “Val, I would like to introduce you to Minerva McGonagall, one of Gertie’s colleagues at Hogwarts.”

Minerva could have sworn that the witch’s face went into a brief spasm before she responded, and her grey-green eyes narrowed, although she recovered herself quickly. “How _utterly_ delightful to meet you, Miss McGonagall. Now don’t you steal my Francis!” She laughed, twitching something that might have been a wink. “I’ll have to keep an eye on him, I can see now, with all the young witches you have invited, Columbine,” she added in what was apparently her jovial tone, since Columbine laughed.

“I am sure that Francis can take care of himself, Val. It’s we older witches whom you should worry about!” she said, eyeing the anaemic-looking wizard who was standing behind Valerianna. “We do get so bored, you know!”

Minerva was glad that Cormac MacAirt, smartly dressed in a Muggle dinner jacket and black bow tie, appeared just then, and she was spared having to join the conversation.

“Ah! Just the man we were waiting for,” Columbine said. “You got your angels settled then? Good. So nice of young Alroy to keep his little sister company. Quite the gentleman you are raising him to be . . . despite the circumstances!” With that pronouncement, Columbine turned to Minerva. “Professor, have you met Cormac MacAirt yet?” Not waiting for her reply, Columbine took Minerva by her arm and snagged Cormac’s hand on her other side. Pulling them along, she said, “You sit by me, Professor. I’m very interested to hear what my daughter’s been getting up to, and when you tire of amusing this old lady, I am sure that Cormac will be pleased to entertain you.”

So Minerva found herself seated across from the pale, spindly Francis Flint, whom she had seen in the halls at the Ministry, though he had stood out only for being so utterly inconspicuous. Minerva believed that he worked in the Department of Mysteries, although she wasn’t sure. Despite Columbine’s declaration that she wanted to hear all about her daughter from Minerva, as soon as lunch was served – and it seemed more like dinner to Minerva; there were five courses, each impeccably served by unseen house-elves – Columbine began to talk with Francis.

“So, Professor McGonagall, how is it that ye’ find y’rself in our happy company this fine day?” MacAirt asked as soon as everyone was settled and the first course, a thin vegetable soup, was served.

“As you know, Gertrude and I work together. She suggested I might enjoy a trip to Cornwall, and she invited me to come stay for a few days.”

“Did she, now? An’, Professor, ye’ two have been great friends, then?”

“Hmm? Well, we have been acquainted for a long time,” replied Minerva noncommitally.

“Ah. So ye’ barely know each other?” The question lilted teasingly.

“I wouldn’t say that – ” Minerva was not sure she like this wizard.

MacAirt grinned. “Of course ye’ wouldn’t. It’s too polite ye’ are.”

“And you, Mr MacAirt? What brings you here?” Minerva asked, changing the subject.

“Quin,” he replied, taking a sip of water.

“What?”

“Quin, call me ‘Quin.’”

“Quin?”

“Mmm, it’s what me friends call me, they do.” He looked at Minerva, a twinkle in his eye as he bent a little closer, as though to share a secret. “If ye’d dare be friends with the likes o’ me, that is. O’ course, I would na’ dream t’ think we’d be as closely _acquainted_ as you and Gertie so obviously are.” His lips twitched as he watch Minerva’s reaction.

Unsure of whether to be insulted or amused, Minerva retorted, “Well, then, ‘Quin’ – although I thought your name was ‘Cormac’ – what brings you to this place?” Minerva was undeterred. This Irish wizard was not going to distract her and steer the conversation.

“Ah, an’ there ye’ have it. In a nutshell, so t’ speak. I am ‘Quin’ to me friends, ‘Mr MacAirt’ to strangers and business acquaintances, an’ ‘Cormac’ to this lot. O’ course,” he added, that roguish half-smile returning to his face, “If ye’d prefer t’ call me ‘Cormac,’ I’d not be stoppin’ ye’!”

Minerva laughed despite herself. “If I am to call you ‘Quin,’ you must call me ‘Minerva.’”

“It’s the truth I’ll be sayin’ then, Gertie brought us a goddess this morning!”

“You never answered my question, though, Quin,” Minerva said as they began the fish course. “What brings _you_ here?” She rather doubted she would receive a full answer, since they were seated at the dining table within earshot of their hostess and several other guests, but she was now interested in his response, which she hadn’t been when she had first asked the question.

“Me ‘wee beasties,’” he said, flaking off a bit of salmon and skewering it and a bit of grilled tomato with his fork. 

“Your children?”

Quin swallowed and nodded. “You marry into one of these families, Minerva, and you _really_ marry the family,” he said in a low voice, glancing up at Francis and Columbine, who were deep in discussion about some internal Ministry squabble. “Let me serve as a lesson an’ a warnin’ to ye’, then!” he added in a more conversational tone.

“Your wife is a Gamp?”

“Was. She died several years ago. Can’t let the kiddies suffer for their father’s questionable taste – for folk in general, not in wives! – however, and so I bring them for a visit with their grandmother and her family two or three times a year. I stay for as long as we can tolerate each other, then go on home, where I can bring the offspring of me loins to ruination again.”

Minerva noticed that Quin’s Irish brogue came and went, diminishing when he became more serious, his diction becoming clearer. “You were married to Gertie’s sister?” she asked in some astonishment. Quin didn’t look old enough to be married to someone of Gertrude’s generation – and the children were very young.

“No, her niece. Her brother’s daughter.”

“I didn’t know Gertrude had a brother.”

“He was killed during the war. Don’t you know about that?” When Minerva shook her head, Quin looked down the table to where Gertie sat nodding as she listened to Valerianna and Gropius Gamp, a frail, elderly wizard, who were arguing in concert about something. “Hm. An’ she did ask me to be lookin’ after ye’ this week – ” Seeing Minerva’s reaction, Quin added more seriously, “She actually told me to look out for you, I believe. Although she also implied that you might be a desert flower in this wasteland, and that we might find each other’s company more congenial than not.” 

“What about her brother?”

Quin looked pointedly at Columbine Gamp before answering Minerva, reminding her that Gertrude’s brother was Columbine’s son. “As I said, he was me beloved’s father . . . and a brilliant man.”

“And your mother-in-law?”

“She stayed on here for a while after her husband died, but she now has a pied-á-terre in London. I believe she will be arriving this evening.”

As the main course was cleared away and Columbine Gamp consulted with a wizened old house-elf, Francis Flint turned his attention to Quin. “So, Cormac. Still doing business in London?” he said heartily. “I haven’t seen you at the Ministry in a while.”

“An’ nor will ye’, _Frank_. I’m all squeaky clean. Ye’ can check under me nails, if ye’ like,” the dark-haired wizard said slowly, his brogue at its thickest, and he mockingly extended his hand across the table for inspection. “I leave the Ministry alone, an’ they leave me be. Just the way we all like it, now, ain’t it, Frank?”

Minerva watched the exchange with fascination. Somehow, Quin was getting under Flint’s skin, and Flint was so poorly controlled, it showed. Face and neck flushing dark red, Flint sputtered and went to pick up his water glass, but he was shaking so that he knocked it over. 

With a slight smile, Quin said, “Ach, so sorry, me boyo, forgot meself a minute there, I did. Let me help.” And with a slight wave of his still extended hand, Quin righted the glass and dried the table cloth. “Ah, but ye’ll still be thirstin’, now, won’t ye’?” Another brief wave, and the glass filled with water as though it was poured from thin air. “Go ahead, now, ye’ c’n drink it. It’ll na’ poison ye’ – good fresh spring water, that is, none o’ that mere conjury would do fer th’likes o’ me pal Franky!”

“Franky” stood from the table, pushing his chair back violently. Columbine who had missed most of the exchange until Quin began to fill the water glass, looked up at him, startled.

“You . . . you . . . you _hedge wizard_!” exclaimed Flint.

“My dear Francis, do calm yourself, dear!” said Columbine, rising gracefully from her chair and placing a hand on the wizard’s elbow.

Flint, breathing heavily, turned his head spasmodically, seeking Valerianna. By that time, the entire table’s focus was on the apoplectic wizard. Quin sat calmly, playing with the stem of his wine glass, looking for all the world like a saint, a mild expression on his face. Minerva thought he even seemed _smaller_ than he had, though that could not be possible.

Valerianna rose and came to stand by Flint. “Darling, whatever is the matter?” She turned to Columbine and said, “He has been over-worked lately; the Ministry just values him too much, I’m afraid. He can never say ‘no,’ can you, darling? I think we’ll go take a bit of a rest now.”

As Valerianna was speaking, Flint seemed to recover himself some, and he stared malevolently down at Quin, who continued to look quite unperturbed.

Just as Valerianna was leading Flint out of the room, he turned back to the room and growled at Quin, “My name is _not Frank_!”

“So sorry, old boy, must remember that. Not Frank. I believe I do have it now.” Quin’s words seemed light, but his tone was clipped and even and carried a slight edge to it. He raised his glass to the departing couple, who hurried out the door.

Minerva was only slightly surprised that the meal continued without further incident. Quin’s conversation was monopolised by the young witch to his left, and Minerva was left making awkward conversation with Madam Gamp on her right. As soon as it was polite to do so following dessert, Minerva excused herself and took off for her room, trying not to break into a run. She wondered if Albus would mind if she opened his present a little early. Minerva sighed. She would wait. Besides, the day was only half over. Who knew what other excitement lay ahead for her! She would probably need her little surprise from Albus even more then.

Thinking of surprises from Albus, Minerva thought again of what Gertrude had revealed to her about Albus’s former relationship with Valerianna. Although she could certainly understand why a woman such as that might think she had found a catch in Albus, Minerva couldn’t fathom what it was that Albus had seen in her. Gertrude had said that she was literate and superficially charming, but surely Albus could see past superficial charm? He was the wizard who defeated Grindelwald, after all; surely a social climber like Valerianna Yaxley could not fool him long. Of course, from what Gertrude said, she hadn’t been able to fool him terribly long . . . . Minerva wondered what it was that led him to stop seeing her – how had Gertrude put it? – to break it off with her completely.

The woman hadn’t been much to look at either, although she was expensively dressed and wore a great deal of expensive jewellery. About Minerva’s height, perhaps slightly taller, although that could have been her shoes, Valerianna had black hair with just a sprinkling of grey through it, a rather ordinary face, greyish-green eyes, small mouth. She had a fair figure, though, for a woman of her apparent age – slim but still curvy, not gone all to bone or to fat, as some witches were wont to do. Of course, Minerva had no idea what sort of witch Albus might be attracted to, but she had always imagined him with a rather stately, slightly plump, grey-haired witch with a pleasant smile. Someone with warmth and dignity . . . certainly not anyone like this Valerianna person appeared to be. 

And that remark about not stealing “her Francis”; what was that supposed to be about? As though Minerva would be interested in the dyspeptic balding wizard! He certainly was a step down from Albus – although probably far more manageable, from what Minerva observed. She wondered what it was that Quin had said that had disturbed Flint so. Quin clearly knew what he had been saying and was unsurprised by its effect on the other wizard. Minerva let out a chuckle. “Hedge wizard!” What sort of insult did Flint think he was making? Quin’s little legerdemain certainly did set him off completely. Minerva had been impressed despite herself. Albus, of course, could have done that quite easily, as well, but Quin’s bit of wandless magic had still been no mean feat – particularly pouring the water in the glass. For some reason, Minerva did not doubt Quin’s word when he said that it was actual water, not just the ephemeral conjured variety. If Minerva were in the same room as a water source and was familiar with it, she could do the same thing – but using her wand. Quin certainly was a man of surprising talents, for all that he talked like a bit of a rogue.

Minerva wondered whether she was expected anywhere or if she could take a nap. There was a rap at the door that signalled it was unlikely she would get a nap. Assuming it was Gertie, Minerva padded over to the door in her stocking feet, lifting her skirts so she wouldn’t trip over them. A smiling Irish face beamed down at her when she opened the door, however. Definitely not Gertrude. 

Minerva’s surprise must have shown in her face, since Quin laughed and said, “So sorry to disappoint you. If you were expecting Prince Charming – or Franky Flint – I am not he!”

“No, I assumed it would be Gertrude,” Minerva said, responding seriously to his jest, not knowing what else to say.

“Ah, yes, your close . . . _acquaintance_ ,” he teased. “I bribed a house-elf to tell me which room you were in.”

Minerva stepped back, opening the door to him. It was probably best not to be carrying on a conversation in the hallway. “You _bribed_ a house-elf? I didn’t know such a thing was possible!”

“Yep, little blue fellow. Bribery, extortion, depends on your point of view, I suppose.”

Minerva closed the door behind him and turned to find Quin making himself quite at home in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, stretching out his legs and folding his hands behind his head. Well, she _had_ let him in, after all. Minerva perched in one of the other armchairs.

“What did you do to the poor thing?” she asked.

“Ah, it’s more what I _didn’t_ do. Or promised _not_ to do.” He grinned impishly, his blue eyes sparkling.

“You are really quite infuriating, Mr MacAirt, you know that?” Minerva asked, but she couldn’t restrain a slight smile.

“I live to infuriate others, but not goddesses such as yourself. And are we no longer such close acquaintances? Is it to be Mr MacAirt, then?”

“Oh, come on, Quin, what did you do – or _not_ do – to the elf?!” Minerva rolled her eyes. This man made her revert to her childhood.

“Ah, well, seein’ as we’re such good friends again, I’ll tell you.” Even without the strong brogue he had affected at lunch, the lilt of Ireland sang in his speech. He winked at her and whispered, “I promised not to thank him anymore.” He chuckled at Minerva’s open-mouthed expression. “Ah, yes, I see you are speechless with awe at me cunning. It is the dread of all fine, respectable wizards and witches everywhere – especially witches!”

“You really _are_ terrible, Quin,” she said with a smile.

“I have heard that many a time, but to hear it from your sweet lips – it wounds me to the quick, it does!” He clasped his chest dramatically.

Minerva gave an unladylike snort of laughter at that. “So what was so important that you had to terrorise an innocent little house-elf?”

“Innocent? Innocent? You believe a house-elf can be innocent? Now that is a sure sign of innocence, itself!”

“Quin, do you ever answer a question the first time it’s asked?”

“And where would be the fun in that? People don’t usually want to know the answers to their questions, anyway – or they think they already know the answers. Much better to play a little along the way, don’t you think?”

“Well, as you likely either don’t want to know the answer to your question, or you already do know it, I think I won’t bother with it. Nonetheless, Quin, I _do_ want to know what you want.”

“Ah – a more straightforward question, but with several different answers, depending on the time of day, me mood, which way the wind blows . . . but the straightforward, plain answer is that I thought your company preferable to me own, or to that of anyone else in this house. I decided to see if I was right about that.”

“Oh, well. I had been going to take a nap. I found lunch rather exhausting, to tell the truth.” Minerva wondered whether she should be so forthright with Quin, but in his own very peculiar way, he had been forthright with her.

“I would say that you get used to it, but I hope that you never have to,” he replied somewhat seriously. 

Minerva remembered her curiosity about Flint and the entire exchange at the table, and thought that she might not be very sleepy after all. “Well, I suppose some company might be nice, but I’d prefer not to stay here.” Minerva’s eyes flicked involuntarily toward the bed.

Quin chuckled, but to Minerva’s relief, made no comment about her discomfort at lounging about in her bedroom with him. “If you still don’t mind bein’ seen with me, then, I thought we could take a turn about the garden. Gertrude said you had expressed interest in it.”

“That would be lovely. Would you mind giving me a few minutes to freshen up? I could meet you downstairs.”

“You look lovely and fresh to me, Minerva, not old and stale as some in this house. But yes, I will be happy to meet you downstairs in a few minutes.” He rose and took his leave, and Minerva sighed with relief. She wondered if she were really prepared for a walk in the garden with Quin, or if it would turn out to be as exhausting as lunch had been.


	41. Down the Garden Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva gets a garden tour . . . and a little bit more.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Quin MacAirt.

**XLI: Down the Garden Path**

When Minerva came downstairs, Quin was waiting for her, leaning nonchalantly against the newel post. He offered her his arm, which she took lightly, and led her through the house, taking a different route than she’d taken with Brue that morning.

“Where are we going?” Minerva asked.

“To the gardens, as I promised. I thought you might wish to avoid the gathering in the conservatory. Valerianna has apparently revived Franky sufficiently to rejoin polite society, and they are in there with a few others – with whom they are in good company.”

Minerva raised an eyebrow at the thought of what such “good company” might be, but said nothing about it. Quin led her down some back stairs to an exit that opened at the base of the stairs leading from the veranda. As they walked down the path to the gardens, Minerva wondered if they were being observed from the house, and fought to keep from picking up the pace. She was grateful when they stepped into the garden proper and behind some hedges. From the right angle, they were probably still visible from the house, but Minerva did not feel so exposed.

Quin walked along, pointing out plants and designs, making up ridiculous stories when he didn’t know something. Minerva was still impressed by what he obviously did know, however, and finally asked him how he had come by his knowledge of plants and gardening, thinking he wasn’t knowledgeable enough to be an Herbologist, yet he knew far more than the average lay-wizard.

“Aileen, me wife, was both a Botanist and an Herbologist. She was a mistress of Herbology and also held a Ph.D. in Botany.”

“Was she Muggle-born?” asked Minerva, puzzled, forgetting for the moment that he had married a Gamp.

“Not Muggle-born, merely brilliant,” he said with a wistful smile.

Sensing that she was straying into personal areas best left unexplored, Minerva changed the topic. “And what do you do, Quin, when you aren’t being irritating or insulting your relatives and their guests?”

“You think there might be a moment when I am not irritating or insulting, then? I must be losing me touch,” he said as he led her to a bench. “I am an entrepreneur, I suppose one could say. I own and invest in a number of wizarding businesses using funds that I derive from me Muggle businesses and investments. Wizards like Franky don’t like it much, but without people like me, the wizarding world would collapse around itself, and for quite simple economic reasons.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“The census of the wizarding population has been in steady decline over the last four hundred years. In the last one hundred years, the drop has been precipitous; the war with Grindelwald only made things far worse. Think about it, Minerva. Do you really believe that the wizarding world could survive – let alone thrive – economically with such a small population? 

“Wizards do have it somewhat easier than Muggles, of course. Take this house. It has been here, in one form or another, for a several hundred years. Different generations of wizards leave their mark on it, and the current structure would be unrecognisable to the Gamp who built the original house, but wizards are able to do this using their own magic and a bit of house-elf magic. It takes energy, but magical energy, and if a family is particularly blessed, they are able to accomplish any changes, or additions, or what have you, without hiring anyone. They can just draw on their own magic. For a Muggle, on the other hand, it requires several teams of specialised labourers to build a house of any size. In the wizarding world, that is unnecessary. It does help to hire a wizarding architect, of course, so the whole thing isn’t in danger of falling down around you if you leave it alone for ten minutes, and I doubt that the Gamp family has personally done any reconstruction or renovation in a few generations, but it is possible to build an entire house just using your own magic and the available raw materials. You see that this house is granite, for example. The granite is all local – or relatively so. The quarry and use of stone may be regulated and taxed in the Muggle world, but the wizarding world is so caught up in regulating magic, wizards can just take and use what they wish, as long as it doesn’t come to the attention of the Muggles.

“And look at the resources that the wizarding world believes are necessities: wizarding publishers, wizarding booksellers, apothecaries, sweets shops and confectioners, wizarding tailors – look at the whole wizarding couture! There is no practical reason for it, as one could possibly make an argument in favour of in the case of such things as books or potions. These robes we affect . . . it is simply another way of setting ourselves apart from the rest of the world. And do you really think that our small population could really support such extravagances?”

“I don’t really know. I had wondered, but I assumed that . . . somehow it worked. Maybe by magic.”

Quin laughed. “I really don’t mean to laugh at you, Minerva, but magic cannot do everything. I am sorry. I am sure I am boring you to tears. You will soon think I’m as boring as the others are obnoxious.”

“No, it’s quite an interesting way to look at things, actually. I’ve always wondered about Hogwarts. I know there used to be more students. I think even in Albus’s day, the classes were larger and there were more teachers on staff.”

“Ah, the great Albus Dumbledore. I wondered when I’d be first hearin’ his name uttered while I was here.”

Minerva looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

“Just that folk seem to love him or hate him . . . or sometimes it may be more complex.” He looked at Minerva, who was still looking at him with suspicion. “From your expression, I take it you’re in Gertie’s camp.” When she looked at him quizzically, he explained, “That’s the ‘Albus-Dumbledore-can-do-no-wrong-do-not-let-me-even-hear-about-it-if-you-don’t-agree’ camp.”

Minerva bristled. “You shouldn’t make light of such things, Mr MacAirt. I happen to know that the Headmaster values Gertrude quite highly, and if she repays him with loyalty and respect, I do not think it is a joking matter!” She could scarcely believe she was defending Gertrude – but it _was_ for Albus’s sake, after all.

“I may sound as if I am joking, Minerva, but I am not. Believe me when I say that I would not be sitting here with you if I thought you differed with Gertrude on this or any other essential matter. And I doubt that Gertrude would have suggested this stroll if she was not after believin’ you to be unlike the Yaxley-Flint-Black crowd. I hold nothing against anyone who is a Dumbledore loyalist, and Gertrude is certainly the very last person whom anyone could attempt to dissuade from her faith in Albus Dumbledore. Or perhaps it isn’t faith . . . she simply knows him and that is enough.”

Minerva was quiet for a moment. There were so many questions in her mind, she didn’t know which one to ask first. “I think you were going to tell me something about Gertrude’s brother.”

“I can tell you a little about him. I never knew him. He was a volunteer in the fight against Grindelwald. He went on unsanctioned missions – officially unsanctioned, that is. The Ministry always knew about them – some of their own Aurors participated in them. Me understanding is that Dumbledore was a kind of liaison between these irregulars and the official Ministry forces. He helped make sure that the Ministry didn’t interfere with these unofficial activities in any way that would cost lives and that the civilians didn’t accidentally end up in the middle of some official raid. Anyway, one night, Aileen’s father went on a raid with some Aurors and a few other ‘volunteers,’ and he never came back. . . . He was captured and brutally tortured by Grindelwald before he died.”

Minerva was shaken. “When was this?”

“Nineteen forty-one. Just before the New Year.”

“But Gertrude was teaching at Hogwarts then.”

“She was.”

“She never said anything. She never took any time off.”

“Can you see Gertrude barin’ her soul to the entire population of Hogwarts?”

“No, no, I suppose not.” And that had been such a difficult year for her, Minerva didn’t know if she would have noticed anything, anyway. It would have been shortly after her own accident in the Transfiguration classroom. And then later, there had been the attacks and Hagrid had been expelled. It wasn’t as though Gertrude could have afforded the time to grieve. 

“Well, this has certainly been a cheerful conversation. I am beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t have joined the others in the conservatory and risked having Franky or his protectress hex me,” Quin said, stretching.

“I’m sorry, Quin.”

Quin put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Don’t be. It’s all just life, you know?”

Minerva thought she should be uncomfortable with Quin’s arm around her, but it was such a casual gesture of comfort, she didn’t feel she could reject it. Of course, if his hand started to roam, that would be quite a different story. They sat in companionable silence for a while, enjoying the sun and watching the butterflies and bees flitting amongst the flowers.

“I have been somewhat disingenuous with you, Minerva McGonagall, and I wish to set something straight.”

Minerva turned her head and looked up at him curiously.

“It’s already knowin’ who you were, it was, when I saw you this morning. An’ not just because Gertrude had told me you were coming, but because I had seen you before and had never forgotten you.”

Minerva drew away from him slightly, wondering if Quin was about to declare some bizarre unrequited passion for her – although who was she to talk about bizarre unrequited passions? – when he looked back down at her and smiled. “It’s probably not what you are thinking, whatever it is that is giving you that pinched look, Minerva. No, I remember you, but it is entirely unsurprising that you would have no memory of me. The first occasion on which I saw you, neither of us was the centre of attention, nor would we have wanted to be, and on the second occasion, you were the centre of attention, and quite rightly so.”

“Whatever are you talking about? You speak in riddles more than any other wizard I have ever known!”

“Ah, I believe I shall not risk being infuriating, then. The first occasion was that of me cousin Carson’s funeral. I’m rememberin’ you well because you looked so pale and apart from everyone, and also because of the way that . . . . well, never mind. We have spoken of enough sadness this afternoon, haven’t we? The second occasion, though, perhaps you can guess what it was?”

“I have no idea.”

“Where you were the centre of attention?” When she shook her head, he added, “ _Minerve, la grande dame de la Metamorphosis_?”

“Oh, my . . . . you were there?”

“Indeed, I was. I was transactin’ some business in a small wizarding village near Lake Constance when I read of your upcoming Challenge. I couldn’t miss it. Especially as I had a wager ridin’ on the outcome,” he said with a grin.

Minerva punched his side lightly. “You didn’t bet on it!”

“I did, most certainly. I bet on the fair Scottish lass and was very pleased when me bets paid off at every stage. I probably owe you a dinner or two for that, I do!” He laughed at her outraged expression. “’Twas also one of the most amusing and remarkable displays of Transfigurative talent that ever I was after seein’ – actually, it was and has remained unsurpassed.”

“Hmmph.” Minerva could not argue with someone who said something like that.

“Besides, Aileen was recently dead, and I don’t think I smiled in months before I saw your Challenge.”

“Well, that’s all right, I suppose. So that’s why you wanted to take me for a walk, then – it had nothing to do with Gertie at all!”

“Untrue! If Gertie had not reassured me on certain points, I would have perhaps escorted you on a brief perambulation of the grounds and then returned you immediately to the loving care – or presence, at least – of the other guests.”

“Reassured you that I was not anti-Dumbledore, you mean? It seems unlikely she would have invited me here if that were the case – there are plenty of others present who already fill the bill.”

“Not that, no.” Quin looked out over the garden, lips parted as though he were about to speak.

“What was it then? That I would tolerate your foolishness, or that I had a sense of humour?”

“Well, those were, of course, prerequisites,” he said, smiling. “She reassured me that you would not be taken in by me and me blarney, she did.”

“Well, that would be hard!”

“Ah, and that I could flirt with a pretty girl to me heart’s content and not have to worry she’d take me too seriously.”

“What?!”

“You see, I knew you’d be offended. I don’t mean it the way it probably sounded to your sweet feminine ears, Minerva.”

Minerva had got up and walked over to the flower bed. She felt like simply walking off and leaving him there, but he hadn’t been bad company. And she _had_ asked.

“I suppose you were right earlier,” she said.

“When? I am so often right,” he joked.

“When you said that people often ask questions that they really don’t want answered or that they think they already know the answer to.”

“Mmm. I still don’t believe I’ve answered your question properly, though. What I said just now probably made it sound as though I don’t value your company, and just the opposite is true. I have found, however, that despite me professed desire not to remarry or even to date, as long as the children are young, witches tend to find me charming – heaven only knows why! – and if I flirt just a bit, which is in me nature to do, they automatically begin to think they can change me mind and make me fall in love with them, marry them, and we will run off and have little kiddies together. Not all witches are like this, of course, but it’s rare to meet one who isn’t and yet who is also sensible, pretty, intelligent, and good company.”

“And there’s your flirting coming out. And you wonder why these women think they should pursue you?”

“Some of them seem to think that one good f – , er, roll in the hay, will ‘cure’ whatever ails me and I’ll see the light, so to speak, and follow them wherever they lead, they do. Take Valerianna, for example. If she’d been able to keep me alone in the same room with her for more than ten minutes, I’m sure she would have tried it on me. I’ve just known her too well for too long to fall for her act.”

Mention of Valerianna reminded Minerva of Albus. “So she is something of a . . . flirt herself?” The two began to walk down the path together, heading toward the hedge maze.

“Somethin’ of a flirt? I suppose that would be one way to put it. She is something of a chameleon, is she. She finds out what a man likes, what he enjoys, what his interests are, and she becomes the most fascinatin’ companion he could wish for. Or, in the case of Franky, she provides him with the balls he lacks – um, sorry.”

“I have heard the term before. So she just . . . flits?”

“Flits, flirts, hops, whatever. She does like to convince a man that he is her one and only, of course, until she finds a more promising candidate. Franky is her latest catch. I actually think she may decide to land this one. He will put up with her, she has enough ambition for both of them, he’s smart enough to get ahead – if it weren’t for a few . . . lapses in judgment, he would have been further up the career ladder than he is now. I think that Franky is just the malleable wizard she is looking for. Not that he’ll ever be Minister for Magic, but . . . .”

Minerva stiffened unconsciously when he mentioned “Minister for Magic.” “That sort of thing is important to her?” she asked.

“’Tis. Or it has become so. I have known her probably twenty years. She has become more ambitious and ruthless with time, she has. Although it wouldn’t show at first glance. You have to see the full pattern and panoply of behaviour to really get the full picture.”

Minerva wondered if Quin knew about Albus and that Person, but didn’t want to ask, just in case he didn’t know already. Although from what Gertie had said, it was common knowledge in the circles in which Valerianna moved.

“So, you and Carson were cousins,” she asked, changing the subject entirely.

“That we were. Two ways, actually. His mother’s mother was a MacAirt by birth, and she was me father’s cousin. I’m not entirely sure what kind of cousins that makes us, but Carson’s _father_ was me grandmother’s younger brother.”

Minerva tried to work out the relationships in her mind, then gave up. “So you were Carson’s cousin,” she said, smiling.

“Right. Obviously, he was younger than I by more than a decade. His father, you may have noticed, was considerably older than his mother. I am sort o’ the generation in between Carson and Carson’s older siblings.”

Minerva remembered Carson saying something about his father having been married before and having adult children before he had married Carson’s mother.

“Did you know him well?”

“Not as well as I would have liked. . . . I had the impression . . . .” Quin hesitated.

“What?”

“Just that you knew him well, that’s all.”

“We were in the same year at Hogwarts and were both prefects. We saw a lot of each other in London before he died.”

“I see. Were you in the same House? Wait, that’s right, Gertrude said you were in the Gryffindor House. Carson was with Ravenclaw, is that right?”

“Yes.” Minerva looked at him peculiarly. Something he had said sounded odd . . . . “And what were you? Slytherin?”

“I wasn’t, although that is as likely as any, I’d say.” Grinning at Minerva’s puzzlement, he said, “I didn’t go to Hogwarts – and before you ask, I didn’t go to any school. Didn’t you catch what Franky called me?” Quin brushed his hand along the privet. “A ‘hedge wizard,’ as though I squatted in a ditch under a hedge somewhere and learned a bunch of nonsense from some old crone.”

“It sounds as though there is a story there – and I would love to hear more about Flint and why he seems to hate you so – ”

“No ‘seems to,’ he _does_ hate me.”

“But as I was saying, I believe that bell means it’s dinner time. And we haven’t changed.”

“We haven’t changed our clothes a half dozen times yet today?! How scandalous!”

Minerva laughed, took his arm, and they walked back up to the house together, ready to face the vipers’ nest.


	42. Dalliance and Deception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Quin get better acquainted, and Minerva encounters Valerianna.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Quin MacAirt, Valerianna Yaxley, Gertrude Gamp, Bellatrix Black, and others.

**XLII: Dalliance and Deception**

Dinner wasn’t quite as bad as lunch had been – perhaps because Minerva was becoming used to Gertrude’s relatives – although there were a few more guests. The seating arrangement was different than it had been at lunch; Flint and Valerianna were seated on either side of Gropius Gamp, Gertrude’s aged father, and Minerva and Quin were seated toward the middle of the table, with two of the new-comers at the right and left of Madam Gamp. And unlike at lunch, there were children present, Alroy and Aine, Quin’s son and daughter, and a pale, silent, black-haired girl named Bella, who was about six, Minerva guessed. The toddlers were still being fed in the nursery, apparently, but the older ones were being allowed at the adult table. Alroy and Aine sat on either side of Quin, and Minerva sat between Alroy and Francis Flint.

Of course, it hadn’t been an entirely pleasant experience. Minerva and Quin scarcely had time to wash their hands before the second gong announced that dinner was imminent. Quin had changed into a pale yellow jacket for their walk in the garden and hadn’t made it upstairs to trade it for anything more suitable for dinner. Fortunately, Minerva was wearing the robe she had put on that morning, which was appropriate for the occasion – although she noticed that each of the other witches who had been at lunch was now wearing something different. Quin looked quite conspicuous, dressed in his casual Muggle clothes.

He and Minerva stood in the arched doorway of the dining room. Alroy and Aine had already found their places and were looking well-scrubbed and suitably attired in dress robes. Quin hesitated.

“What is it?” Minerva whispered.

“’Tis one thing to tweak these folk and quite another to embarrass me children. Alroy’s at the age where he wants to fit in more . . . I am becoming a constant source of embarrassment for him without even trying.”

“You could run up and throw on your dinner jacket – ” Minerva began.

“And have them all thinkin’ me an even greater boor than they already do by walking in late? Might be fun, but not tonight, I think . . . . You are _la grande dame de la Metamorphosis_ ; can’t you help me out?”

“All right,” she said, pulling him out into the great hallway. “But can’t you do it?”

“Hedge wizard, remember?” Quin responded with a grin. “Me trainin’ concentrated on building up me greatest strengths. I was rubbish at Transfiguration, so I didn’t spend much time at it.”

Minerva bit back her response. Who was she to criticise his schooling – or lack thereof – when he clearly was quite competent in his own way? More than competent, judging from his performance at lunch.

Minerva pulled her wand from the hidden pocket in her skirts, fumbling a bit to find it through the yards of material. She pointed it at Quin, and just as she was about to Transfigure his jacket, a plummy voice rang out behind her.

“So has he already tried your patience, poor darling? I _wondered_ how long it would be before someone here hexed you, Cormac. . . . I _must_ say, though, that I _never_ expected it would be this . . . _kitten_ , however.” Valerianna was coming down the broad staircase toward them, Flint on her arm and a smile on her face. Flint said nothing, only narrowing his eyes as he looked at Quin. 

“Come, love, we do not wish to be late; it would be _most_ rude,” she drawled to her escort, who didn’t seem to be dawdling.

“Come, _love_ ,” Quinn said to Minerva, “We do not wish to be _rude_ , do we now?” He gave her a quick wink.

Minerva ignored the couple, and with a quick slashing motion, she altered his jacket into a fair facsimile of the one Quin had worn at lunch. He still didn’t look right, with his open-necked shirt and colourful scarf tucked around his neck. Another swish and flick and the shirt was now a crisp, white dress shirt with a stand-up winged collar and small pleats and shiny black buttons up the front; the scarf had become a narrow black bow tie. Quin’s trousers were black, so she did nothing to them, but his shoes were dusty and scuffed from their garden walk, so Minerva swished her wand and gave them a nice polish.

Despite Valerianna’s earlier words, she had paused in the archway and watched the younger witch performing the nonverbal spells, maintaining a firm grip on Flint’s elbow. When Minerva had finished, Valerianna said, sotto voce, as though whispering a secret between friends, “My, my, my! _Dressing_ him already; you two _are_ quite chummy . . . . Cormac, you young devil, will you have her _reverse_ the process later?” She smiled brightly at them before dragging the hapless Flint into the dining room with her.

“I am sorry, Minerva,” said Quin, looking down at Minerva’s flushed face. “I have known them long enough, I should have anticipated that. I didn’t mean to put you in such an awkward position with them. I am sorry I embarrassed you.”

“You? You didn’t embarrass me – that nasty, dried-up, old witch just made me quite angry. I’d _‘reverse the process’_ on her if it weren’t that Gertrude invited me here and I don’t want to put her in a difficult spot.” Minerva’s lips tightened. “ _Kitten_ , indeed!”

“Does she know you were in Gryffindor, then? Is that what they call you all? I hadn’t heard it before.”

“Oh, no doubt she knows that . . . and other things, as well. And no, you don’t call Gryffindors ‘kittens.’ Lions, perhaps, or possibly even cubs, if they are children. But not kittens.”

Whilst they had been talking, the last of the guests had taken their seats, so Minerva cut short her thoughts on Valerianna’s remarks, took Quin’s arm, and allowed him to escort her into dinner and hold her chair for her.

Minerva managed to ignore Flint’s presence on her left, concentrating her attention on Alroy and his father and chatting a bit with Ella Gamp, Quin’s mother-in-law, who sat across from her. Minerva could quite see why Ella had moved from the Gamp Estate to London. She was pleasant, for one. Short, slightly plump, dark grey hair streaked with white, Ella smiled with genuine warmth, and she clearly loved her grandchildren. Minerva learned that Quin maintained a townhouse in London and that, when he was there, the children stayed with him. He also had a country house in Ireland, which he actually called his home, but he travelled a great deal for business; when he would be away for longer stretches, the children stayed with his sister and her family in Ireland, but if it was just a short trip, their Grandmother Ella took them for a few days.

As she ate and chatted with Ella, Quin, and his son, Minerva became aware that Valerianna was watching her. She looked away whenever Minerva turned in her direction, but Minerva had no doubt that the woman was preoccupied with her. Ignoring the witch, Minerva tried to draw Bella, who was seated opposite Alroy, into the conversation, but only elicited one and two word responses from the girl. Perhaps she was too young to be included in an adult dinner, Minerva thought, trying to be charitable to the child. But it seemed that the girl felt slighted to have been seated across from Alroy and next to his grandmother – she was clearly listening to the discussion that her parents, Cygnus and Druella Black, were having with the guests on the other side of her. 

Minerva remembered the young couple from school, although they had both been in Slytherin and a few years behind her. Druella had actually come to a few of the Transfiguration tutoring sessions Minerva had held during her seventh year. Druella had been a stuck-up child and what Minerva considered a typical Slytherin, but Minerva had welcomed any student as long as they behaved. She’d got rid of Tom Riddle when he’d shown up one evening, all swagger and sneer, though. Minerva thought he’d only been there in order to find out what was going on and try to stir up trouble; she hadn’t given him that opportunity. Minerva sighed, looking at the young dark-eyed girl; she was probably going to turn out to be as stuck up and Slytherin as her mother had been.

After dinner, which was mercifully shorter than lunch had been, consisting of only three courses, Minerva joined the other guests in the drawing room. Gertrude, good to her word, offered the whisky as an option for a postprandial drink, and, to Minerva’s surprise, a number of the guests were soon sipping her father’s thirty-five-year-old Muggle Scotch whisky. She noticed, however, that Quin was not one of them.

After exchanging banal small talk with Druella and Cygnus, who were as opinionated as always and, as always, with just as little reason supporting their opinions, Minerva made her way over to Gertrude, who had been casting a glance in her direction since dinner.

Gertrude smiled her tight little smile as Minerva approached. “I am sorry I haven’t spent more time with you, Minerva. I trust that Quin has not been too great a trial for you?”

“Don’t concern yourself with entertaining me, Gertrude; with a house full of guests, I surely don’t expect your undivided attention.” Minerva didn’t add that Gertrude’s undivided attention would also be quite unnerving. “But yes, Quin has been amusing me this afternoon.” A sly, almost Slytherin thought occurred to Minerva. Gertrude wasn’t the only one who could influence others. Minerva turned her head and gazed with open admiration at Quin, who was across the room talking with Pollux and Irma Black. “He’s so . . . _amazing_. Quin has been a godsend, Gertrude. He is so charming and gallant. _And_ handsome.” 

Minerva allowed a dreamy look to cross her face before she turned back to Gertie, who was wearing her usual neutral expression, but Minerva thought she detected a slight twitch. “Thank you so much, Gertrude, for sending him to me this afternoon! When he turned up at my bedroom door, I thought it would be you. I was a little disappointed at first, but then after I let him in, we had such a lovely afternoon. And, of course, he did take me on a walk through your gardens. He is so knowledgeable! After what Francis had called him at lunch, it rather surprised me.”

“Yes, he is quite knowledgeable about many things.” Gertrude took a sip of her whisky. “Did he mention he hadn’t been to school?”

“Yes, he did. That’s part of what makes him so marvellous, though, isn’t it?” Minerva turned back to look at Quin again. And he really did look handsome, if somewhat out-of-place in his completely Muggle attire – although the younger wizards were wearing trousers, they wore traditional dress robes over them – Quin’s eyes were sparkling as he recounted a story to the small group of witches who had gathered around him. At over six-feet tall, he towered above most of the witches, and his Transfigured Muggle dinner jacket emphasised his broad shoulders and fit body. When he smiled, he dimpled quite adorably. It was easy for Minerva to project admiration for the energetic wizard. “It was very interesting to learn that he was my good friend Carson’s cousin; he’s rather like him, I think. And so sad about his wife. He sounds as though he was devoted to her; he must have been a very good husband. And those poor, sweet children growing up without a mother, and Quin doing so well with them.” Minerva hoped she was hitting the right note.

Apparently she was, since Gertrude took a gulp of whisky then responded drily, “He was devoted to Aileen. But I think that was an unusual case. He appreciates female attention. As you can see for yourself.”

Quin was clearly being charming and flirtatious, and he had the witches giggling. From out of the corner of her eye, Minerva could see Valerianna, still attached to Flint like a particularly tenacious burr, casting narrow-eyed glances in his direction.

“Yes, it is so nice to see him enjoy himself. He is a natural raconteur.” Seeing the soft-bellied Pollux finally drag Irma from Quin’s orbit, Minerva decided to change the subject, before she went too far, and to ask a question she had always been curious about. She was slightly acquainted with Pollux from her time working at the Ministry, and he had always puzzled her. 

“Gertrude, I was wondering, perhaps you could answer this question for me. You must remember that I was at school with Cygnus and his sister Walburga. I could never understand, well, this is somewhat delicate, but how is it that Pollux and Irma are their parents? Obviously, I understand the mechanics of it, and Irma was sixteen when Walburga was born, but, well, I’m sure it’s not mentioned in polite company, but – ”

“You are wondering how Pollux could have fathered Walburga when he was only thirteen?”  
Minerva nodded and had the good grace to blush.

“The answer is, he wasn’t. Pollux and Irma had been set to marry practically since Pollux was born. Which was much less than three years after Irma was born.”

“But I saw his records – he was born in nineteen-twelve. Walburga was born in nineteen twenty-five – I know because she’s almost exactly one year younger than I.”

“Records can be altered. He entered school in nineteen twenty-three, but that does not necessarily mean that he was born eleven years before that.”

“But the Hogwarts book – ”

“Cannot be fooled. But only the Headmaster and his Deputy have access to that book. Pollux received his letter in nineteen twenty-one. I was not at Hogwarts at that time, but from what I have been told, Cygnus Black – the father, not the son, obviously – paid a visit to the Headmaster and persuaded him to let his son enter the following year. The next year, he paid the Headmaster another visit, and Pollux’s entrance was delayed one more year.”

“What? Why? And how?” To Minerva’s ears, this seemed even more unusual than Pollux fathering Walpurga at the age of thirteen.

“His magical talent was meagre. Still is, though you didn’t hear me say it. By no means a Squib, but he was a ‘late-bloomer’ – or so his father said. I’ve never seen any evidence of flowering coming from him. The thinking was, he’d be on a more even footing with the other students if he came in a couple years later. All it did was make him a bigger bully, from what I understand. His grandfather was still Headmaster at the time.”

“But his classmates must have known . . . some of them must have been related to him, after all, and had known him since he was a child.”

Gertie shrugged. “Children don’t notice some of the most peculiar things sometimes. Or they notice and then they forget.” She looked at Minerva. “You were an anomaly, Minerva. In ways you probably never appreciated, either.” She took the last sip of her whisky. “I think I will go see Quin for a moment. Rescue him from his adoring audience.”

Minerva didn’t think that Quin needed rescuing, but didn’t say so. Within seconds of Gertie moving off, she found herself cornered by Valerianna, seeming oddly naked without Flint glued to her side.

“So, darling, are you enjoying your evening?”

“Quite,” Minerva said, using all of her restraint to keep from adding, until you arrived. Her mother would have had something of a chuckle over that, but only as long as Minerva didn’t actually utter the words. Her father, on the other hand, would have looked surprised by them, but then laughed with her about it later. Minerva wished there were a few McGonagalls there that evening . . . or even an Egidius or two. A Tyree would be best. Minerva could just see her Grandmother Siofre putting this lot, especially Valerianna, in their place.

“Your escort has _abandoned you_ , though, darling!” Valerianna clucked in what was a superficially soothing tone, but which Minerva recognised as mockery.

“Gertrude does have other guests to attend to,” Minerva replied, being deliberately obtuse.

“I wasn’t speaking of Gertie, _my dear_ , but of your young man, Cormac!”

“Oh, you mean _Quin_? He’s a bit beyond being my _young_ man, don’t you think, Valerianna? But then, I suppose from your point of view, almost _everyone_ in this room is young.” Minerva didn’t normally stoop to making jibes about someone’s age – and age really didn’t matter to her – but she was sure it was the sort of remark that would get under Valerianna’s skin.

She was right. For a moment, Valerianna’s eyes hardened, but then her smile returned. “But you are _so_ very young, _my dear_ , we must all seem quite _old_ to you. Or perhaps not quite so old . . . . Of course, you probably _do_ like old people, don’t you, child, being at Hogwarts with all of those withered, aged teachers . . . it must be a refuge for a witch such as _yourself_ , away from the hustle and pressures of life in London. I’m sure that can be very hard on an _inexperienced_ and _shy_ young witch. Yes, I can see how retreating to life at Hogwarts could be _quite_ the thing for you, darling.”

Minerva was glad for her Occlumency exercises. She was sure that their calming techniques were the only thing keeping her from turning into a screaming banshee – or at least having her blood pressure rise dangerously. As Valerianna’s “innocent” comments continued, Minerva deliberately relaxed her jaw, which she had begun to clench from the moment that Valerianna began speaking to her, and slowed her breathing.

Deciding to address only the least provocative of Valerianna’s comments – for why should she engage the witch in any argument, as Valerianna clearly wanted? – Minerva replied, “Hogwarts is quite different from London, but you are mistaken regarding my feelings about living in London. I very much enjoyed my life there, and I found the wide variety of people one meets to be most invigorating. Hogwarts is enjoyable on a very different level, but I have found it quite congenial. And I am not the youngest person on staff there.” Minerva thought of Hagrid; she was not being untruthful there.

“No? I suppose that the Headmaster _does_ wish to hire a young staff – ”

Fortunately – and Minerva couldn’t decide whether it was her luck or Valerianna’s – at just that moment, Quin appeared at Minerva’s elbow. He took Minerva’s hand, and with flourish and great solicitude, bent over and kissed it, looking up at her with a twinkle in his eye before straightening. 

“I am so sorry, love. I do hope y’ haven’t been feelin’ neglected. But I see that Valerianna has been kind enough to be keepin’ y’ company.”

Minerva gratefully took his proffered arm. “It was lovely to see you _enjoying_ yourself, Quin. And Valerianna was very entertaining. Quite _amusing_ , in fact.” Minerva wondered what was possessing her to goad the older witch further – probably the witch’s own glittering personality combined with Quin’s influence.

“Ta, then, Anna, for takin’ such good care o’ me lass,” Quin said, gracing the witch with his most charming smile before turning to Minerva. Before Valerianna could respond to either of their comments, Quin asked, “Now, perhaps a stroll with me before we go check on the wee tykes, me darlin’?”

“Of course, Quin. I have been looking forward to it all evening.” Minerva had actually had no idea that they would be taking a stroll later, nor that she would be checking on his “wee tykes” with him, but she might as well play along. It was rather amusing to see Valerianna attempting to keep her vitriol from spewing forth.

Quin led her across the room, but before they had attained their freedom, Gertrude had intercepted them. “Leaving, Quin, Minerva?”

“It has been a long day, Gertie; our guest is tired – and although conversation with Anna can be quite stimulatin’, it isn’t necessarily conducive to sweet dreams when taken this late in the evenin’,” replied Quin. “Besides, I do need to look in on the children, and Minerva has been sweet enough to agree to come with me as I do so.”

Gertrude looked from Quin to Minerva and back again. “Good-night, then, Minerva. Sleep well. And I will speak with you later, Quin.”

“I am sure you will. Good-night, Gertie!” he replied cheerfully.

They finally made it out to the hallway. Just as Minerva was about to say something, Quin lifted a finger to her lips. “Shh,” he said softly.

He led her to the main staircase. Quietly, he said, “I was serious about checkin’ on the kids. Would you mind if we did that first? Of course you needn’t, you can go straight to your own room, if you wish – ”

“No, I don’t mind. And I’d like to talk with you, anyway.”

Quin lifted an eyebrow. “And I would like a word with you meself, Minerva, I would – but not here,” he added, looking around.

He put his arm around her and they went up to the second floor to check on the children. Aine was sound asleep, and Quin gave her a light kiss on her brow before leaving her; in the next room, Alroy was up, reading, a ball of light hovering over his book.

“Alroy! What have I told you about behavin’ yourself while we are here!”

The boy scowled and made a pinching motion with his fingers. The light disappeared. “I _hate_ Automagical Candles! I can’t read properly by them,” he grumbled crankily.

Quin reached down and plucked the book from his son’s hands. “Then perhaps it’s time for you to be after sleepin’ and puttin’ your book away.” Quin flicked a forefinger at one of the candles next to his son’s bed, adding to the light that was filtering in through the doorway. “Put it out normally before you go to sleep. I am _tryin’_ to raise you to be a respectable wizard.” He hesitated, looking down at his scowling son. “I’ll have them put a lamp in here for you. I’ll ask Gertrude. Just use it, all right, son?”

“All right, da,” the boy said with resignation. “It’s not a very good book, anyway.”

Alroy settled down in bed, and Quin smoothed his red hair back from his forehead. “You’re a good boy with a miserable old man,” he whispered. “I’m always proud of you, me son.” He bent and kissed the boy’s head and pulled the sheet up around him. “Sound be your sleep, bright be your dreams, and sweet be your wakin’.” He kissed the child once more on the forehead and, in contradiction to his own earlier words, he waved the candle out.

Minerva stood behind him as he gently closed the door to his son’s room. The scene, while heart-warming, had also made her uneasy. Quin motioned for her to follow him down the hall.

The room he brought her to looked like an unused witch’s sitting room. He closed the door behind them. “We can go for a stroll, if you like, Minerva, but – ”

“This is fine.” Minerva sat in a stiff-backed armchair. “What was that?”

“What do you mean?” asked Quin, puzzled. “I put me children to bed – oh. I see. You mean Alroy’s light.” He sighed and crossed the room to stand in front of her. “You _do_ recognise magic when you see it, don’t you, Professor McGonagall?”

“Of course I do, but he’s only, what, ten? Eleven?”

“Restrictions on Underage Magic only apply to wand-use,” Quin answered tersely. “And things are a bit different where we come from.”

“He is too young. I don’t know how things are ‘different’ where you come from, but he’s trying to do controlled wandless magic. He will burn himself out – ”

A barked laugh from Quin interrupted Minerva’s lecture on the dangers of young children trying to perform controlled magic. “We do not understand each other, Minerva. I can see that.” Minerva thought that a look of sadness flitted across his face. “I am sure that when you knew Carson, then, you were _most_ distressed at his sadly depleted state, havin’ burned his self out doin’ magic as a child.”

“What do you mean?” Minerva asked, although she could plainly see his meaning; she just didn’t like it.

“I mean that bloody Hogwarts ruined Carson Murphy, that’s what I mean. His magic became all squinted and tight. I don’t think he did any wandless magic after he was about thirteen, thanks to your most esteemed school and the laws of the ‘enlightened’ country in which he was living.” Quin’s words were harsh, but his tone mild; nonetheless, Minerva was taken aback. When she didn’t respond immediately to what he had said, Quin continued, “Alroy has not had an incident of uncontrolled magic – a magical accident of the sort I understand is so common for children on your island – since he was four years old. From the time he was three, he has been taught how to feel his magic, how to recognise it and control it.” Quin sighed. “I hadn’t intended to teach him so much – or, rather, have him _learn_ so much – but he is just such a quick lad, and it seemed cheatin’ him to teach him only to stopper his magic and not allow him to learn to use it, as well.” He sat down on the arm of the chair next to Minerva’s and looked over at her. “He will go to Hogwarts, as will Aine, because that is what their mother wished.” His jaw tightened and he swallowed. “I do not know if I am doin’ the right thing by them, but I am trying, and she is not here to guide me.”

Minerva looked at him seriously, brow knit. She remembered well her own magical accidents when she was angry – or sometimes just when she was just tired and cranky – they had lasted until she was at least nine. And she was far from being a late bloomer.

“Come, I’ll walk you downstairs to your room,” Quin said, standing. He was somewhat slouched, and Minerva thought he suddenly looked much older than his forty-odd years.

“If you wish, but I would like to talk longer,” Minerva replied.

“Do ye’ now, Professor? Even though it’s a rascal I’m bein’?” Quin asked in his thickest brogue.

“Knock it off, Quin. I was surprised, that’s all. You really can’t expect me to understand things with which I’ve no familiarity without some kind of explanation, can you?”

Quin settled down in the chair. “P’raps I didn’t misjudge you, after all,” he said quietly.

“I don’t know how you judged me, or misjudged me. But I did think we were getting along.”

“Mmm, until you saw the results of me questionable parentin’ techniques.”

“I don’t know, it seems they are both quite nice children – certainly preferable to some – although I didn’t have much opportunity to speak with Aine. And your parenting techniques seem quite lovely to me, if they’re consistent with what I’ve seen from you so far.”

Quin smiled at her and leaned back in his chair.

“I’d love to learn more about . . . your thoughts and experiences with magical development in children – especially if Alroy will be one of my students! – but I’m too tired for such serious discussion right now, Quin.”

“Mmm, ’tis fine with me, Minerva. I actually wanted to talk to you, meself, I did. I have a question for you.”

“Yes?”

“What on earth did you say to Gertie? She came over to me, knickers all atwist – though most people probably couldn’t have told – and dragged me away from me adorin’ crowds. Thankfully, actually; I was beginnin’ to bore meself. But anyway, she was sayin’ something about me needin’ to be more careful with you. She made it sound as though you were some kind of vulnerable, fragile flower, she did.”

Minerva laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry, Quin. And I’m sure it won’t get any better after our joint exit, either. I just, well, really, I don’t know what got into me, but I thought . . . I thought I’d give her a bit of a scare, make her think I was enamoured of you. She’s thrown a few things at me, in the most Slytherin way, and I just thought I’d do a little Slytherin manoeuvre of my own. I’m sorry.” Minerva apologised, but she was laughing.

Quin joined her, chuckling and looking at her in admiration. “Well, I would say that it worked. I actually had the impression that she thought you were becoming infatuated with me, but of course she didn’t say so, and after our conversation in the garden, I was fairly sure there was no way she could have any reason to think that. Valerianna, on the other hand . . . I hope you don’t mind that I interrupted your little tête-á-tête.”

“You were my knight in shining armour, Quin. That woman is so horrid . . . she was making a lot of snide little double-entendres that I’m sure she believes I didn’t understand. I was actually beginning to stoop to her level and respond in kind. It’s a good thing you came up when you did, or I might have done something very undignified. The last remark she made was just too much!”

“Why? What was it?”

“Oh, just all kinds of rubbish about Hogwarts. And about Albus. And she managed to imply that I was some kind of shy wall-flower who found London life too much and so retreated to the safety of boring old Hogwarts.”

“Mmm. Not surprising is it, that she would make such remarks?”

“What do you mean?” asked Minerva.

Quin looked uncomfortable. “Nothing, really. Just she has to find something, some weakness, and pick away at it. She is far worse with other witches. She is usually quite charmin’, relatively speaking, with wizards. Someone wouldn’t teach at Hogwarts without having some devotion to their job, leastwise, that’s me take on it, for all I have never been there meself.”

Minerva relaxed. Perhaps he hadn’t been referring to Valerianna’s alleged relationship with Albus. For all Minerva knew, that was something that Gertie had made up – although some of the things that Valerianna had said were definitely peculiar. Calling her “kitten,” for one thing. And Minerva didn’t think that the witch’s snide comments about Hogwarts and aged teachers were motivated solely because it was Minerva’s workplace.

Minerva stifled a yawn. “I’m sorry, Quin. It has been a long day. I think it’s time for me to be heading off to sleep. But I do thank you for rescuing me from that sow’s ear – and for not disabusing Gertrude of her notion that I’m infatuated with you,” she added with a grin.

“No trouble at all, Minerva. Although if we are to keep up appearances, you may have to suffer me company more over the next few days!” He had a devilish grin on his face.

Minerva laughed. “If it will keep me away from the likes of Valerianna and the rest of them, I will gladly suffer your presence!”

“Then perhaps I might request your company at the party Wednesday evening? I know we are both goin’, anyway, but it might give me an excuse not to dance more than once with every rich old hag who drools on me,” he said with a crooked smile.

“Mmm, as though they were all old hags and you wouldn’t enjoy the attention! But yes, I will. It would be convenient for me, as well, especially as I also believe that Valerianna fancies you herself – despite her barnacle – given the way she looks at you, and it could give her one more reason to seethe!”

“You certainly did make her an enemy quickly – or am I mistaken, and you two knew each other from elsewhere?”

“Never met the witch before, and if I never see her again after this week, I shall count myself a lucky witch.” Minerva stood.

“I’ll walk you to your room as a true suitor should, I will,” Quin said.

They left and headed toward the stairs. Part way down the hall, Quin stopped and put his finger up, listening. He smiled and nodded. “Ready to continue the charade, love?” he whispered.

Minerva could hear a light tread coming up the stairs. She was only slightly confused, but nodded.

“Arms around me neck, then, quick.”

Minerva caught his meaning and followed his directions. Quin put his arms around her waist, clasping his hands behind her. He looked down at Minerva and winked, then gently blew a breath over her head. Minerva could feel her hair coming down from its roll at the back of her head; thankfully, he didn’t do anything with her hairclips. He backed her up against the wall and leaned forward. Minerva began to get slightly nervous then, not knowing how far he planned to take their “charade.” Just then, the sound of the footsteps reached the top of the stairs.

Quin bent his head down, and his breath tickled her ear as he whispered, “Act as though I am saying something charming, roguish, and quite naughty right now.”

“Oh, Quin, you really are too much . . . .” Minerva uttered in a low but clear tone. “You can’t really mean . . . .”

He whispered in her ear again. “Now act as though I’m kissing your neck and sending you into the heights of ecstasy.”

Minerva felt him move his head down so that his face was near her neck. From the top of the stairs, anyone watching would assume that he was doing as he had said, but although he moved his head slightly, his lips never touched her skin. Minerva, feeling rather ridiculous, but unable to back out now, threw her head back and closed her eyes, hoping it looked like she had a blissful expression on her face. “Oh, really, Quin, we should stop now . . . .” she said, quietly again, but loudly enough to be heard down the hall.

Just as Quin was straightening up, his blue eyes smiling merrily, another voice interrupted. “Yes, Quin, I do think that would be wise. You are in a public area.”

“Ah, Gertie, so nice to be seein’ ye’,” Quin said, turning, a brilliant smile on his face. “I was just bringin’ the Professor here to her room, I was.”

“Her room is on the floor below this.”

“An’ well am I knowin’ it; ’tis some lovely time we were spendin’ there earlier, wasn’t it, love?” he replied, looking to Minerva for agreement.

Although Minerva had started this whole thing with her ridiculous comments to Gertrude earlier in the evening, she now felt somewhat uncomfortable under the gaze of the older witch, as though she had been found out after curfew at Hogwarts, canoodling with another student in some dim alcove. Minerva blinked and remembered that she was now a teacher at Hogwarts. She also reminded herself that Gertie had brought her there – under, well, not false pretenses, precisely, but certainly unknown ones, and so she deserved a bit of the fruit from the plant she herself had set.

“Yes, I believe I mentioned that to Gertrude,” Minerva answered.

“Did you now? And it’s givin’ all me secrets away, you are!” He had moved back away from Minerva, but he kept one arm draped loosely about her. “Good-night, Gertie! It’s seein’ the fair professor to her rooms now, I am. Would na’ want any harm t’ come t’ her!”

The two started toward the stair. “I would like to see you before you retire, Quin.”

Quin paused. “That’s a grand idea, Gertrude. I will stop by your room.”

“No, I will wait for you in yours, if you don’t mind.”

“O’ course not, be free. ’Tis your house.”

Quin and Minerva walked down the stairs as quickly as they could.

When they reached her room, he said softly, “I hate to admit it, Minerva, but that went perhaps too well. I know I am a consummate rogue, but I really didn’t believe she’d fall for it so completely.”

“Now it’s I who am sorry, Quin. I hope she isn’t too hard on you.”

“Don’t worry. I agreed to this. ’Twas funny to see her face. I don’t think she had any idea what to make of what she saw!”

“Well, I do suppose we shouldn’t make it too real. We also don’t want your children to get the wrong idea.”

“Mmm. We shall walk a narrow line, then? You know . . . .” He stopped. “Never mind. Just a thought. But I better be goin’ before she comes down here to see if I am after corruptin’ your innocence!”

Minerva laughed. “Good-night, then, Quin! And you know, it’s odd, but I feel as though I’ve known you for years . . . probably not a good thing.”

He smiled down at her. “Probably not. But it _is_ good to have a new friend.” Quin bent and kissed Minerva lightly on the cheek, then turned and left her outside her door.


	43. Doubt and Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva returns to her room, ponders the reason Gertie may have invited her to this gathering, and relaxes with Albus's gift.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, others.

**XLIII: Doubt and Comfort**

Minerva was relieved to be alone in her room. She collapsed on her bed. This was what Gertie considered a holiday? A sense of guilt washed over her. It _had_ been good of Gertie to invite her here, despite the fact that her relatives ranged from horrid to dreadful, with a few who were merely dull. Quin being the exception. Minerva had not repaid her hostess very kindly. Whatever had she been thinking? She would have to tell Quin to downplay any hint of an attachment when they were around Gertie. Valerianna was another case entirely. That woman made Minerva’s hackles rise. Minerva knew it wasn’t just the witch herself and what she had said to her, though; it was what Gertrude had told her before she had ever even met Valerianna Crouch Yaxley.

That thought assuaged some of Minerva’s guilty feelings. Gertrude had known that that person was going to be here this week when she had invited Minerva. Minerva sprang off the bed and went to the wardrobe. She pulled out the carpet bag. After removing Albus’s present and setting it aside, resisting the temptation to open it immediately, Minerva rummaged around in the bottom of her bag. She found her afghan still there, and she pulled that out and tossed it up onto the bed. The two books joined it. She felt around some more. Yes, there it was; she _had_ packed it – she hadn’t even known why at the time, but Gertrude’s invitation was there, along with the even briefer letter she had written in response to Minerva’s acceptance.

Minerva sat back on the floor in front of the wardrobe and opened the invitation. Reading it over, remembering what Albus had said about it, Minerva tried to analyse it afresh, with the benefit of today’s experiences.

_“This evening as I enjoyed the healthy Cornish air, I remembered our conversation yesterday at lunch and your mention of a holiday. It occurred to me that a few days here in Cornwall might have a restorative effect following your first term of teaching. If you have not experienced the landscape here, I believe you will find it invigorating.”_

All right, Minerva noted again that it had been Gertie who had originally suggested a holiday, not Minerva, although she _had_ agreed she might take one. Clearly Gertrude had already been contemplating this invitation at that time. Although whether she had come up with the idea only then, at lunch, or earlier, Minerva couldn’t say. Albus seemed to think that Gertie had genuinely believed she needed a holiday, but Minerva still wasn’t convinced of that. And that bit about a “restorative effect” – what was that to mean? She had looked rather dreadful under her Glamour, but Gertie was an Arithmancer and, from what Minerva could tell, not particularly adept with charms, let alone with Glamours. It was unlikely that Gertie had noticed how she had really looked, despite having declared her “peaky.” Minerva did not believe that Gertie had asked her here to help her recover from a term of teaching. What she had meant by “restorative effect” remained a puzzle – of course, they could be empty words, with no meaning whatsoever. And _invigorating_? If being irritated was invigorating, Minerva supposed she had been quite invigorated, indeed! 

_“With this in mind, I would like to invite you to visit the Gamp family home next week. If you are so inclined, the ribbon with which this letter is tied is a Portkey set for activation between 8.00 and 8.30 on the morning of Monday the eighth of July. If you are able to accept this invitation, the Portkey may be used at any point within that half-hour with the password_ ‘ducere.’ _”_

This said nothing to her. “Gamp family home.” Perhaps that meant she wanted her to meet her family? Albus had commented that Gertie was emphasising the familial aspect of the home, after all. But whom did Gertie consider her family? Almost everyone at the table last night, with the exception of Minerva and, perhaps, Flint, had been related to her by blood or marriage. Minerva supposed that her niece and nephew – such a strange thought, that Gertrude was Alroy and Aine’s aunt – were her relatives, and that Gertie would therefore likely consider Quin a relative, as well. Gertrude was the only one there who called him “Quin.” In fact, if Minerva had been paying more attention, she would have realised earlier that Gertrude had even introduced him properly – Cormac Quin-something MacAirt. She would have to ask him his full name again. She could completely understand not wanting to be called “Cormac,” though. What were his parents thinking? “Cormac MacAirt” would be a tough name to be saddled with . . . although perhaps it was a family name, and he was actually descended from the original Cormac mac Airt. Anything was possible, Minerva supposed.

And what of Valerianna? She was Gertrude’s husband’s cousin, but did that mean Gertie considered the witch a relative? With all of the intermarriage amongst pure-blood families, Valerianna could also be related to Gertrude in some other way, as well, although Gertrude had only mentioned the connection with her late husband.

_“I hope to hear from you by return owl that you will be able to accept my invitation. There are various family members visiting, so I believe that you would not fail to find some conversations of interest while you are here.”_

Well, that much was true: there had been no dearth of interesting conversations. 

Minerva was sure of it now: Gertie had intended all along that she meet and talk with Valerianna. That raised more questions, the first one was obviously, why? Secondly, had Gertie been completely disingenuous with her that morning out by the hill fort, or had she really believed when she’d issued the invitation that Valerianna might be arriving later in the week? Beyond that, was what Gertrude told her about Valerianna and Albus the truth? And even if it was, how much of the truth had she omitted? And what role was Quin playing in all this? Gertie had asked him to show Minerva the gardens, after all. And according to Quin, Gertrude had told him that Minerva was unlikely to be taken in by his flirtation. Although perhaps that was only Quin’s interpretation of what Gertrude had said, and he was mistaken. How much could she trust anything Quin told her, let alone his interpretations of what Gertrude said? Was Quin actually working with Gertie on whatever it was she was after? Minerva wanted to trust Quin, but she hardly knew him. Most of all, what could Gertrude’s motives be in all this? She had to want _something_.

Minerva sighed. That was why her own attempt to turn the tables on Gertie that evening had not worked out very well. Minerva had no particular goal in mind except to create an illusion and possibly surprise Gertrude. A true Slytherin didn’t set about orchestrating events without being clear about why she was doing it and what her end goal would be. And it would have to be for some objective greater than simply making someone uncomfortable – at least if it required much effort or any risk. No, there would have had to have been a reason to make the person uncomfortable, a reason that fit in with a greater goal, which in turn contributed to reaching some even larger objective.

Try as she might, Minerva doubted she would ever be able to figure out what Gertrude was playing at in inviting her down here. She just didn’t know Gertrude well enough; she wouldn’t be able to deduce what her goal or her overall objectives were. And without that, Minerva thought she would never understand why it was that Gertie had invited her here, at this time, with these people. Minerva sighed. She would just have to be alert. And it wouldn’t hurt to make note of things others said that were consistent or inconsistent with what Gertrude – and Quin – told her.

Minerva wanted to like Quin. He was funny and easy to be with, and obviously very bright, as well. Despite his peculiar magical training, he was also fairly powerful, Minerva thought. Strange what he had told her about Alroy – and about Carson. Clearly, Carson’s magic was quite strong; he had been a talented wizard. If Carson had done magic similar to that practiced by Quin, and now by Alroy, it must be true that in some cases, under certain conditions, it was not harmful for children under ten or eleven to practice controlled magic. It went against everything she had been taught. But considering what Quin had said about the laws and customs of England – and Scotland – it made sense that if the Ministry wanted to control the use of magic, they would restrict the use of wands for underage wizards and, in order even better to regulate it, ensure that young witches and wizards did not learn how to practice wandless magic. 

From Minerva’s previous understanding of the matter, wandless magic was much harder because the witch or wizard had no tool through which to focus their power. But what if it was simply that one became so used to using a wand that one could no longer do – what was it Quin called it? – “free” magic. Learning to perform spells – or practice free magic – without a wand would be much more difficult for a witch or wizard who had always learned to do everything with a wand. Minerva remembered Albus telling her once during her Animagus training that she had to stop thinking of her wand as the thing that allowed her to do magic. They had begun doing the wandless Animagus Transfiguration exercises that were the necessary final step to actually completing the full Animagus transformation. He had made Minerva spend an entire week without her wand, only letting her use it when she was actually in a class in which its use was required. It had been an odd experience . . . odder even than learning to do magic that required no incantation. As a rather cerebral child, it had seemed more natural to use pure intention without a spell than to cast a spell without a wand. When she returned to Hogwarts, she would have to talk to Albus about all this. Surely with his experience, he must be familiar with magic practiced this way. 

Thinking of Albus reminded Minerva of his present. She picked it up and stood. She would wait until she was ready for bed before she opened it, she decided, and gratefully peeled off her robes. 

Once she had washed and changed into her nightgown, Minerva sat down on the bed and held the parcel in her lap. She remembered how cheerfully Albus had given it to her just that morning, and how sweetly he had kissed her good-bye before she Portkeyed away. How could her Albus – well, he wasn’t precisely _hers_ , but the Albus she knew – how could he have ever been involved with that horrid woman? It made Minerva feel rather sick. It had been bad enough when Gertrude had first told her about it, but then after meeting the witch . . . .

Minerva shook herself. If Gertrude or someone had told her about the situation with Albus and that woman only _after_ Minerva had met Valerianna, perhaps Minerva’s feelings toward the witch would have been different. Perhaps everything that Valerianna had said and done was coloured by Minerva’s prejudgment of her, all based on what Gertrude had told her just a few hours before. 

Minerva tried to look at Valerianna objectively. She really wasn’t all that bad looking, Minerva supposed, although if she weren’t wearing dress robes and expensive jewellery and a few layers of make-up charms, she would be rather plain. Her manner of speaking was off-putting to Minerva; aside from the insults that Minerva had perceived, Valerianna just seemed dull – a socialite with little to say. But Quin had told her that Valerianna was like a chameleon and that she could make herself interesting to whatever wizard she was with. No doubt as a young witch, and one with nothing to offer her, Minerva simply wasn’t worth the effort for Valerianna to become interesting. Gertie, too, had said that she was intelligent. Of course, she also had money and social standing, but Minerva was fairly certain that those were two things that would never motivate Albus’s interest. 

On the other hand, what did Minerva know of Albus? Simply because Minerva knew one side of his personality did not mean that Albus’s taste in women – of which she had known nothing until today – was in line with what else she knew of him. Minerva had known one happily married wizard, who worked in the Department of Ministries and was reputed to be quite brilliant and powerful, whose wife was an untalented, very ordinary witch with unspectacular looks. She was pleasant, though, warm and friendly. Minerva could imagine that she had personal qualities that quite made up for any deficiencies in intelligence or magic. If Valerianna was intelligent, and possibly talented – although Minerva had no way to judge that – perhaps that had off-set her less than pleasant personality for Albus. Of course, Valerianna was also quite sociable and out-going. Far more so than Minerva herself, and Albus was fairly out-going. He was not very revealing, though, Minerva thought with a sigh. 

She wished she had had some clue that Albus had been seeing this witch. For all Minerva knew, Albus could be seeing someone now, perhaps at that very moment. Doubtful, but possible. It could be that Valerianna was one of many witches with whom Albus had kept company over the years. Minerva had no idea, and it bothered her. 

She looked at the brown wrapped parcel on her lap, almost not wanting to open it any more. But then she reminded herself of Albus’s expression when he had given it to her before breakfast, and of his pink-cheeked smile when he said good-bye to her when she left . . . and of his kiss. Albus had always been good to her, and when he realised that she had felt neglected by him, he had gone out of his way to remedy it. Minerva remembered his lists, which he had made never dreaming that she might see them. He enjoyed spending time with her. He valued her. He wanted her there at Hogwarts with him. And Minerva remembered the tears in Albus’s eyes when he had confessed, just two days ago, that when he had heard her harsh words, he had been afraid that she hated him. And yet he had put aside his own fear and hurt feelings and worked to make her feel better.

Tears entered her own eyes, then. What did it matter that he had never mentioned the Yaxley woman to her? It had only been a few months – Valerianna had clearly made more of it than Albus had. It shouldn’t matter that Albus hadn’t shared that with her, Minerva thought. And now that they were both at Hogwarts, and she was an adult, not a student in his care, they were becoming closer. Surely, as a friend, he would now begin telling her more about himself. It had never been appropriate or convenient to have those conversations before, they had seen each other so infrequently and so briefly over the last several years. 

Minerva pulled the string tied around the package, foregoing magic in order to savour the experience. As she unfolded the brown wrapping paper, a letter fell out. Minerva opened it up, almost smiling with relief to see Albus’s familiar hand writing.

_“Monday, 8 July_

_“My dear Minerva,_

_“I hope that this day has been an interesting one for you and not too wearing. You are no doubt tired at the end of a long day, however, and I hope that this little gift helps ease you to a good night’s rest. No doubt the Gamp house-elves could provide more sophisticated refreshment, but sometimes something more homely and simple is more comforting._

_“I look forward to hearing all about your trip when you return. It will be interesting to learn what surprises Gertrude had in store for you. I do hope that you get to know each other better; like you, my dear, Gertrude does not allow many people the privilege of knowing her. I believe that you would appreciate her if you knew her better. I also know that she thinks highly of you, and has done for quite some years._

_“I shall miss you while you are away, my dear, but then I shall have the pleasure of spending time with you on your return, with the excuse that I wish to hear about your time at the Gamps. In truth, I shall always seek an excuse to spend time with you, now that you have reminded me so well of my priorities, and if it weren’t your trip, I would find some other reason to invite you to share a meal with me or just to go for a stroll on the grounds together._

_“As I write this, I find that I am missing you already, in anticipation of your imminent departure; thus, I hope you will forgive an old man his ramblings. I must remind myself that I will be seeing you for breakfast in just a few minutes – that was a most unexpected yet welcome invitation, my dear; I had planned to have Wilspy deliver your little gift this morning, and I was very happy to realise that I could hand it to you myself – you are not yet gone from the castle, and I must not allow my anticipation of your departure to cloud my enjoyment of your presence whilst you are still here._

_“Do take care, Minerva, and do not forget who you are when you meet anyone who may be less appreciative of you than they should be. And enjoy the company of those wise enough to recognise your worth. I must go now; I do not wish to be late for breakfast with you, my dear._

_“Sleep well, sweet dreams,  
“Yours,_

_“Albus.”_

Minerva read the letter twice. It was so warm and wonderful. She didn’t think he had ever expressed anything quite this way before. Of course, when she was a student, he had tried to get her to appreciate her value in the lives of others, but he had been her mentor then, and the tone had been different. And there was their conversation the other morning when she had apologised for saying what she had, but this was different: it was wholly unsolicited and apparently completely spontaneous. What touched her most was his expressed desire to spend time with her and his declaration that he was already missing her when anticipating her departure. Minerva’s eyes misted over as she carefully refolded the letter and set it beside her on the bed. 

Beneath the plain brown wrapping, Albus had wrapped the package in tartan-patterned paper and sealed it up with temporary sticking charms. Minerva carefully unsealed the package and then opened the box. She smiled as she pulled out a large green mug. Inside the mug, three jars were nestled one atop the other. The first jar held amber-coloured honey, the second, chamomile tea, and the third, peppermint tea. Reaching further into the box, Minerva found a mesh tea ball, a silver spoon, several ginger newts wrapped in kitchen parchment, and another note, this one shorter. It read: 

_“Tea with honey can be quite a good tonic, I have found. I included some ginger newts, since you seem to like them and your house-elf will not be there to provide you a constant supply! Good-night, my dear Minerva! – Albus.”_

Minerva folded the second note and picked up the first one. She carefully placed them both in the bottom of her carpet bag and returned it to the wardrobe. Bringing her mug with her, she went to the little sink in the corner of her room and filled the mug with water. She returned to the bed and set the mug down on the night stand. After the day she had had, Minerva thought chamomile tea would be soothing, so she opened that jar, filled the tea ball, and cast a spell on the water to bring it up to just below the boiling point before she dropped the tea ball into the mug. After waiting a few minutes, during which she turned back the covers and finished getting ready for bed, Minerva removed the tea ball and added just a spoonful of honey.

She unfolded her afghan, wishing it were a colder night, and spread it on top of the other covers. Minerva climbed into bed, deciding not to try to read anything that night; she was just too tired. Sipping her hot tea, Minerva remembered her vow to be grateful for Albus’s friendship. She would not allow her own confused feelings about him ruin their friendship. If it weren’t for her inappropriate feelings, the revelation that Gertrude had made would never have disturbed her to this degree. Minerva finished her tea, yawned, and put out the lights. She fell asleep smiling, remembering Albus’s words, _I shall always seek an excuse to spend time with you._

* * *


	44. An Early Breakfast and an Owl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva has an early call for breakfast, an owl from Poppy, an encounter with some of the other guests, and a conversation with Gertrude that irritates and puzzles her.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Gertrude Gamp, Quin MacAirt, Gluffy (house-elf), Arcturus Black, Hepzibah Rosier, and others.

**XLIV: An Early Breakfast and an Owl**

Minerva woke the next morning to a gravelly voice saying, “Madam Professor. Madam Professor. It is morning, Madam Professor”; then sudden morning light entered the room as the draperies were drawn back. Minerva blinked and squinted at a purplish-grey house-elf who was standing a few feet from her bed. 

“Madam Professor, breakfast will be served. Madam Professor is expected to breakfast with Madam Gamp.”

“Mmmpf,” groaned Minerva, rolling over and closing her eyes again. 

The house-elf was undeterred and popped over to the other side of the bed. “Madam Professor will get up now for breakfast. Madam Gamp requested Gluffy wake Madam Professor. Madam Professor will get up now.”

Memory of the prior evening filtered back into Minerva’s sleepy brain. “Which ‘Madam Gamp,’ Gluffy?”

“Madam Gertrude, ma’am,” the house-elf said with a toothy grin. Gluffy, with his sparse, bristly hair emerging from his ears and chin, his raspy voice, and his persistent manner, had to be the most annoying house-elf Minerva had ever laid eyes on. At least he didn’t grovel and whine; she sighed.

“Very well, Gluffy. I would like a cup of tea first, though.”

Without another word, or even a bow, Gluffy Apparated away. Minerva closed her eyes and began to drift back to sleep when she heard a rapping on her door. Thinking it was Quin, Minerva snagged her dressing gown from the foot of her bed and was putting it on as she opened the door, prepared to scold him for coming around so early in the morning. When she saw the person on the other side, however, she stopped cold.

“Hmmpf. Must speak to Gluffy about his notions of ‘waking’ someone, I can see. Meet me on the veranda as soon as you are dressed, Minerva.” Gertrude turned and headed for the stairs.

Minerva closed the door. “Well, good-morning to you, too, Gertrude. So nice to see you; how was your sleep? Good, happy to hear it; I slept well, too, thank you very much,” Minerva grumbled to herself as she began sorting through her clothes to find something appropriate for the morning. 

As she was pulling on her stockings, Gluffy appeared with a cup of black tea. He put it on the night stand and popped away again. Minerva disliked black tea with no milk, but thought she needed fortification before meeting Gertrude for breakfast. She sipped the hot liquid and cast a quick Tempus. Only six-thirty in the morning. What an hour to wake a witch who was supposed to be on holiday! 

Minerva finished dressing, choosing a dusty-rose coloured robe that had contrasting copper-green piping. She charmed her slip-on shoes to match the colour of the trim. Deciding that she couldn’t take the time to do anything fancy with her hair that morning, she put it up in a French twist. She drank the rest of her tea, brushed her teeth, and made her way downstairs to find Gertrude. Minerva assumed that, given the special summons and the early hour, she would be the only one breakfasting with Gertrude.

Minerva found Gertrude seated at the round table on the veranda, a large pot of what was presumably coffee in front of her. Minerva drew up her chair. “Good-morning, Gertrude.”

“Good-morning. Have a cup of coffee. Costa Rican. Better than what the Hogwarts elves serve.”

Minerva, biting back the comment that she preferred tea in the morning, as it woke one more gently, poured herself a cup of coffee, and added a good amount of cream to it. She took a sip and was pleasantly surprised. It actually wasn’t too bad.

“How did you enjoy your evening, Minerva? I saw that Quin was keeping you ‘ _amused_ ,’” said Gertrude dryly.

“Yes. He is quite amusing. Just that.” Minerva had the good grace to blush.

“I spoke to him last night. I was concerned that he was perhaps . . . _misleading_ you regarding his intentions. He reassured me that you were not taking his flirtations seriously.” Gertrude fixed her gaze on Minerva. “I do hope he is correct. I did not invite you here in order for my nephew to take advantage of you, particularly after the last stressful months. If he is bothering you with unwanted attentions, I would appreciate knowing it, and I apologise for having suggested he keep you company.”

Minerva was struck, first, by Gertrude’s stated concerns, then by her apology, and, finally, by her reference to Quin as her “nephew.” She must feel quite close to him, which accorded with Quin’s own remarks about her.

“Yes, yes, Gertrude. I am sorry we alarmed you last night. He was just being charming and . . . entertaining me – innocently,” Minerva added. “I think we understand each other quite well.” Minerva thought of Gertrude’s apology and decided that one of her own was called for. “And I am sorry for what I implied yesterday evening when we spoke after dinner. Quin has been a gentleman, and that’s all. I was just being . . . silly, I suppose.”

“Hhmmh.” Gertrude sipped her coffee. “I do not wish to interfere with your enjoyment of the next few days, Minerva, but I did not bring you here to have Quin dally with your affections. You may be a hearty soul, but we all have times in our lives when we are more vulnerable than we are at others. I was afraid that Quin, for all that he is basically a decent wizard, might take advantage of you. But if you are both enjoying yourselves and you ‘understand each other,’ I am glad of that.”

Minerva, quite taken aback by the thought that Gertrude considered her “vulnerable,” wasn’t quite sure what to say. 

“Would you care for something to eat now? I believe Quin will be joining us shortly. We can breakfast now with him, or we can wait and eat with the others later.”

“Now would be fine, Gertrude.” Remembering her conversation with Quin the night before, Minerva decided that she should clarify one more thing to Gertrude before he joined them. “I really do like Quin, Gertrude. And I think we will become good friends, but that is all; nonetheless, you may see us being, well, a bit closer than that. I just wanted to warn you that appearances may be deceiving. It just might be something of a . . . shield for both of us, if certain people think we are involved in some way.”

Gertrude looked over at her again. “If you think you know what you’re doing, Minerva . . . you and Quin are both quite old enough to make your own choices, I would say. As long as you and he understand one another.”

Minerva couldn’t help but laugh slightly at that. When Gertie looked at her quizzically, Minerva said, “It’s not as though you are particularly transparent, yourself, Gertrude, that’s all. I don’t know as I will ever understand you . . . I am not sure I even understand _your_ understanding of _me_! I suppose that’s something that separates Slytherins and Gryffindors.”

Not appearing perturbed by Minerva’s statement, Gertrude just gave a crooked grin. “I think you should understand me very well, Minerva. I have been quite straightforward with you – always have been. Known I had to be if you were to have any idea at all what I was telling you. But then, perhaps that is the difference between Gryffindors and Slytherins. Gryffindors can never recognise when a Slytherin is being straightforward.”

Minerva just raised an eyebrow at her breakfast companion, but remembered Albus’s note. He had said, once again, that he hoped that Minerva would come to know Gertrude better and that Gertrude had always thought highly of Minerva. She would _try_ to give her the benefit of the doubt, then. Just as Minerva was about to ask Gertrude about Valerianna’s rather obvious interest in her, however, a cheery voice came from the French doors behind her.

“Ah, me two favourite witches! Good-mornin’ to you both!”

“You’re late, Quin.”

“Most sorry, Gertrude. Fell asleep while puttin’ on me socks, I did.” Quin bent and gave Gertrude a kiss on the cheek. Minerva was somewhat surprised to see that Gertie tilted her face to him as though she expected one. “And me fair Gryffindor goddess! I’m still not convinced that you did not spring from beneath the standin’ stone, after all!” Quin took Minerva’s chin in his hand and gave her a light kiss on the lips before sitting down with them. “Did Gertrude explain to you that I told her last night that me intentions toward you are nothin’ but honourable and that I was merely tryin’ to amuse you?”

“She did. Apparently she thinks that you would take advantage of a poor, vulnerable witch such as myself. I think you are developing too much of a reputation as a rogue, Quin, if even those closest to you would believe such a thing of you!” Minerva teased.

“Ah, well, ’tis better than be thought to be losin’ me edge, to be sure!”

Minerva saw Gertrude’s lips twitch as though she were trying not to smile. “You shouldn’t make light, Quin. It’s not merely _your_ reputation at stake; it’s also Minerva’s. I did not invite her here in order to make her life more difficult.”

“It’s as you’re sayin’, Gertrude, and I do apologise. But Minerva’s a big girl, I’m sure she can take care of herself!”

“Hmmpf. Let’s just have breakfast and try to have some sensible conversation – if that is possible for you, Quin,” the older witch retorted mildly.

Gertrude called Shirfy, who served them breakfast. Minerva joined her hostess in eating crusty rolls and cheese; Quin ate eggs, sausage, fried bread, and grilled tomatoes. Toward the end of their congenial breakfast, a large owl swooped down and landed on the back of Minerva’s chair. She took the letter from it and offered the creature a bit of cheese and bread, but the bird ruffled its feathers and hooted. Quin laughed and offered the owl some of his sausage, which appeased it.

The letter was from Poppy. It was a bit earlier than Minerva had expected it, but Poppy was probably worried that after a full day of Gamp relatives, Minerva might need an excuse to leave.

“Rescue owl?” asked Gertrude.

“What?”

“Rescue owl – perhaps not. I thought you might have a friend send an owl in case you needed an excuse to leave without being completely impolite.”

Minerva began to blush, then remembered her Occlumency exercises and gathered herself. “I didn’t want to feel trapped, as long as we’re being blunt about it. Poppy offered to send me an owl, and I didn’t think it a bad idea. I am sorry if it was rude of me.”

Gertie barked a laugh. “No, not at all. But do not feel trapped, Minerva. I invited you here so that you might profit from your experience, not to trap you. You may leave at any time. I will make your excuses for you, if you wish.”

“I think I will stay until Thursday, as you suggested in your reply letter to me. I promised Quin I would accompany him to the party on Wednesday evening.”

Gertrude smiled slightly at that. “Good. I am glad. And perhaps we can spend some time together, as well, Minerva.”

“I’d like that, Gertie,” Minerva said, feeling well-disposed toward the witch after their satisfying breakfast.

Shortly afterward, Minerva excused herself, promising to see them both later that morning, and went to her room where she opened Poppy’s “rescue letter.”

_“Tuesday, 9 July_

_“Dear Minerva,_

_“I thought you might be needing this sooner rather than later. Write me back today if you’d like me to send another owl tomorrow. Besides, I’d love to hear some advance news on how you are enduring your holiday!_

_“I must run now – I told my sister I would look after the kids this morning, and it sounds like they’re tearing the house apart already._

_“Looking forward to hearing from you,_

_“Poppy”_

Minerva sat down with a quill and some parchment she found in the small desk in her bedroom and composed a quick note to Poppy, telling her that she did think she would stay until Thursday morning, but that she would welcome a letter from her, in any case. She mentioned Quin briefly, stating that he was the only one of Gertie’s relatives who seemed anything more than merely tolerable. Considering a bit first, Minerva then mentioned that she had also met Valerianna Yaxley and told Poppy that she thought Valerianna had to be one of the most disagreeable witches she had ever met. She added that Valerianna seemed to have taken an instant dislike to her, so that no doubt accounted in part for her own opinion of the witch. Preferring to leave her description of Valerianna vague, Minerva mentioned nothing of what Gertrude had told her, nor did she specifically mention any of Valerianna’s gibes from the night before. 

Minerva wondered if Poppy had known that Albus had been seeing the witch – the matron had been at Hogwarts at the time Albus was supposedly escorting her about. Of course, it wasn’t as though staff routinely discussed their personal lives with any but their friends, and Albus was particularly circumspect; nonetheless, in a small community such as that at Hogwarts, it was possible that Poppy had heard some gossip about it – although Minerva _did_ think that Poppy would have mentioned something had she known of it. The two witches had maintained a regular correspondence whilst Minerva was still living in London, after all. Poppy would probably have mentioned it in passing had she known, even if it were just a single line saying that she’d heard Albus was seeing some witch.

Minerva folded up her letter and sealed it with some blue wax she found in the desk, adding a sealing charm, as well. She pulled another piece of parchment from the drawer and began a letter to Albus.

_“Tuesday, 9 July_

_“Dear Albus,_

_“It was lovely to open your package last night and find your letter and the very thoughtful present. It had been a tiring day, and I was very glad of a cup of tea from home – from you, Albus. But the best part of the present was your letter. After such a long day, and after meeting so many ‘unusual’ people, I can scarcely express how welcome your letter truly was. Indeed, I was touched by your confession that you had already begun to miss me because, if I may make a confession of my own, as I stood there prepared to Portkey away, all I wanted to do was stay and spend the day with you. I hope you forgive my own sentimentality._

_“I must say, your estimation of Gertrude’s relatives – and my reaction to them – was quite accurate. There is, however, one bright ray of sunshine to be found – perhaps, if it does not sound conceited, I may quote your words and say that there may be one wizard here who is ‘wise enough to recognise my worth.’ I do not know if you are acquainted with Gertrude’s nephew-by-marriage, Quin MacAirt – actually Cormac MacAirt, but he quite sensibly goes by ‘Quin’ – although he seems acquainted with you, at least by reputation. He and his children seem very agreeable, and Gertrude has set him the task of making sure that I am not bored or overly bothered by any of her less congenial relatives, of whom, I am sorry to say, there is no lack! Nonetheless, I would prefer your company to any other, and I wish you were here. Since you are not, however, I must make do! I think you would like Quin, Albus, and I think the three of us would have a good time together watching the rest of the company and their machinations._

_“Last night, I thought how exhausting it must be for some of these people – one witch in particular – to continually find new ways to assault others with veiled insults. Of course, the insults are so thinly veiled, perhaps they do not actually put very much effort into it. They must be very bored, and boring, to be unable to find any other method of amusing themselves. But do not worry, Albus; I am doing fine, and I will not let myself be overly disturbed by them._

_“Gertrude and I had a very pleasant breakfast together this morning. Quin joined us for a while. He does enjoy tweaking her, but she seems to tolerate him quite well. I think he even made her smile once or twice, despite herself. Speaking of Quin, he handles these people amazingly well – it’s rather awe-inspiring to watch him turn tables on them. Alas, my own skills are quite poor in comparison! I do hope they never have to get better, however!_

_“I wish you were here, but as you are not, I will enjoy another comforting cup of tea later today, remembering that you gave it to me. Thank you again for the thoughtful gift!_

_“With my very warmest regards,_

_“Minerva”_

Minerva sealed the letter as she had Poppy’s, writing Albus’s name plainly on the outside of it. She would take a nap and then find Gertie to ask her if she might borrow an owl or two. Surely the Gamps had at least a couple owls, given the number of house-elves she had seen already.

Minerva stripped to her underwear, drew the curtains closed, and climbed into her freshly-made bed, thinking that a nap of an hour or two would help her prepare for the rigours of the day ahead.

An hour after lying down for her nap, Minerva woke, stretched and, with some reluctance, thought about the day ahead. It was still only ten o’clock. First order of business, she thought as she dressed, would be to find Gertrude and borrow an owl to post her letters. After that, she wasn’t sure what was expected of her, although Gertrude had said she would like to spend some time with her during in the next few days. Of course, there was Quin, too. Not to mention that, as much as she loathed the idea of having any conversation with the witch, she actually wouldn’t mind getting another look at Valerianna. She would probably regret it, but Minerva felt drawn to her, wanting to know what it was Valerianna had that Albus could have found attractive, and what kind of relationship they could have had. Minerva only had Gertrude’s word for it, after all, that she and Albus had anything other than a superficial social relationship. And, as Gertrude had mentioned, the witch _had_ been on the Hogwarts Board of Governors at the time in question. Perhaps the Yaxley woman had simply misconstrued Albus’s intentions. After all, she was a widow, and perhaps Albus had felt some responsibility toward her after her husband’s death. Gertrude could be exaggerating the extent of their relationships, perhaps based on Valerianna’s own misperceptions. Not to forget that the two of them were related. As much as Gertrude professed to dislike her relatives, she must feel some clan loyalty to them.

Although . . . had Gertrude ever said she disliked any of her relatives? No, Minerva didn’t think she had. Albus had said Gertrude thought that Minerva wouldn’t like them, which was a rather different thing. Quin had said that Gertrude had invited Minerva because she wasn’t like the Yaxley-Black-Flint crowd, and he certainly believed that another part of the reason was because Gertrude was a part of the “Dumbledore-can-do-no-wrong” camp. That may be true, but it certainly didn’t mean that Gertrude didn’t have other things in common with the rest of her family. Who knows? Maybe she _had_ thought that Yaxley and Albus should have got together, despite her stated opinion of Yaxley and her intentions toward Albus. Although, had Gertrude actually expressed disapproval of her intentions? No . . . not really. She had said that – what was it? – Valerianna hadn’t managed _to sink her claws_ into Albus before he had discovered she wasn’t the witch he had thought she was, but Gertrude never actually said anything negative about Valerianna. Where Minerva came from, “sinking one’s claws” into someone was not particularly high praise, but who knew how a Slytherin would view such a thing. Maybe Gertrude was only unhappy because Valerianna hadn’t succeeded, as a true Slytherin would have.

That thought made Minerva’s stomach drop. Perhaps Gertrude wasn’t unhappy with Albus’s rejection of Valerianna because of her _own_ Slytherin designs on him. That would accord with what Quin had said of Gertrude’s devotion to Albus. A devotion that Minerva herself had actually defended the day before. And Albus certainly seemed to value Gertrude highly. Even his letter yesterday had mentioned her. But of course it would; she _was_ there visiting Gertrude, after all. It would have been peculiar if he hadn’t mentioned her. But he had asked her to try to get to know Gertrude better. Why would he want Minerva to be friends with her? Because he felt close to Minerva and wanted to make sure that she felt comfortable around another witch to whom he was also close? But she wasn’t asked to get to know all of Albus’s friends. He never encouraged her to do any more than tolerate Professor Slughorn, and Minerva had the impression the two wizards knew each other quite well. Or Birnbaum, and _they_ were definitely good friends.

Minerva did not like the direction that her thoughts were going. She didn’t usually sit around and analyse everything and everyone around her. She knew what was causing this atypical obsessive introspection: those feelings for Albus which she shouldn’t even have. Minerva sighed and reminded herself that Albus was not in any way answerable to her, his private life was his own, she wanted his happiness above all else, and simply because she couldn’t have him didn’t mean that no other witch should want him. And if Albus wanted some other witch, even Gertrude – tears pricked her eyes at the thought – Minerva would have to be happy for him. As long as the other witch was good for him. And comparing Gertrude to Valerianna, there was no doubt which one Minerva would prefer to see him with. Although she knew that if Albus were to become even more attached to Gertrude than he already obviously was, it wouldn’t matter that he enjoyed Minerva’s company; not only would he not have the time to spend with her – which was little enough as it was – but it would be inappropriate for him to spend a lot of time with a young, single witch, even one with whom he had a long-standing mentoring relationship.

Now she had worked herself into a right state. She practically had Albus married off! Gertrude had never expressed any such interest in him. Everything that Minerva knew of their relationship could be as easily explained as a friendship as it could as . . . whatever else it might be that they might become. Or perhaps what they already were? 

Minerva snatched her letters from the desk, wanting to slap herself for having brought herself from merely wondering about Valerianna Yaxley to speculating that Gertrude and Albus were more than just friends. Time to get out of the room, time to post her letters, time to distract herself. 

Minerva fairly ran downstairs to find Gertrude, but instead discovered a gathering in a small parlour. Madam Columbine Gamp and her husband Gropius were there with a few other witches and wizards of their generation. Minerva was about to apologise and excuse herself when Madam Gamp invited her to come in; she introduced Minerva to the others as “Professor McGonagall, my daughter’s colleague.” Minerva recognised many of the others in the room. She nodded pleasantly at the assembled group and wondered how she could make a gracious exit. The family matriarch seemed determined to be hospitable, however, and had her take a seat between Arcturus Black and Hepzibah Rosier, who had been the two youngest in the room until Minerva entered. Arcturus was only in his fifties, but Hepzibah was closing in on eighty. Minerva felt quite the child that Valerianna had called her the night before. Odd that she never felt that way with Albus, and he was older than any of the witches or wizards gathered in the parlour.

Minerva politely nodded and smiled as she listened to everyone discussing people she didn’t know, or, if she knew them, about whom she cared little. Arcturus Black turned to her. “So, Professor McGonagall, is it?” Minerva nodded in response. “I don’t think I know any McGonagalls. Didn’t go to school with any.”

“I was at school with Orion and Lucretia, sir,” Minerva answered, thinking that she remembered he was their father. 

“Ah, yes. And your father?”

“He was at Hogwarts somewhat before you were, I believe. He took his NEWTs in eighteen eighty-eight, and my mother was about five years behind him.”

“Hmm, hmm,” said the doddering old fellow on the other side of Arcturus – Minerva thought he was another Rosier. “Seem to remember him. Runty fellow with a squint. Always fiddling with runes and such.”

Minerva could scarcely believe this frail-looking wizard had been at school with her father, who was still hale and energetic at the relatively young age of eighty-eight. “You were in my father’s class, sir?” Minerva thought she would be safe and stick with “sir” and “ma’am,” since she couldn’t be sure of all their names.

“He was a Ravenclaw prefect my first year there. My older brother was a Slytherin prefect, so I remember him better than I might. How is your father, dear?” the wizard wheezed.

“Fine. He has another book coming out in the autumn based on his research into ancient Persian and Indian incantation forms and their influence on the development of Arabic and European spells.”

“Hmm, hmm. Fascinating. Written many books has he?”

Minerva swallowed her retort and merely replied, “Approximately thirty.”

The witch seated next to the curious wizard cackled. “How very _dull_ for you, darling!”

“Now, Mother,” said Minerva’s questioner, “as Professor McGonagall is a teacher, I am sure she finds it anything but dull.” He said this in a tone that implied, however, that _he_ certainly did.

The witch picked up her son’s questioning. Minerva threw a glance in Columbine Gamp’s direction, but both she and her husband were talking with other guests. “So, did your father’s father go to Hogwarts, child?”

Minerva was truly getting sick of people whom she scarcely knew calling her “child,” “dear,” and “darling.” With the exception of Quin and his mother-in-law, Minerva didn’t think there was a single person she had met there who she believed actually had warm feelings toward her. Somewhat agitated, Minerva said, “I think the interest in the McGonagall name comes from its unfamiliarity in your circle. My father’s father was the son of a Muggle-born witch and a Muggle-born wizard, therefore there have been only a few generations of wizarding McGonagalls.” Minerva watched the expressions on the faces of those who were listening to the conversation – showing reactions ranging from stiff disdain to incredulity, and even what appeared to be pity from one witch, as though she believed that Minerva was too uncouth to understand what it was she was admitting to.

Minerva smiled pleasantly. “However, my Grandmother Siofre Tyree found my Grandfather McGonagall quite acceptable, and as all four of her grandchildren have gone on to productive wizarding careers, I don’t believe she’s seen any cause to regret her choice.”

“Oh, well then. Must have been a fine wizard,” mumbled one witch. 

“A Tyree? You’re a Tyree?” squeaked Arcturus Black.

“No, no. My mother is an Egidius. It’s my _grandmother_ who is a Tyree.” Minerva had the impression that two of the wizards had blanched at her repetition of the name “Tyree,” although it was difficult to tell, they were so pale as it was. “I do hope that you will excuse me, however.” Minerva rose. “As pleasant as this has been, I was off to post some letters. It has been most interesting.” 

She nodded at the others and headed toward the door, pausing a moment to thank Columbine Gamp for inviting her to join her and her friends. The oblivious witch smiled vacantly and told Minerva that she hoped to see more of her over the next few days. Reaching the relative safety of the hallway, Minerva let out a breath. Columbine Gamp didn’t seem terrible, just somewhat vacuous, and Gertrude’s father seemed equally inoffensive, but their friends alternated between being boring to being annoying in the extreme.

After wandering around the ground floor and finding only other guests, who paid her no attention as she peeked in at them, Minerva stepped out the front door and began to walk around the house. She couldn’t remember the route that Quin had used to go to the gardens the day before, and she didn’t want to walk through the conservatory where Druella, Orion, and a few other younger guests had gathered. Despite the early hour, it appeared they were drinking something stronger than the tea that the older crowd had been enjoying.

Minerva walked the long way around the house. As she approached the veranda, she was unhappy to see that Valerianna Yaxley and her barnacle were there with Gertrude, Pollux, and Irma. Gertrude was wearing her usual inscrutable expression, Irma was simpering, Pollux looked bored, and Valerianna looked like the cat who ate the canary – an expression she no doubt cultivated to make others nervous. Swallowing her own slight anxiety and remembering to calm her breathing and her heart rate, Minerva walked up the short flight of steps to the veranda.

As she came toward the table, Pollux stood politely; Francis half-stood, somewhat reluctantly, before Valerianna tugged his sleeve, reseating him with a quick jerk.

Just as Valerianna was about to open her mouth, no doubt in “friendly greeting,” Gertrude said, “Minerva, how lovely to see you. I was afraid you had forgotten our walk. Excuse us, please, but I did promise to take Minerva on a bit of a tour this morning.”

Gertrude hustled Minerva down the stairs and into the garden, leading her around to an area that Minerva guessed was not visible from the veranda.

“They were becoming insufferable. I was trying to think of an excuse to get away from them when you so conveniently came along. Since I presume you were not seeking their company, might I guess you were looking for me?”

“Yes, actually. I know what you mean about needing to get away. Your mother very kindly invited me to join her and her friends in the parlour. It was rather tedious until I just happened to mention my Grandmother Tyree. Whilst they were trying to determine how to respond to that, I managed to excuse myself.”

The corners of Gertrude’s mouth quirked briefly. “Hmm. Must remember that myself. That you’re a Tyree, I mean.”

“As I explained to them, my mother’s an Egidius; it is my father’s mother who is a Tyree, so I’m not a Tyree.”

“Near enough, Minerva, near enough. You’re of the clan! But I doubt you wanted to discuss blood-lines, or you would have remained in the parlour. What may I do for you?”

“I have a couple of letters. I was wondering whether there might be an owl or two I could borrow. One letter is going to Hogwarts, the other one is just going to Wales.”

“Mmm. Usually summon a house-elf to post my letters, myself, but we can walk around to the owlery. Feel free to use any of them. All the Gamp owls have a yellow band on one leg with ‘ _ducere_ ’ on it. Other owls not belonging to us occasionally rest there before heading back home is the only reason I mention it.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Minerva had never heard of anyone having so many owls that they banded them and had their own private owlery. “‘ _Ducere_ ’?” she asked.

“From the Gamp motto: _Ducere est Imperare_. Not that any Gamps have been called upon to live up to that motto for a few centuries.” Gertie seemed to think this was funny.

They reached a small outbuilding on the far side of the garden near a grove of trees. Gertie helped her choose two owls, a large Eagle Owl to carry her letter to Albus and a small but vigorous-looking Scops to bring her letter to Poppy. On Poppy’s letter, she had written, “Madam Poppy Pomfrey, care of Violet Bowen,” just in case the owl needed the additional information in order to find her. Minerva sometimes thought she should have continued with Care of Magical Creatures in her NEWTs years, but a witch could only do so much, and her Animagus training took much of her energy during her sixth year.

Gertie made no comment on the letters Minerva was sending, although she must have seen that one of them was to Albus. The two witches walked in silence back through the gardens, Gertie leading Minerva to an area that she and Quin had not explored the day before. 

“Would you like to sit a while? Lunch won’t be for another hour. Quin is off playing with the children in some other part of the garden, though, if you would prefer to find him,” Gertrude said.

“No, I think it would be nice to sit a while. After the long day I had yesterday, I’m not sure I’m up to playing with three MacAirt children,” Minerva replied, pleased when her remark elicited a smile from the older witch.

“Mmm. He is a bit of a child sometimes. But he is a shrewd businessman, from what I understand, and a powerful wizard, although he doesn’t always let that show.”

“I was rather impressed by his performance at lunch, though.”

“Oh, he was just playing there. Rather like Albus and his armchairs. Although he did enjoy annoying Francis.”

“He said that Frank – Francis – really did hate him, but he never had time to tell me why.”

“He didn’t find any time in between whispering sweet nothings and nibbling your ear?” Gertie asked with a smirk. “Francis has never been happy with the way that Quin has integrated himself so well into the Muggle business world. At one point, he had himself convinced that Quin must be violating numerous Muggle Secrecy laws and must also be using magic in some way in order to make his businesses a success. Francis launched an investigation, involved the Department for Magical Law Enforcement and the Minister’s office in it, and then the investigation turned up nothing – but only after Quin had led them on a merry chase through all of his Muggle and wizarding businesses. Francis was blamed for the waste of Ministry resources and is now stuck doing some kind of parchment-pushing in the Department of Mysteries.”

“Does he? Quin, I mean, not Francis. I don’t mean does he violate the Secrecy laws; does he use magic to get ahead in his Muggle businesses?”

“Possibly, but not in any way that would come to the attention of the Muggle authorities. He operates all of his Muggle investments and businesses according to Muggle laws and doesn’t use any Charmed objects or spells in order to increase productivity or to induce Muggles to do as he wants. From what I understand, he uses almost entirely Muggle methods in his Muggle business life.”

“‘ _Almost_ entirely’ is _not_ entirely, though, Gertrude,” Minerva replied somewhat sternly.

“I don’t peer over his shoulder, Minerva,” replied Gertrude somewhat sharply, “but I believe that he only uses various divination methods and perhaps a bit of . . . _personal charm_ to advance himself in the Muggle world.”

“Divination? Well, _that’s_ more likely to put him at a disadvantage, I’d say. And there’s nothing wrong with being charming, which he is. Unless you mean something different by it than I do.”

“It is magic, but it doesn’t have an exact cognate in the formal wizarding classifications we normally use when discussing magic. You’ll have to ask him about it – although you actually witnessed a mild example of it yesterday at lunch.”

“The water glass? But I could do those things – with a wand, anyway.”

“No. Perhaps you didn’t notice then.” Gertie thought a moment. “After Francis became so enraged and the entire table turned its attention on him, didn’t you notice how very innocent Quin seemed? Mild . . . perhaps a bit smaller?”

“Yes, actually, but . . . did he _really_ become smaller?”

“It’s hard to say. I’m not sure. You will have to ask him more about it. As an Arithmancer, I’ve always been more curious about his divination practices, so I haven’t asked. As a Transfiguration mistress, though, I can see how this ability might be of interest to you.”

“He told me he was rubbish at Transfiguration!” Minerva exclaimed indignantly.

“Oh, he is, quite. I am stellar at it compared to Quin – and I will confess to receiving only an ‘Acceptable’ in my Transfiguration NEWT. What he does is not a charm or a Transfiguration, as far as I know. As I said, you’ll have to ask him.” Gertrude seemed to be tiring of the discussion of Quin and turned it in a slightly different direction. “I was impressed that you stuck with Arithmancy through your seventh year, Minerva. I never had the impression you particularly enjoyed it, despite earning an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ on your NEWT.”

“I didn’t _dis_ like it, but you’re right, it wasn’t my favourite subject.”

“I can easily guess that Transfiguration held that position.”

“Of course. Otherwise, why would I have pursued an apprenticeship in it?” answered Minerva.

“Albus was very proud of you. Proud of the way you handled your first ‘apprenticeship,’ particularly. I think everyone on the staff heard about your Challenge performance at least twice – more if he had a willing audience.” Gertrude grinned. “I probably heard the story in its entirety at least a half dozen times – at least in bits and pieces.”

Minerva breathed calmly and tried not to blush. “I was glad to make him proud of me. He was my first Transfiguration teacher. I would not have wanted to have embarrassed him by not doing well.”

“He was tickled pink by your performance, so no need to worry on that score. And he clearly thinks enough of you to hire you to teach Transfiguration at Hogwarts.”

“As I said, I am glad I be able to perform well.”

“Mmm. There is more to living up to the job he handed you than just performing well, though, Minerva.”

Taken aback by Gertie’s use of the phrase “the job he handed you,” Minerva could only stare at the other teacher.

“ _Loyalty_ , Minerva. I believe you have it. And I hope you do. The Headmaster needs your loyalty, as well as your competence, although he would never come out and ask for it directly. I certainly believe that he _deserves_ your loyalty, though, and I believe you have the capacity for it.”

“Of _course_ he has my loyalty!” Minerva said indignantly. “Why would you even question that?”

“I do not question it, Minerva, I merely draw your attention to it. His staff is all more or less loyal to him, of course, and as Headmaster, he should expect at least some measure of loyalty from all of them. I believe that your own loyalty is even more important, though. Tell me, has he talked to you at all about your future at Hogwarts?”

“What do you mean?” Rather paranoid, Minerva wondered if Gertrude was thinking of cutting short her future at Hogwarts.

Gertrude sighed and rolled her shoulders. “Wilhelmina is leaving at the end of next term,” she said without further explanation.

“Oh. You mean Gryffindor House.”

“Yes, precisely. I am sure he would have informed me if you were going to become Head of House, so I presume that either you are not going to be, for whatever reason, or that either you or he has not yet come to a decision.” Gertrude waited.

Minerva said, “We discussed it. I said I would consider it, but I feel I am somewhat young for the position, and I don’t want to take it if Professor Pretnick would feel slighted if he were passed over.”

Gertrude snorted. “Who would or would not feel slighted should not be a genuine consideration in such decisions – although it unfortunately often is. My point, though, Minerva, is that if you become Head of House – Head of _Gryffindor_ – Albus will need your loyalty even more. And I have found that he is sometimes in need of protection. Even from himself at times. For all of his intelligence, power, and many, many talents, Albus Dumbledore needs to be protected by those who are loyal to him. I have occasionally had to shield him myself.”

It was Minerva’s turn to snort. “I do not see Albus as needing protection – and certainly not my protection! Look at the two of us, after all!” The comparison was absurd.

Gertrude turned to look at her and smiled. “I have done, Minerva. I believe you might do well as Head of Gryffindor. And I think that if you understand what Albus needs, even if he does not always understand it himself, you would do very well, indeed.”

Minerva would be the last person to disavow Albus or even to hint at being anything less than loyal to him. She _still_ didn’t like this conversation, though, and felt that Gertrude was being rather high-handed.

“I am rather insulted that you would question my loyalty to the Headmaster, Gertrude, even if only by implication. And if ever he needs any protection and I can provide it, I will.” Minerva suddenly recalled the incident in France in which he had needed more from her than just her loyalty, and she had given it more than willingly. She hadn’t precisely received his thanks for it when it was over – well, she _had_ received his thanks, but her subsequent overtures to offer him comfort had been neatly deflected. Minerva straightened her back. “I would offer him anything he might accept from me, if ever he needs anything I can give him.”

Gertie smiled slightly. “Good. You might remember to be a bit persistent, though, Minerva. It may occasionally be somewhat difficult to do so, since your relationship with Albus began developing when you were a student. You may have a few habits to break. You must simply remember that you are now more than just his student, and then call on that Gryffindor backbone of yours and tell Albus what he needs. Don’t back down.”

Minerva bristled slightly. Who was this Slytherin to be lecturing _her_ on how to be a Gryffindor? Never mind the fact that Minerva hadn’t been particularly persistent after the incident in France – but Albus had made it quite clear to her that her concern was neither needed nor wanted. Besides, she had been living in London at the time. Minerva responded stiffly, “I would not presume to tell the Headmaster what he needs, Gertrude.”

“Hmm. Perhaps you were right earlier,” Gertrude said. Minerva looked at her quizzically. “About Gryffindor House.” When Minerva still showed no sign of comprehension, Gertrude said patiently, “You said you might be too young for the position.”

Before Minerva could do anymore than open her mouth in complete indignation, Gertrude stood. “Time for lunch, Minerva. Gird your loins!”

Gertrude started back toward the house, not even looking back to see if Minerva was following.

* * *

 ** _Note:_** Ducere est Imperare _~ “To Lead is to Rule.”_


	45. A Quiet Afternoon at the Gamps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva offends Quin again, learns something surprising about Gertrude, and receives another letter from Poppy.
> 
> Characters this chapter:Minerva McGonagall, Quin MacAirt, Gertrude Gamp, Poppy Pomfrey, Walburga and Orion Black, and others.

**XLV: A Quiet Afternoon at the Gamp Estate**

Thank goodness for small favours, Minerva thought as she rose from lunch and took Quin’s elbow. She had again been seated at the far end of the table well away from Valerianna. She hadn’t even had to look at her during this meal, as they were both seated on the same side of the very long table. As more guests arrived, the table lengthened to accommodate them all. Again, no children were present, unless one included Quin. 

Minerva had noticed that most couples had been seated either across from one another or even apart from one another entirely. She assumed this was to encourage “mingling,” but she had been seated beside Quin again. Minerva wondered whether that was Gertie’s doing or Madam Gamp’s. She doubted very much that it was sheer happenstance that they had been seated beside one another for the last three formal meals. Of course, the others were established couples, and she and Quin had only just met. The engaged couple had arrived that morning and were seated on either side of Madam Gamp. Gropius was being entertained by an older couple who had been in the parlour that morning, and Flint and Valerianna were seated across from one another just next to them. Minerva was pleased to be as far from them as possible, but fortunately not so near Orion and Walburga, the celebrated couple, as to have to speak with _them_ , either. She was slightly disappointed to see that Ella was seated down at the end of the table near Gropius. She would have enjoyed speaking with Quin’s mother-in-law again. Instead, Minerva slogged her way through some rather dull conversation with a Rosier across from her, Druella’s older brother whom she knew from school, and with one of the prematurely-aged Blacks on her other side, and poked Quin every now and then so that he would rescue her from some particularly annoying conversation. When Rosier started going on about what a wonderful match Orion and Walburga made, Minerva had all she could do to maintain her attitude of cool detachment.

They were both dreadful, Walburga even more insufferable than Orion, and Minerva couldn’t help but wonder what problems their children would suffer from as a result of being born from that union. Minerva cringed as Walburga’s strident tones and cackling laugh cut through the murmured voices around her. She seemed happy enough, however, and Orion, who spoke little, seemed neither happy nor unhappy. Minerva thought he looked bored, actually. She doubted that this was a love match. Probably, as with Pollux and Irma, their marriage had been arranged very early in their lives. 

Gertrude’s Aunt Hesper, Orion’s grandmother, sat next to Francis Flint and spent the meal turned slightly away from him, speaking to the Blacks on her other side. She also seemed to drink rather copious amounts of wine. Hesper had been one of the witches talking with Columbine and Gropius in the parlour that morning. Minerva detected only a slight family resemblance between Hesper and Gropius, but she thought that Gertrude actually looked more like her aunt than she did her father, a bent-over wisp of a man who looked as though a strong breeze could carry him away. Hesper, in contrast, was slim but tall, with heavy bones, flat chest, broad shoulders, prominent cheek bones, and piercing grey eyes that maintained their sharpness despite the amount of wine she seemed to imbibe. Gertrude, fortunately, had inherited slightly more rounded features and more of a bosom from her mother’s side of the family, but it was clear that she had come by her height and her sturdiness honestly. 

Minerva thought that, aside from Gropius, the Gamps, whether a Gamp by blood or by marriage, were the healthiest looking pure-bloods in the room. The Blacks were definitely the most frail-looking, with the Yaxleys and Rosiers coming in somewhere in the middle. Quin, of course, was the very picture of both vitality and virility. Unfortunately, Minerva had to admit that her least favourite person in the room also looked fairly vigorous. Valerianna Yaxley née Crouch was definitely a very healthy witch in her sixties. Minerva could tell that, despite her plain looks, beneath her make-up charms, the witch still had a rosy glow to her cheek that required no Glamour or make-up charm to create. She also moved quickly and energetically, Minerva had noticed, and there was no doubt that the witch was sharp – nasty, but sharp.

“Would you like to . . . _mingle_ , or would you prefer a walk – or some time in the library?” Quin asked in her ear as they left the dining room.

“Library?” Minerva hadn’t seen a library.

His lips twitched. “A girl after me own heart, I see,” Quin said in response to her obvious interest. “It is even on the same floor as your bedroom, but in the other wing. Quite convenient.” 

“Convenient for _what_?” Minerva asked with faux frostiness.

“Why, nighttime reading when you can’t sleep, of course!” He grinned as he led her up the stairs to the Gamp library. “I think you will enjoy this – Gertie’s parents may not be academically inclined, but her grandfather was quite a famed Arithmancer in his day. He also was almost as talented as your father when it came to Ancient Runes and linguistics in general, he was.”

“You know my father?” Minerva asked, puzzled.

“Not personally acquainted, obviously, or to be sure, I would have been after an introduction to _la grande dame de la Metamorphosis_ a long time ago,” he said with a wink. “I _am_ familiar with his books, however. He has a fluid and unconventional mind. I possess around eighteen of his books, although I confess I have not read all of them – most of them, though!” he said in response to Minerva’s look. “I am not one to buy books simply to decorate me shelves. It is simply a matter of time – havin’ enough of it.”

The two spent a congenial afternoon in the library; when the afternoon sun became too warm, Quin drew the draperies closed and floated small, cool balls of light overhead so that they could read with ease. Minerva thought to ask him about the “personal charm” that Gertie had spoken of, but became so engrossed in her book that any thought of asking him anything flew from her mind. 

At about three o’clock, a loud thunking came from one of the windows. Quin got up and drew back a curtain, then opened the window to let in an owl, which immediately flew over and landed on the back of Minerva’s chair. 

Minerva reached up to take the letter from the bird, and it ruffled its feathers and shifted as she did so. “I’m sorry, poor thing. I haven’t any treats for you today.”

“I believe there are some in the Gamp owlery, if I can remember where . . . .” Quin looked off into the distance for a moment.

“I don’t particularly want to bring the bird down there – perhaps she will find her way there on her own.”

“He, not she,” said Quin, “and there’s no need to go down there. Just draw up a few.” He reached out toward the owl, closed his fist, and when he opened it, there were several owl treats in his palm.

“Muggle ‘magic tricks.’” Minerva snorted, rolling her eyes. “Really, Quin. I am not that gullible.”

“Ah, well. I must remember the lady isn’t gullible, Mr Owl,” he said, addressing the bird that was now perched on his outstretched arm. He grinned at her. “I can’t do it with large things, o’ course, but with bits o’ treats like these, or with water, which flows, if I know where it is, and if I am familiar enough with the source, I can pull it to where I want it. Rather like what you do when you Apparate, but the other way around . . . and, o’ course, you aren’t doin’ the moving.”

Minerva considered that for a moment, and its implications, if true. “You could be quite the thief, then. There are a great many valuable things, particularly in the Muggle world, that are very small. . . . That isn’t how you’ve made your money, is it?” asked Minerva bluntly, remembering her conversation with Gertie that morning about Flint’s suspicions.

“It’s talkin’ with Frankie Flint, you’ve been, then? And here I was thinkin’ you had better taste than that.”

“No, I haven’t been, and I don’t suppose it’s any of my business, except in a general sort of way, but I would like to know.”

Quin sighed and looked at her appraisingly before bringing the owl to the window and letting it fly away. He watched it fade into the distance before closing the window and drawing the curtain again. 

He came back and stood in front of her. “So, ’tis either cheap Muggle tricks I am doin’, or ’tis proof o’ thievery.”

“I didn’t mean to accuse you – ”

“You weren’t? Just as you didn’t accuse me of bein’ a negligent father allowin’ his son to be destroyin’ his magical core? Burnin’ his self out, I believe you said.”

“I didn’t mean – ”

“’Tisn’t entirely your fault,” Quin said with a sigh. “’Tis also the world you come from. And it’s me own fault as well, for bein’ so free with you.” He sat. “Better to have let you believe I was just pullin’em from me pocket, or whatever you would assume o’ any other wizard who gave a bird treats. I ought to know better by now.”

Minerva sat, her letter unlooked at. She watched Quin pick up his book and resume reading.

“I just wanted to know, Quin, because I’d like us to be friends.”

Quin didn’t look up from the oversized book he was reading. “An’ you want to be sure ’tis no thief you have for a friend.”

“Not exactly. I’m . . . curious. I always have been.”

He put his book in his lap and gazed at Minerva. “No, I do not steal, neither to make me livin’ nor to make me livelihood easier, not from Muggles and not from wizards.” He looked at her for a moment more, then picked up his book again. 

“I didn’t mean it to sound as it came out, Quin. Honestly,” Minerva said. 

“I know that I am not always the model of decorum and good manners, particularly around this lot, but I do not believe that askin’ someone if he makes his livin’ by stealin’ from Muggles is exactly the height of courtesy, Professor McGonagall. At least where I am from. But then, I didn’t have the advantages of bein’ raised on this blessed isle, an’ bein’ as I’m unschooled, I probably have missed a lesson or two in polite conversation,” he said from behind his book.

“All right, be that way. I may not have phrased it felicitously, and maybe I was even wrong to think such a thing, but it was an honest question, Quin. More honest than most you’d receive under this house. I am . . . I am sorry. I did not intend to offend you, and you do have every right to be offended. I would have been.” Minerva waited, hoping that Quin was receptive to her apology. Aside from the fact that she had hoped she had found a new friend, the next couple of days would be very long, indeed, if she no longer had his company.

“Well,” said Quin, putting his book aside on the table next to him, “perhaps that wasn’t the prettiest apology I’ve ever heard, but ’twas sincere, I’d like to believe, anyway. . . . An’ what are a few infelicitous words between friends, eh?” He quirked a grin and gave a half-shrug. “I’m sure I’ve said worse t’ me friends. And forgiven worse from’em.”

Minerva let out a relieved sigh. She hadn’t realised until that moment how much she had liked Quin. She really did feel as though she’d known him forever, in a way, although he continually startled her.

“All right, and can I ask that you be understanding in the future when you startle me like that? I’m bound to be . . . offensively honest again, I’m sure,” she said with a smile.

“Mmm. You remind me of Gertie. Prettier, of course, and more fun.”

“I never! I do not! I am nothing like her!” Minerva sat up straight, indignant and put out by him comparing her to the Slytherin witch.

“Oh, it’s just that I have to forgive Gertrude at least once every visit for some blunt remark or another that would mortally wound a more sensitive soul than I,” he said with a grin, quite amused by Minerva’s outrage. “O’ course, she’s usually not askin’ for me forgiveness in so many words, not as you did. But I recognise her apologies now.”

Minerva was quite uninterested in what Gertie’s apologies might look like. “Well, you’ll just have to get to know me better, then, and you’ll see how much we differ.”

“I already said you were prettier and more fun! Isn’t that what every witch would like to hear?”

Minerva rolled her eyes. “I swear, Quin, you can be so irritating! I don’t know why I wanted to apologise!”

“’Tis me charm and me breedin’, naturally,” he replied with an impish smile. “Speakin’ of breedin’, by the way, what did you think of the happy couple?”

“Oh, just . . . awful. Especially her. I knew her slightly from school, and she’s even worse than I remember. Orion seemed bored.”

“He probably was. I think he wishes he weren’t a Black, but he’d never say that. He may not even admit it to himself. But he is rather hemmed in by his family. Limited choices in life. He even apparently had an inappropriate liaison with someone unacceptable, but the family forgave him – let him sow his wild oats, so to speak – but in the end, he’ll marry that witch. She’s a shrew in the making, isn’t she?”

“Shrew – perfect word for her. And given how Orion just sat there, he’ll probably let her have her way in the little things, then go out and have a bit on the side, as they say.”

“Mm. I doubt meself that he ever really stopped seein’ the ‘inappropriate’ witch.”

“Was she Muggle-born?”

“I don’t think so; ’twould’a been too much, even for a rebellious son, if he still wants his inheritance – I think it was her mother or father who was, I don’t pay that much attention to such gossip . . . only enough to use it later, if I have to.”

“You sound Slytherin.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Minerva.”

“Well . . . most of the people here are Slytherins. You can’t say they exemplify many of the virtues I would hope you want to instill in your children.”

“Not them, but Gertrude is Slytherin, and I wouldn’t mind if Alroy and Aine took a few lessons from her.”

Minerva raised an eyebrow, but said nothing against her hostess.

“You know, I was teasin’ you about just bein’ acquaintances an’ all, but you really don’t know her at all, do you?”

“I have known her since I was a third-year. I took Arithmancy from her for five years. I have taught with her for about six months. During those six months, we rarely spoke, and when we did, it concerned the school. Her invitation came as a surprise.”

“To hear her talk, though, she seems to know you fairly well,” Quin said, puzzled.

“Yes, well, she is friends with Professor Dumbledore. He has been . . . something of a mentor to me. A friend, in fact. Gertrude no doubt has a better sense of who I am simply from speaking with him – and, as you said of the gossip about Orion, she probably listened to what Albus had to say about me in order to use it later on if she needed to.”

“Hmm, that sounds rather cold.”

“It is Slytherin,” Minerva responded succinctly.

“Well, I’ve known Gertie since I first met me Aileen, and I can tell you that she is not merely . . . manipulative, as you make ‘Slytherin’ sound. No more than I am, and perhaps less so.”

Minerva raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I ought to reconsider _our_ acquaintance then,” she said, only partially in jest. “And what are these other qualities that you believe she possesses?”

“Loyalty, for one.”

Minerva gave a short laugh. “I have heard her described that way before, actually.”

“You have; well, ’tis true. And if she’d made a different choice at eleven, we’d not be havin’ this conversation at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“We may have had another sorta conversation, about how she wasn’t only loyal, but was also pragmatic and wily.”

“I still don’t follow . . . .”

“Well, I didn’t go to Hogwarts, as you know, but as most of me friends have, I do know something of the Houses. Isn’t one of the traits of Hufflepuff supposed to be loyalty?” Quin asked.

Minerva knit her brow. “Yes, but – ”

“Young Gertie very nearly was sorted into Hufflepuff, but the prospect distressed her so, that hat-thing put her in Slytherin, instead, where her family usually is put.”

Minerva looked at Quin in astonishment. “ _No!_ I don’t believe it! _Hufflepuff?_!”

“It’s doubtin’ me word again, is it?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. I mean, I can’t believe it. _Hufflepuff?_ Half of them are Muggle-born, and half of those who aren’t are mixed blood. And they certainly aren’t known for their . . . ambition and cunning!”

Quin shrugged. “Always seemed like a daft thing to me, these Houses. But none o’ me business. Just seems that most people are a mix o’ this an’ that, an’ doesn’t strike me as particularly healthy to divide kids up like that so young. ’Tis one o’ me reservations about sendin’ me own kids there. But Aileen went, and she turned out just fine.”

“What was she?” Minerva asked.

“You mean what House? So you want to be judgin’ me late wife, one o’ the finest witches to ever grace this earth?”

“No, it’s just, if she was a Gamp . . . I was wondering if she were in Slytherin, too. It would be another surprise, that’s all.”

“Why? Bah . . . no point in arguin’ about such nonsense. She was Ravenclaw. Seems the best o’ the Houses, to me, an’ no offense to Gryffindor.”

“None taken.” Hmm. _Hufflepuff?_

“I should be off to check on me kids. You’re invited, if you’d like to come. Alroy seemed to take a shine to you. He said you talked to him like a real person, not like he was ‘half daft,’” Quin said with a grin.

“I should hope so. But, no, I don’t think I will this afternoon, Quin. I think I’ll read my letter and perhaps take a nap before dinner.”

“May I escort you to dinner? I will be properly attired and attempt to behave meself,” he said with a twinkle, reminding her of the previous evening.

Minerva smiled. “Yes, I’d like that. If you don’t see me downstairs at the first gong, feel free to come fetch me.”

Minerva went back to her bedroom and took pleasure in fixing herself a cup of peppermint tea from Albus’s little care package, then curled up in one of the armchairs with it and her letter. Minerva had been surprised to see that Poppy was writing to her so soon after having sent her first “rescue owl” – she hadn’t anticipated another one until the next morning. She held her tea mug in one hand and unfolded the letter to read what Poppy had to say that couldn’t wait until the next day.

_“9 July  
“Dear Minerva,_

_“Whatever you do while you are there, avoid Valerianna Yaxley like scrofungulus! She is a nasty piece of work. I am not surprised that you say she took an instant dislike to you, but do not pay any attention to anything she says! She’s likely to say some very ugly things to you, given half the chance. Do not give her that chance, do not listen to her, and, most especially, do not respond to any of her provocations – she will try to provoke you, Minerva, please just take my word for it._

_“I wish I had known that witch was going to be there, or I would have warned you in advance. I didn’t think that the Gamps would have her around, but perhaps they couldn’t avoid it. Stick with Gertie and that Quin fellow. Gertie has mentioned him to me before, and he sounds decent, if a bit peculiar. Don’t go near Valerianna, particularly not alone, but if you must be in the same room with her, at dinner or such, just smile and act like she’s speaking Greek (you don’t speak Greek, do you?). Anyway, just act as though she’s saying nothing at all, or it’s complete gibberish. It will be!_

_“I hope this week isn’t a complete disaster for you. Well, they say that what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger – so just think of this as an exercise, or something. I hope that Gertie has the sense to keep you two apart._

_“I will send you another letter in the morning, in case you want to leave. If you’d like, you can come visit me at Violet’s. I will be here at least until Sunday._

_“Take care of yourself, and if you decide to stay, please write me tonight and let me know you are surviving. I am sure you are. But I am nervous anyway._

_“Poppy.”_


	46. More Relatives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After responding to Poppy's letter, Minerva meets a surprising relative of Gertie's and has another chat with Quin.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey, Quin MacAirt, Gertrude Gamp, Robert Crouch, Ella Longbottom Gamp, Valerianna Yaxley, and Francis Flint.

**XLVI: More Relatives**

Minerva reread Poppy’s letter and decided that she should write back immediately in order to reassure her friend. It must be that Poppy _had_ known something about That Person and Albus, after all, and, for whatever reason, had not ever mentioned it to her. On the other hand, it could simply be that Poppy had some other reason for mistrusting and disliking the witch, but Minerva could hardly think what would call for such vociferous and vehement warnings. Indeed, the mere fact that Albus had been seeing the witch and had broken it off was probably insufficient to have called forth such a response, no matter how unpleasant the witch was. Minerva was very curious now as to what could have provoked Poppy to warn her so strongly. Really! Never be alone with her? What would she do? Hex her? 

Minerva put aside her idea of a nap for the moment and pulled out a piece of parchment.

_“Tuesday, 9 July  
“The Gamp Estate_

_“Dear Poppy,_

_“Please do not concern yourself about that witch. I am fine. She is obnoxious, to be sure, but I can handle her. I will do my best not to let her provoke me, as you recommend, but the woman is provocative. All she has to do is enter the room and her mere presence raises my hackles._

_“Gertrude had already warned me about her before I first laid eyes on her. She told me a few things about her and said it was likely that she would be unpleasant. Forewarned is forearmed, they say, and it was fortunate that she gave me the warning, as the witch in question made various vague insinuations and thinly veiled insults from the very moment I met her. I have tried not to stoop to her level, however._

_“I am interested to hear exactly what prompted your warnings, Poppy. I do not remember you ever mentioning this witch before. I wonder if it is merely her general reputation that concerns you or something more specific, and if it is something specific, whether it accords with what Gertrude told me of her. And, at that, why you believe it has anything to do with me and to such an extent that you feel you must warn me not even to be alone with her! That is an extreme recommendation, you must admit._

_“I have spent more time with Gertrude, as you seemed to suggest I should in you most recent letter. I find myself alternating between warming to the witch and feeling offended and annoyed by her. I have since learned something about her which has intrigued me, however, and I have decided to treat her as I would a problem in Transfiguration and try not to view each of her remarks as though it has a hidden meaning intended for me. Instead, I am going to try to figure her out, just Gertrude Gamp, and take myself out of the picture – if I can – she really can be most irritating, Poppy!_

_“It is interesting that you also mention Quin in your letter. He and I have spent a good deal of time together, in part out of our mutual distaste for the rest of the company (which makes me wonder why we are here at all!), but also, I think, out of genuine mutual regard. He is odd, as you say, and very different from most wizards of my acquaintance, but amusing and charming, nonetheless, and I have grown somewhat fond of him and feel almost as though we are old friends, despite knowing so little about him and understanding him even less._

_“I plan to stay through the party on Wednesday evening. They call it an engagement party, but it’s really more like a ball. I am very glad I went to my parents’ house Sunday and found some appropriate robes. I think they all find me quite outlandish as it is – or they would, except that Quin is even more strange to them than I am! Anyway, Quin and I will be attending the party together – as allies, Poppy! Don’t go getting any ideas in your head! – and it will certainly be interesting. Do you remember Orion and Walburga from school? They’re both Blacks. They are the lovely couple. You can just imagine how utterly thrilled I am to help them celebrate their impending nuptials!_

_“Don’t worry about me, Poppy. I am sure I will survive. I have been through worse, I am certain! I do look forward to returning home to Hogwarts on Thursday morning, though. I have given only a little thought to your invitation, but it would be nice to see you soon. Are you still planning to visit your grandmother after your visit at Violet’s, or will you be returning to Hogwarts on Sunday?_

_“Thank you for writing! I am sure we will have a lot to talk about when we see each other._

_“Warmly,_

_“Minerva”_

Minerva read it over quickly. Somehow, writing it _did_ make her feel as though everything would be fine and that she was equal to anything this lot could throw at her. She’d post it immediately, glad that the Gamps had their own private owlery. She should still have time for a nap before dinner.

As she walked across the grounds on her way to the owlery, Minerva heard raised voices. One of them was Valerianna’s. Minerva stepped closer, then, curious, stopped to listen.

“ – don’t know why she invited that chit here. She doesn’t belong. It’s not as though she is even a friend of Walburga and Orion’s, after all. She’s just a stuck-up little bint, scarcely better than a Mudblood!”

Minerva could hear a voice trying to soothe her, but couldn’t make out the words.

“Don’t you give me that! She _must_ know. _He_ must have told her. Or someone did. She understood too much. She must have finagled that invitation, that’s the only explanation. She wriggled her way into Gertie’s good graces somehow and came here just to show me up. Well, she _won’t_. She doesn’t know who she’s dealing with, the little no-account bitch. _We’ll_ give her a tale to bring back to her master – you _will_ co-operate, Francis, won’t you?” she wheedled. “I know how much you want to please me, darling, and this _will_ please me. I _know_ you wanted to wait, but we can’t. Not now.”

Another almost inaudible response from Flint seemed to please the witch.

“Oh, you _are_ such a darling, Francis! I _knew_ you’d come around. Thank you! I’m sure you’ll be happier now, too.” Valerianna’s voice faded as the couple apparently began to walk away.

Hmmpf. So Valerianna thought she’d come there just to do something to her? That witch had a serious problem if she believed that Minerva would do _anything_ on her account. Egomania, Minerva thought it was called. Minerva wondered what it was that Francis had agreed to do for her. She hoped it wasn’t anything nasty, although considering the two of them, it very likely was. And then that bit about her “master”? Minerva was sure that the woman had been speaking of her, so the only person to whom she could be referring would be Albus. She certainly had a peculiar notion of their relationship. “Master,” indeed! And since Albus had never mentioned Valerianna, it seemed doubtful that he had any interest at all in the doings of the witch, especially not three years later. No, Albus had probably dismissed her from his mind just as he had dismissed her from his life. He certainly wouldn’t care what news Minerva brought back about her.

Minerva posted her letter. Walking back through the gardens, she found Quin, Ella, and Gertrude, who were watching Aine and Alroy play some incomprehensible game. Minerva greeted them warmly, thankful she hadn’t run into Valeriana and her barnacle. She also wanted to talk to Gertrude and mention Poppy’s letter to her. Gertrude would surely know whether Poppy was warning her for the same reasons that Gertrude had. Unfortunately, with Ella and Quin both there, Minerva couldn’t think of a discreet way to broach the subject. She would have to get Gertrude alone later, she decided. Minerva took a seat on the bench next to Quin; Gertrude and Ella sat in the garden chairs next to each other on Minerva’s other side.

Minerva couldn’t figure out what it was the children were doing, but they seemed to be having fun.

“How many other children are here this week, Gertrude?” Minerva asked.

“A few. Bella, of course, whom you met, is six. Barty Crouch should be arriving this evening with his parents; you must remember him from school – a second-year Ravenclaw. The others are toddlers – Bella’s two younger sisters and the little Malfoy boy, who arrived with his mother this afternoon.”

“Where are they? You’d think they would all be out enjoying the lovely afternoon.”

“I am sure I don’t know, although the three toddlers may be down for a nap. Bella, it seems, finds the company of Aine and Alroy quite dull,” Gertrude answered.

Minerva barked a laugh at that. “She’s what? Six? I would think at that age, she’d be thrilled to hang about with older children. Or won’t they have her?”

“She has picked up the Black family nose, I am afraid, and has decided that the MacAirt name has rendered me offspring little more than jumped-up half-bloods, she has,” Quin said.

“Not that I particularly care, Quin, but it seems that you are not Muggle-born, and your wife surely wasn’t, so I don’t see where that would come from,” Minerva said.

“Ah, the MacAirts have never been particular about blood; families such as the Blacks assume there’s so much ‘impurity’ floating about me family tree, I might as well be half-blood meself.” Quin grinned. “O’ course, the MacAirts live long, productive lives, unlike the Blacks – every time I see’em, they look more sickly. The Malfoys ain’t much better. Look at Abraxas – younger than me an’ cold in the ground already.”

“Well, it _was_ dragonpox, dear,” Ella admonished gently. “That could strike any of us.”

“Me granddad had dragonpox when he was eighty, and he pulled through just fine,” Quin said, stretching his long legs out in front of him and lacing his fingers behind his neck. “They inbreed. Just keep weakenin’ the line . . . o’ course, it means the inheritance gets passed on quicker.” He grinned.

“Hush, Quin! Talk like that is as bad as theirs,” Gertie chided. 

“Hmm. But I do think it amusin’ that, for all their talk, they end up more like Muggles than the rest of us,” Quin responded. Seeing Gertie’s reproving look, he changed the subject. “Speakin’ o’ family, Gertrude, when is Robert arriving? Or did he decide not to come this year?”

“He should be arriving this afternoon. He told me he’d be here for dinner.”

“Robert?” asked Minerva.

“My son,” answered Gertrude.

Minerva just blinked. She hadn’t yet completely comprehended that Gertrude had once been married. The thought that she may have had children had never entered Minerva’s head. Gertrude was certainly one of the least maternal witches she knew.

“He is only coming for a day or so,” Gertrude continued. “Thea, his wife, is pregnant and can’t travel. She’s miscarried four times in the past, and he doesn’t want to leave her for long, understandably.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Um, I don’t wish to be forward, but my mother, as you may know, is a midwife. She claims to be retired, but she still sees patients. I don’t know if your son and his wife would like another opinion, but I know she’s dealt with similar cases . . . .”

Gertie looked at Minerva and smiled. “Thank you, Minerva. I shall mention that to Robert. I am not certain whether your mother would want to travel so far, though. They live in Amsterdam.”

Minerva grinned. “I’m sure that would be an added attraction. She might even drag my father with her.”

Gertie winked at her. “And he’d be wise to go, too – no knowing _what_ a witch can get up to in Amsterdam, after all!”

Minerva laughed at the thought of her mother carousing in Amsterdam. “I think she would be happy to take a look at your son’s wife, though, Gertrude. She has decades of experience with such things, and she also keeps up with all the latest developments. I am sure that your daughter-in-law has seen the best healers in Amsterdam, but as I said, if she’d like, I am sure my mother would be happy to look in on her, make some recommendations.”

Gertrude reached out and patted Minerva’s hand, and Minerva could have sworn she saw a tear in her eye. “Thank you. It has been a terrible grief to them both. And to me,” she added softly. She took a deep breath and turned back to Ella. “Have you heard from Granville lately?”

“No, no. Last I heard from him, he was leaving India for Nepal. That was a month ago. If you see a vulture winging its way across the grounds, it’s likely from him!” She chuckled. Ella turned to Minerva. “Granville is my somewhat unconventional brother. He finds the strictures of the Western wizarding world too confining, so he spends most of his time travelling, rarely staying any one place more than a few months at a time.”

“We all thought Granville had finally settled down when he spent more than a year in Hawaii a few years back, but then he apparently discovered that Hawaiian witches think that courtship should lead to marriage, just as their British counterparts do, and so he, um, moved on,” Quin said with a chuckle as he put an arm around Minerva’s shoulders.

Minerva smiled. “And what of your own family, Quin? Do you have brothers? You mentioned a sister.”

“I have four lovely sisters, I do. Three older, one younger.”

“Ah! That explains it!” Minerva grinned.

“What is that?” he asked.

Gertie quirked a half smile. “I think that Minerva may be speaking of your general manner around ladies, Quin.”

“Hmmph! I’ll have to tell me sisters, then, that they’re the reason I turned out to be the rogue I am!” He winked. “An’ then I’ll be thankin’em for it!” 

Minerva elbowed Quin lightly in the ribs, but laughed along with the other women. As they were kidding Quin about his habit of charming the ladies, Gertrude suddenly sprang from her seat.

“Robbie!” 

Minerva looked over to see a tall, young, traditionally-dressed wizard with reddish-brown hair striding toward them, his forest-green robes flapping about his long legs. She assumed it was Gertrude’s son. He had the witch’s widely-spaced grey eyes, high cheekbones, and sturdy build. Quin stood and smiled at the approaching wizard.

Robert Crouch, as Minerva supposed he must be, bent his head to kiss his mother lightly on the cheek as she grasped his arms in a half-embrace. He smiled slightly at her. “Hello, Mother. Krantzy told me I would find you here,” he said softly.

“I’m glad you could come, Robbie. How is Thea?”

“She’s well. Resting, which she hates, of course, but she’s well.” Minerva thought she could detect a slight, indefinable accent to his speech.

“I’d like you to meet one of my colleagues,” Gertrude said, turning toward Minerva. “This is Minerva McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher. Minerva, I would like you to meet my son, Robert.” 

Minerva held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Robert smiled and took her hand. “It is good to finally meet you, Minerva. I have heard so much about you for so many years, I feel as though I know you. You must forgive me if I am too familiar,” he said quietly but warmly, his grey eyes smiling down at her.

Minerva returned his smile, unsure what to say to that. He had heard about her for years? How very . . . curious.

“Ah, but she’s been used to me company now, Robbie. You’ll be a proper gentleman in comparison!” Quin said, shaking the younger wizard’s hand and clapping his shoulder. “You do look well, but a mite pale. We’ll have to get you out for a clamber later!”

Robert smiled and nodded, greeted Ella, who was smiling genially from her chair, then he turned back to his mother. “Is Uncle Albus here yet?”

“He’s not coming this year, Robbie,” his mother replied softly.

 _Uncle Albus?_ Minerva looked at Gertrude and her son. He couldn’t mean that literally. Could he? No, Gertrude’s husband had been a Crouch. A great-uncle, perhaps? But that seemed unlikely. 

Robert frowned slightly. “Oh. That is a disappointment. It has been so long – he was not here last year, either.”

“He is busy with the school, you know that. Come, now, take a walk with your old mother!” Gertie took her son’s arm, and the two excused themselves and set off down the path toward the hedge maze.

Quin sat down again, this time in the chair vacated by Gertrude. Ella excused herself, saying she thought she’d take a nap before dressing for dinner.

Minerva glanced at Quin, who was stretched out, eyes closed. The children had run off to another part of the garden some time before. “Quin?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you know Robert well?”

“Fairly. Not as well as I know Gertrude. He doesn’t get to England often. I visit him when I’m anywhere near Amsterdam. He only lived here for a couple of years after his father died. When he came of age, he joined the fight against Grindelwald, much to his mother’s distress, and he met Thea and her family at that time. They married as soon as Grindelwald was defeated, and he settled in Amsterdam with his wife.”

“Why was Gertie distressed when he joined up to fight against Grindelwald?” asked Minerva suspiciously.

Quin opened one eye and looked at her before closing it again. “Do you really need to ask, Minerva? You may not be a mother, but . . . .”

“Oh. Of course.” Minerva was still uneasy. “But surely she would want her son to do what he could to bring down the wizard who killed his father?”

“Who killed his father, and then, a few years later, killed her brother,” Quin answered. “He is her only child, Minerva. And she already almost lost him once to that madman, she did.”

“You always say things that just raise more questions than I started with, Quin! What do you mean ‘she already almost lost him once’?”

“Robert was almost sixteen when his father was killed. He and a few of his friends thought it might be a good idea to exact revenge,” Quin responded, shaking his head at their foolishness. “They took off from home, scarin’ their parents half to death, but they actually managed to track down one of Grindelwald’s top men and were in the process of trying to discover their headquarters – as if a bunch of teenagers could have detected it, let alone penetrated its wards! – when they were very nearly caught. Albus swooped in just as they were comin’ under attack – what they had thought was a very clever ambush had actually been a trap for _them_. Albus was able to rescue all four o’ the muttonheads. O’ course, he couldn’t rescue them from the ire of their parents, but it was a daft, dangerous thing to be after doin’. They all would surely have been captured or killed. Even at that time, Grindelwald was not known for his hospitality toward his enemies, and it is doubtful that he would have cared that they were all fifteen and sixteen years old.”

“Oh. I see now. When was this?”

“Umm, ’35, I think, or ’36. It was a couple o’ years before Gertrude started teachin’ at Hogwarts. I didn’t meet Aileen yet, so I didn’t know them. They were livin’ in Germany since before Robert was born. Gertrude moved back here and kept Robert on a short leash until he returned for his last year of school.”

“He didn’t go to Hogwarts, then.”

“He didn’t; he went t’ Durmstrang. She had him safely home during the holidays where she could keep an eye on him.”

“Is that why Robert calls him ‘Uncle Albus’?” Minerva asked.

“Rather doubt it. O’ course, it may be why he continues to, even as an adult.”

“I was confused for a moment – it crossed my mind that he might really be Robert’s uncle.”

“As far as I know, Dumbledore is not closely related to either the Crouches or the Gamps, although it’s possible, I suppose. I think Dumbledore’s mother was a Muggle-born, though – leastwise, that’s what I remember – so if he is related to them, it’d have to be through his father, and I’ve never heard the Crouches braggin’ that they’re related to the Dumbledores, sure an’ they would be if ’twere true.”

Minerva sat and digested this. She hadn’t heard anything about Albus’s parents. But of course, there were likely few alive now who had known them, and those few were likely quite old themselves, now. But Minerva didn’t care about Albus’s parents. She _did_ wonder about Albus and his relationship with Gertrude and her son. But if Robert lived in Amsterdam, it was likely they rarely saw one another. Minerva felt that any further speculation on her part would appear to Quin to be both rude and peculiar, so she changed the subject.

“Speaking of relations, Quin, I was wondering if you are related to Hafrena MacAirt, the Divination teacher at Hogwarts.”

“Mmm.” Quin had closed his eyes again. “She’s me cousin. Me father’s first cousin, t’be precise.”

“Huh. So she’s related to Carson?”

“Mmmhm.”

“Am I keeping you up, Quin?” Minerva asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, you _did_ keep me up last night, lass, an’ then Gertrude sent one godawful ugly son-of-a-house-elf to wake me at the crack o’dawn – as you may remember – an’ then I was busy with the kiddies in the mornin’, followed by the pleasure of lunchin’ with all those charmin’ folk this noon. Is it a wonder a man’d like a bit o’shut-eye?” Quin sat up and grinned at her. “Why don’t we walk? We can find the kids, or not, and it’ll keep me awake and concentratin’ on your lovely self an’ not the back o’ me eyelids!”

Minerva laughed and took his arm.

“You were askin’ after me cousin, Hafrena – ain’t she lumbered with a name, though? – I don’t know her well.”

“Neither do I. I dropped Divination after my fifth year. Load of rubbish.”

Quin smirked at her. “Rubbish?”

“I’d always wondered why Carson continued with it. Must be because his cousin was teaching it and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

Quin laughed out loud. “It never occurred to you that he might like it – or have a talent for it?”

“Well, I suppose he might have. He’d always just laugh when I expressed my opinion on the subject.”

“Very tolerant boy, was Carson. Divination skills run in the MacAirt family, Minerva. Don’t look at me that way! That’s worse than when you thought I was lettin’ me boy burn his self out! O’ course, the witches are the ones with the real Gift. But most o’ the rest of us are a fair shake at it. Carson probably had a bit o’ talent for it.”

Minerva chuckled. “Well, I think it’s a bunch of imprecise poppycock, and if you make enough predictions and word them mysteriously enough, there’s bound to be a few that could be interpreted to have come true.”

“Divination isn’t only about predictin’ the future, Minerva. You should know that. That’s just the part of it that people want most to exploit. It’s also about knowin’ the present. Knowin’ the people around you. In business, I use it to help me decide whether a person or an enterprise is worth my trust and investment, not necessarily to predict how an investment will turn out.”

“Hmmph. Still all seems vague and shadowy to me. You’re better off just getting to know the people and doing some research.”

Quin shrugged a shoulder. “Perhaps. But it works for me, most times. Not that I’m particularly gifted. Me gran, on the other hand, she was remarkable. Course, she was mostly interested in folks makin’ good matches, not in business partnerships, but she could look at you – wouldn’t even need to do anythin’ – and she could tell you about the match that would make you happy. An’ what ones would bring you to ruination. She tried warnin’ some couples away from ill-advised marriages. They didn’t listen, and you can imagine the results.” Quin shook his head dramatically.

“What? A lifetime of happiness and a houseful of children?” asked Minerva with a smirk.

“Unhappiness, death, ill-fortune, all kinds of sadness. Gran never said ‘I told you so,’ though.”

Minerva looked at him skeptically. “Yes, well, I can look at Walburga and Orion and say that they are fated for disaster, and their children are, as well. I don’t think there’s an ounce of Divination involved. Just common sense.”

Quin grinned. “Well, not all folks have got common sense.”

Minerva stifled a yawn.

“Now who’s keepin’ who up?” Quin asked.

“Oh, I had thought to have a nap this afternoon, but I will settle for a splash of cold water before I dress for dinner,” Minerva answered. “I suppose we should head up to the house to change now.”

“You go on ahead. I’m goin’ to find me kids and make sure they are scrubbed up proper.”

Minerva headed back to the house, wishing she had had an opportunity to ask Gertrude about the contents of Poppy’s letter. She’d try to catch her alone after dinner for a few minutes. Minerva didn’t want to monopolise her hostess’s time; after all, Gertrude rarely saw her son, but he probably wanted to socialise with some of the other guests, anyway. She was sure she could catch her for a few minutes and find out more about what was going on that would warrant such an almost hysterical reaction on Poppy’s part.


	47. Dinner and Divination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva spends a pleasant evening with Quin and then hears some things that she would rather not hear, true though they may be.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Quin MacAirt, Caspar and Charis Crouch, Alfred and Dora Crouch, young Bartimus Crouch (senior), Valerianna Crouch Yaxley, and Francis Flint.

**XLVII: Dinner and Divination**

Later that night, Minerva relaxed in her bedroom with a cup of chamomile tea and reread Albus’s letter to lift her spirits. She hadn’t even been able to see Gertrude after dinner, let alone speak with her, there were so many guests, and so she had spent the evening with Quin.

The dining room itself had been expanded that evening to accommodate all of the guests – quite a trick, she thought, but probably the work of the house-elves – and there had to have been fifty people seated at the u-shaped table. She had again been seated beside Quin at dinner, for which she was grateful, since Flint was seated on her left and Valerianna was across from him. Fortunately, the Crouches, Alfred and Dora, were seated across from her and Quin. Their son, Barty, was also at dinner and made polite conversation with Alroy about Hogwarts and what he could expect when he arrived. Minerva had developed a good opinion of Barty Crouch during the last term, so she was pleased to see that his parents weren’t typical of the rest of the guests, although they _were_ somewhat reserved, which was fine with her. Better that than the false friendliness Valerianna was exuding. Caspar and Charis Crouch, Alfred’s brother and sister-in-law, were on the other side of Valerianna and Francis.

Flint, to his credit, did seem to _try_ to be pleasant, but Minerva had the feeling that he had received a kick in the shins at one point. They had only been discussing mutual acquaintances they knew at the Ministry, and Francis had begun telling her about some changes that had been made in the departments since she’d left, when he suddenly winced and looked up at Valerianna, who appeared to be trying to charm Alfred Crouch. Francis took a quick swallow of wine, and Minerva turned her attention to Quin, who was chatting with Dora about some Muggle musical they had both seen. She might not like the milquetoast, and Francis certainly had a problem with Quin, but Minerva didn’t want to cause him any problems with Valerianna. There were probably better ways to annoy the witch, anyway.

Minerva found it difficult to avoid looking at Valerianna without _appearing_ to be avoiding looking at her. Dinner was extremely awkward, particularly after Valerianna began discussing the merits of recent marriages and stressing how wonderful it was that Walburga and Orion were marrying. She went on and on, never actually using the words “Muggle,” “Muggle-born,” or “half-blood,” but she was a master at conveying precisely what she meant without actually saying it. At one point, Quin placed his hand on Minerva’s thigh, almost physically restraining her. Valerianna had begun to discourse on how some witches and wizards were simply unmarriageable but didn’t have a clue about the reason no one would want them. Minerva had been just about to jump into the conversation with a remark or two of her own about who was and who wasn’t marriageable when Quin’s left hand landed on her leg. Minerva glowered at him, in a thoroughly foul mood after having had to listen to the witch’s strident voice waxing on about marriage, suitability, and “the right people.” Quin just gripped her leg and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye before shaking his head slightly. Minerva was about to say something anyway, but then she remembered Poppy’s words of caution and took a bite of her dinner, instead. Quin gave her a quick pat before returning his hand to his own lap.

After dinner, Minerva had taken Quin’s offered arm and allowed him to lead her to the conservatory and out onto the veranda. He led her over to one corner of the veranda, and they leaned against the masonry railing and looked out at a spectacular sunset. 

“I would like to apologise, Minerva, for bein’ so forward,” he said, after looking about to see if there was anyone nearby.

“Hmm? For what? Oh . . . that,” she said, remembering his hand resting on her thigh. “That’s all right; I was about to open my mouth and likely make a scene. Just as well I didn’t. I think she gave me indigestion, though.”

“I don’t know if anything you said could have topped Dora’s remark, though,” he said, grinning.

“Oh, yes, that _was_ funny!” Minerva said, remembering the look on Valerianna’s face when Dora, in response to one of Valerianna’s rhetorical questions, said, quite matter-of-factly, yes, it was very important to make a good match, which was why she was so pleased that her sister had recently married the _most_ adorable Muggle-born wizard in England, especially since he was also very talented and quite wealthy, too – of course, Dora had emphasised, it _was_ Muggle money, but still quite useful to have when keeping up a manor house, which was, unfortunately, _also_ Muggle, but as it had been in his family for generations, it seemed in poor taste to ask him to give it up just because it had electricity and a telephone! Valerianna had recovered quite nicely, but had clearly been embarrassed by her extended faux pas.

Minerva shivered. As the sun went in, it was growing chillier.

“Cold, Minerva?”

“Just a bit. But I don’t want to go in. I don’t think I feel up to being civilised just yet,” she answered.

Quin drew his wand from its ornately embroidered sheath and cast a warming spell on the area around them. “Better?”

“My! The ‘hedge wizard’ used a wand,” she teased. “Yes, thanks. Very nice spell.”

“Handy, anyway. And I usually do use my wand. It’s only every-day spells that I cast wandlessly – simple ones that I use all of the time – or, of course, magic that is naturally wandless.”

“What do you mean by ‘naturally wandless’?” Minerva asked.

“Oh, that sort of summoning spell I used in the library. It’s not an _Accio_. Don’t know what it is, precisely. One o’ me talents. Dead useful, too. Just wish I could shift larger objects, though – would have saved you having to Transfigure me favourite summer jacket into a redundant dinner jacket.”

“You just have to use _Finite Incantatum_ , Quin,” Minerva said, rolling her eyes. “It may have reverted on its own by now, anyway.”

“Hmmph. Hadn’t done when I went to change for dinner. I had a hard time figurin’ out which one was me real dinner jacket,” he said with a grin. “Let’s walk a bit – it’s gettin’ crowded out here.”

Indeed, it was. Even the garden below them had a few people sitting beside small tables, drinking. Small lamps had begun to illuminate the veranda and the area below. 

As they walked down the stairs, their little bubble of warm air accompanying them, they greeted people as they passed, and Minerva asked, “How many people are here tonight?”

“Not countin’ the kids, I think there are about fifty-five, fifty-six. There will be more tomorrow evening. At least a hundred, I’d reckon, possibly more. You haven’t seen the ballroom yet, but it’s quite grand, and there are smaller supper rooms off the balconies above it where guests who are peckish can eat whenever they feel the urge. There’ll be a dinner beforehand, of course. I don’t know if they will have it in the dining room – I can’t see how they can expand it any more than they did tonight without doin’ away with the staircase – they may have it in the ballroom and just banish the tables when the time comes.”

“Robert said something this afternoon that made me wonder if they do this every year.”

“Not on this scale, no. It’s generally just the closer family and a few friends. If they do have a party, it’s usually a one-night affair, not this on-going kind o’ thing. But they felt that since Hesper’s grandson was gettin’ married, they would make it a grander occasion.”

“You said family and friends . . . but what Robert said made me think that he’d been expecting the Headmaster to be here.”

“He would expect it, as Dumbledore usually does come. Last year he was very busy – he’d only become Headmaster six or seven months before. I imagine that it’s the same this year, especially since Gertrude’s his Deputy. Can’t leave the castle unguarded, after all!” he said with a smile. “O’ course, this year, the company is a bit less congenial than usual – your own self excepted, to be sure” – Quin sketched a bow – “and I’m sure that, in his position, he must get his fill of havin’ to associate with people not of his own choosin’, as it is, without havin’ to be surrounded by dozens of ’em while he’s on holiday.”

“Of course.” So Albus felt comfortable enough to spend several days every year at Gertrude’s family’s home. He hadn’t mentioned it. But then, what would he say? It would seem odd to just come out and announce it . . . but when she received her invitation, he could have said that he usually visited every summer, but wasn’t going this year. But maybe it wasn’t an annual thing – “usually” could mean different things to different people. But, but, but – she would drive herself mad. This was another example of what she was supposed to be avoiding. She and Albus were friends, and becoming better friends. It was still none of her business what he did with Gertrude or how he spent his free time. . . . 

“You’ve gone all quiet on me, Minerva,” Quin said as they reached the rose garden. “Not that I’m complainin’, but y’aren’t angry with me about . . . anythin’, are you?” 

“Hmm?” Minerva looked up at him. “No, no. Just tired. You know Albus well, yourself, then. I didn’t realise that from what you’d said.”

“Not really, not well. We’re not always here at the same time, for one. And I spend a lot o’ time with me kids, usually, and he spends time with . . . well, not with the kids! Sure he must get his fill o’ kids, too, workin’ at a school.”

“I think Albus genuinely likes children, Quin. And he’s a bit like you – he’s still something of a kid himself. In fact,” said Minerva, stopping and looking up at Quin, “you remind me of him.”

“ _Me?_ Remind you of the great Albus Dumbledore?” Quin laughed.

“Well, not exactly. It’s more that you make me think of what he might have been like had he been born in a different time and place and with different cares and responsibilities, that’s all I meant.”

“The poor wizard!” Quin chuckled. “But o’ course, it could be an indictment o’ me and the life I’m leadin’ – not savin’ the wizarding world from Dark Wizards or tryin’ to drag’em out o’ the Middle Ages, or at least out o’ the Victorian Age, kickin’ an’ screamin’ the whole way.” 

“I don’t know, Quin, you seem to be trying to drag the wizarding world into a different business relationship with the Muggle world. That’s pretty heroic!” Minerva laughed. “But I didn’t mean to compare you that way – just temperamentally, that’s all. Neither of you suffer fools, although Albus is more gentle with them than you seem to be, and both of you like to see the lighter side of things.”

“You mean we both like to tease you, Minerva,” Quin said with a grin.

Minerva just laughed and shook her head. “It is a pity that he’s not here, though. It would have been fun to see the two of you together. And it would have given me another ally at the dinner table.” Then Minerva remembered the witch they would be allied against, and she sobered.

“I’m sure he would be amusin’ to have around this week, but . . . well, I don’t know . . . you haven’t said anything about it, Minerva, and I don’t want to be speakin’ out o’ turn, and if you don’t know, I shouldn’t say anythin’ at all . . . but you see, he and Valerianna, well, Valerianna and Dumbledore don’t get along, you might say.” Quin guided Minerva to a stone bench set amidst the roses.

“Mm. Gertrude mentioned something about it to me before I met her,” Minerva responded.

“Oh, good. I hoped she might have.”

“What do you know about why they don’t get along, Quin?” Minerva asked.

“Not much, really. Just that Dumbledore had been friends with her late husband during the war, and that a few years ago he was seen squiring her about, escortin’ her to all the big wizarding affairs, and then – poof! – the two weren’t seen together anymore, and if they were both at the same function, they avoided one another. Valerianna began makin’ general cutting remarks about him at around the same time, but Dumbledore is fairly well-liked by most people, and she found that her remarks were usually not well-received. It was all over and done with before I even knew there was anythin’ goin’ on. I’d seen’em together, o’ course, but hadn’t given it a thought, meself. I didn’t think it could be anythin’ serious – Dumbledore’s too shrewd to be taken in by the likes o’ her, or so I thought.”

Minerva was glad to hear that Quin hadn’t thought it had been anything serious. Not that it should matter to her whether Albus were to be in a serious relationship, but not with Valerianna. No, someone like . . . Ella, perhaps. She was very nice. Pleasant. 

“Well, I hadn’t heard of it before, but I don’t move in the same circles as Valerianna does, either.”

“So you hadn’t heard o’ her before Gertrude mentioned her to you?”

“Not one word,” Minerva admitted. “But if this was about three years ago, and it was over and done as quickly as you say it was, that’s hardly a surprise.”

“Perhaps not a surprise, but knowing you’re a teacher at Hogwarts – the Transfiguration mistress, in fact – would make you a target for Valerianna’s more vicious comments, I’m sure.”

“Hmm. And no doubt she’s heard of me from some source – either Albus or Gertie. You remember that kitten remark she made?”

“Before dinner yesterday? O’ course –”

“Well, think back to the Challenge at Beauxbatons – I know it was a while ago, but do you remember one little trick I did?”

“I’m supposed to remember one trick out of all of them?”

Minerva laughed. “Let me refresh your memory, then.” There was a slight pop and then a Tabby cat sat beside Quin. 

“That’s right! I am surprised I didn’t make the connection immediately.” Quin laughed. “It really must have stuck in her mind – I’d actually _seen_ you do this before and hadn’t thought of it.” He looked at Minerva admiringly. “Um, may I pet you? That is, if it isn’t rude to even ask!”

Minerva just yawned and settled down, her eyes glowing in the moonlight as she gazed up at him.

“I take it that’s a ‘yes.’” Quin reached down and gently stroked her fur. “You really _are_ a cat! I’m sorry, that must sound daft. I’ve just never met an Animagus before.”

Minerva jumped down from the bench, stretched, then transformed into her ordinary form.

Quin laughed. “That’s bloody marvellous! You _must_ show Alroy! Well, you don’t have to, o’ course, but he would love it! He is somethin’ else when it comes to animals – plants, too, for that matter – and he’d love that trick. Can you teach him to do it?”

“Hold up, there, Quin!” Minerva smiled and placed her hand on the enthusiastic wizard’s shoulder. “I would be happy to demonstrate it to Alroy – but he should be discreet about it. I don’t generally show off at the drop of a hat for people, including my students; they’re more impressed when they don’t see it often. And I would also be happy to keep an eye on him while he’s at Hogwarts and see if he shows any signs that he might be able to achieve an Animagus form, but there’s a very good reason you’ve never met an Animagus before. It’s not only a lot of hard work to become one, but it also requires some measure of innate talent. If Alroy seems to have an interest in it, and it looks as though he might be both adept and dedicated, then I might consider teaching him once his magic is matured – and for good reasons that have nothing to do with burning out his magic, Quin. He really shouldn’t start before he’s at least fourteen or fifteen, preferably a bit later. He should also reach a level of physical maturity, as well. So don’t mention it to him and put any ideas in his head – and if he asks, just tell him what I told you.”

Quin stood and draped an arm around Minerva’s shoulders. “You are a wonder, Minerva.” He grinned at her. “Thanks for lookin’ out for me boy – and you will look out for him, won’t you? Even if he’s not in your House?”

Minerva put her arm around his waist and they began walking back up toward the house. “Of course I will, Quin. And I’ll let him know he can come see me if he wants to. I can’t and don’t play favourites, of course, but there’s no reason why I can’t look after him a bit. And I’d advise any students who came to me with a problem, regardless of their House.”

“Even if he’s in Slytherin?”

Minerva chuckled. “He’d probably feel more comfortable going to Gertrude in that case, but yes, even if he’s in Slytherin. But if he’s good with plants and animals, he may end up in Hufflepuff, since that House seems to attract that sort. Of course, the current Head of Ravenclaw is the Herbology teacher, and I used to believe that only Hufflepuffs were any good at Divination – then it turns out that your cousin was in Slytherin and Carson was in Ravenclaw. So he could end up anywhere. I just hope he’s happy.”

“Were you?”

“What?”

“Were you happy at school?”

“Yes, I suppose I was. I don’t know that my experience was typical, though . . . and there were some very atypical events whilst I was a student. Unhappy events. But I think Alroy could be happy at school. If he gives it a year and hates it . . . well, if he were utterly miserable, you wouldn’t have to make him go back. You could have him taught the way you were.”

They walked toward the veranda. 

Quin shook his head. “I haven’t the time to do it proper, and there are fewer witches and wizards who’ll take a child to train these days, even in me own family. And to get him properly matched with the right ones . . . even if it hadn’t been Aileen’s express wish, I may have sent him to a school, anyway.”

The two entered through the small entrance at the foot of the veranda stairs, and Quin led her up through the house to the first floor and her bedroom.

“Would you like to come in for a bit?” Minerva blushed, realising how that must have sounded. “I mean to talk. Or we could go to the library.”

Quin smiled down at her. “I would _love_ to come in and talk for a bit. We will need to make sure that no one catches me coming out at some odd hour, however – as Gertie has reminded me more than once, it’s not just me own reputation I need to be worrying about!”

“We’ll just have to make sure you leave at some _even_ hour then; get in here now, before someone comes along,” Minerva said, tugging on his arm.

“I love it when witches pull me into their bedrooms,” he answered, smiling as he shut the door behind them and lit a few of the candles. “Do be gentle with me, please!” He held up his hands in mock surrender.

Minerva rolled her eyes. “Really, Quin! I’d thought we could continue our conversation, but if you’re going to behave like that . . .” She kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the small settee with a groan. “It has been a long day.”

“It certainly has,” Quin agreed, taking a seat in the armchair next to her. “I hope that Gertrude doesn’t wake me that early tomorrow morning.”

“It sounds as though she sent the same house-elf to wake you as she did me. It was not a gentle awakening, especially opening your eyes and seeing that face.” Minerva faked a shudder. 

“I know, and that voice! It sounded as though he’d swallowed a box o’ drawin’ pins, or somethin’.”

Minerva laughed. “I suppose it served us right for trying to make Gertie think you were seducing me.”

“She should have known better, though. I’m not that much of a scoundrel. I would have waited at least a day!” He grinned at her.

“I do hope you haven’t decided to start now. I am much too tired to properly appreciate any seduction.”

“No, I’d want to do it in the proper settin’.”

“A bedroom isn’t the proper setting for a seduction?” Minerva asked, curious.

“Oh, not at all. Not for the first one. No . . . and for you, it would have to be special. Perhaps a natural setting – something wild, though, not a garden. Someplace wild and romantic.” He smiled at her sleepily and reached out to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. 

“I am definitely too tired to be seduced tonight, then. The thought of anything wild and romantic just sounds too exhausting.” Minerva laughed, then she looked into Quin’s bright blue eyes and wished for a moment that it was a different pair of blue eyes she was seeing, and a different wizard who was speaking to her of seduction. The thought sobered her, and she looked away.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, Quin, nothing.” She turned back and looked at him. “Just tired, that’s all. Say, I’ve done my trick for you, you do one for me now!”

“Well, I did feed the owl earlier –”

“Yes, I suppose that was impressive, but it’s still your turn. I fixed your jacket for you yesterday, and then this evening I showed you my Animagus form. Do some of that natural wandless magic you were telling me about earlier.”

He smiled slightly. “All right, then. How about a little divination? I won’t do anythin’ elaborate, just somethin’ simple.”

Minerva laughed. “Don’t think you’ll convince me of anything, but that sounds fine. What do you need?” she asked, thinking of tea leaves and crystal balls.

“Nothin’, not for this. Just you.”

Minerva shrugged. “All right, then.”

“It would be better if I sat next to you on the couch.” He moved over to sit beside her and gazed into her eyes.

“Wait!” Minerva interrupted. “What kind of divination is this? What are you trying to do? Tell my future?”

“Perhaps. With this . . . I’m never sure what I will get. And I may not be successful. We may have to try again tomorrow with a few tools – a bowl of water might do.”

“Very odd sort of divination,” Minerva replied with a shrug. “But go ahead.”

“I’ve already started, or I would have, if you hadn’t interrupted me.”

“Sorry,” Minerva said.

“Mmm.” Quin looked into her eyes again.

“Wait!” Minerva interrupted again. “How do I know you’re not just doing Legilimency?”

“Well, other than the fact that you probably would be able to tell if I was tryin’ Legilimency on you, you _don’t_ know it. Here, we’ll do it this way, then. You look away from me – you can even close your eyes – and I will take your hands.”

“Are you _sure_ you are doing divination and not trying to seduce me?” Minerva asked with a smirk as she held out her hands to him.

“Believe me, if ’twere seducin’ you I was about, you wouldn’t keep interruptin’ me!” Quin said in mock irritation.

Properly chastised, Minerva closed her eyes and waited. She felt Quin’s hands warmly surrounding her own and the deep pulse of his magic. A ripple passed over her, then another. Minerva relaxed as Quin’s magic washed over her, and she let out a sigh.

“Just listen a moment, Minerva. Just listen,” Quin said quietly. “You are impatient by nature, yet you have spent so many years suppressing your impatience, trying to control it, that it now controls you more. That control can keep you from acting when you should act, and you mistake your instinct to act with your impatience, and so you rein yourself in when you should not.” Quin’s voice was soft and clear as he spoke, but Minerva heard nothing that she believed remarkable. Still, she bit back her comment to that effect and allowed him to continue.

“You have a source of great sadness and pain in your life, and yet . . . it is also the source of your greatest happiness. It could bring you even greater joy, but you restrain yourself from acting. There is someone . . . you have given your heart. Someone holds your heart. You pretend that he does not. He is the source of your sorrow and your joy. But you deny it. No . . . not now, you denied it in the past, but you still do not allow it into your life. You have committed yourself to him . . . but you do not act on that commitment. He holds your heart and you have given it to him . . . and it is replaced with a longing. You must reclaim your heart and give it to him openly, with no denial, or there will be only sadness and longing, and your joy will die. Do not let your joy die, Minerva. You love him. Let him know that he holds your heart. Let him love you.”

As Quin was speaking, Minerva had opened her eyes and turned toward him. She became increasingly disturbed. Carson had used similar words so many years ago. Who had been talking to Quin? How could he know anything? Was he playing with her? But Quin’s eyes were closed, his face relaxed, his voice calm, his hands warm, and his magic still flowed around her.

“And now I have disturbed you, I see.” Quin let go of her hands and opened his eyes, his magic draining back into him. “I am sorry, Minerva. I didn’t know it would be anything so personal. ’Tisn’t, usually . . . I normally see a few general character traits and then images of events and people that have shaped someone. This was unusual . . . but I think it came forth so strongly because ’tis important to you and has been preyin’ on your mind recently.”

“It’s hogwash,” Minerva said in a slightly shaky voice. “Just guesses and generalities.”

Quin looked at her a moment. “All right, Minerva. But if not, then I do listen well; I’m not just all blarney and flattery, you know. And I do not like to see such a fierce sadness in you.”

“I am not sad, not at all!” Minerva said sharply, turning from him.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Quin replied softly, taking her hand. “But if ever you are . . . I’d like to think we are friends. I am sorry if I have trod too close, but ’twas so strong – ’tis dominatin’ your life, Minerva, this sadness that you do not have, this emptiness that you do not feel, this longing that is not there.”

Minerva just closed her eyes and shook her head.

Quin sighed and squeezed her hand. “’Twas meant to be a lark, Minerva, and I am sorry if I added to your pain.”

“There is no pain,” Minerva responded in a low voice, her eyes closed.

“O’ course there’s not, love, o’ course there’s not.” Quin reached out and turned Minerva’s face toward him and brushed a single tear from her cheek. “You don’t need to talk about it. You don’t really know me, after all. But you should talk to someone . . . you bottle too much up.”

Minerva opened her eyes and saw only sympathy and concern in Quin’s face. “Oh, Quin, it’s no use. That’s all. It’s simply no use. If what you say is true . . . he does not feel the same, Quin, and he never will. It is quite hopeless.” With his warm hand still cupping her cheek, Minerva felt a sudden surge of relief at having finally admitted her feelings. She sighed and leaned into Quin’s touch, tears leaking from her eyes. He knew and he cared. She had wanted someone to talk to . . . but was he discreet? “You’re right, we don’t know each other well, but I’d like to think I can trust you. Please don’t tell anyone . . . .” Her voice broke.

“I’d never do that to you, Minerva,” he whispered. “Come here, now. No need to talk, if you don’t want. I’ve seen enough; it’s all right, love. If you’d like to say more, I’ll listen, though.” 

Minerva accepted his invitation and leaned into his embrace. Her relief increased as she wept on his shoulder and he held her, rubbing her back and making soft soothing sounds in her ear. 

“If you can bear another o’ me magic tricks tonight, I can help you a bit,” Quin offered after she had quieted. “Nothin’ grand, but me kids like it.”

Minerva turned her face from his shoulder and felt him kiss her forehead. A cool sensation washed over her, and she could feel her tears dry, and her heart and breathing calmed as the lump in her throat dissolved.

Minerva sat up and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Hmm? Whatever for? ’Tis what we’re on this earth for, isn’t it?” He smiled and touched her cheek. “Glad I could help. And remember my offer – if you want to talk . . .”

“Thank you, Quin, but I doubt it. I have lived with this for a while. I’ll survive.”

Quin nodded, but looked sceptical. “As you wish, Minerva. But even after you return to Hogwarts, I’m just an owl away, if you need to talk or even just want to get away for a while. I’m always happy to have lunch or dinner with a beautiful witch, and now that I know that I really am safe with you – does Gertrude know? Is that why she thought –”

“No, she doesn’t. She couldn’t. We don’t know each other that well, as I said before.”

“Perhaps Dumbledore knows, and told her.”

“Impossible. I would rather not talk about this anymore tonight, Quin,” Minerva said, shaking her head.

“All right, love. We can move on to some other topic, to be sure. Alroy, for example!” Quin grinned, and Minerva was happy to talk about one of Quin’s two favourite topics – his son and his daughter – and tell him about the Sorting and the Sorting Hat, and about the different Houses and their Founders. Quin knew quite a bit already, but he had a lot of questions, many of which Minerva found she couldn’t answer and had never considered herself. 

Minerva smiled as she let him out of her room, checking the hall first for any other guests roaming about. “I now have some homework to do, thanks to you. I thought having read _Hogwarts: A History_ had prepared me, but I see I need to do a little more research into the Founders and the Houses when I get back to the castle.”

“I’d like to visit some time. I’ve been to Hogsmeade many times, but have never seen anything more than the outside of the castle.”

“I’m sure we can arrange that. I’d love to show you around. And since school isn’t in session, I can probably even get you into the different House dormitories, as well, if the Heads of the Houses will allow it.”

“I’d like that, Minerva. And it will give me an excuse to see you again, it will,” he said with a grin.

“Good-night, Quin, and thank you.”

“Good-night, Minerva, sleep well and sweet dreams.” Quin smiled down at her and gently kissed her cheek. 

Minerva looked up at him and caressed his face before pulling him down and kissing his lips lightly. “See you tomorrow morning, Quin; sleep well,” she said softly, then closed the door.

And now she was wrapped in her dressing gown after a hot shower, drinking some honey-sweetened chamomile tea, and rereading Albus’s letter. She closed her eyes and remembered again how he had stepped toward her, taking her hand, placing another hand on her arm, then how he had leaned forward and kissed her. Minerva wished she had returned his kiss, that she had stepped closer to him, that he had embraced her . . . she imagined what it might have been like if he had moved his lips from her cheek to her mouth, how she would have dropped her bag and put her arms around him . . . . Minerva opened her eyes and sighed. 

Albus cared for her. That pleased her, but it also contributed to the ache in her chest. It would always be only so much and no more, and she could never tell him how she felt about him, regardless of what Quin said about not letting her joy die and letting him know that she loved him. That could only bring greater sorrow, she was sure. Albus would withdraw from her and she would not even have the affection he currently showed her.

Minerva looked at his letter again. When she returned to Hogwarts, she would put it with the rest of his letters to her. She had kept every one that he’d written to her since she was in her fifth year; even before she had loved him, she had saved them. Of course, she _had_ loved him then, but not in the way that she later came to. Minerva had even kept the little notes he left her that were scarcely more than a dozen words. Minerva had treasured the first one that he had ever signed with just “Albus.” She was still in school, it was the summer that she helped with the wards, and he had dashed off a quick note to ask her to meet him later than usual that day. No doubt, he had not thought about how he had signed the note, but to her adolescent mind, it meant that he saw her as something more than just a student, perhaps even as a friend. Of course, she had assiduously tried to tamp down those thoughts, but she had still found her mind turning to that one simple word at the end of an otherwise mundane note: “Albus.” Perhaps they could become friends eventually, she had thought wistfully. And when, the afternoon of her final Leaving Feast as a student, he had invited her again to address him by his first name, she had smiled and said, “Thank you, Albus, I would like that.”

And now they were finally becoming good friends. She would not spoil that by behaving like a hormonal teenager. She would accept the love he had to give her and make no demands on him, not even obliquely by telling him of the depth of her own feelings. And he wanted to spend time with her . . . . Minerva smiled as she reread his declaration that he would always seek an excuse to spend time with her. If only he knew that he required no excuse for her, that she would always want to spend time with him.

Minerva hopped up from the bed, sending her empty mug to sit on the night stand, and going over to the small desk to find a piece of parchment.

_“10 July  
“The Gamp Estate_

_“Dear Albus,_

_“Despite a long and tiring day, I am still awake at one in the morning, so I was drinking a nice cup of chamomile tea and thinking of you.”_

Was that too forward? Too much information? Minerva reread it. It would be natural to think of him whilst she drank the tea he had given her. And she didn’t have to send the letter, after all, if she decided it was too revealing.

_“I had your letter out and reread it – your friendly words were as soothing as the cup of tea, or more so. I must, however, correct a misapprehension on your part. It seems that you believe that you require an excuse to spend time with me, and I wish to reassure you that no excuse is necessary. I will always want to spend time with you, Albus. I do not know whether you are missing me as you had anticipated, but I have missed you, though that perhaps sounds foolish to you. It has been a very busy two days, but my thoughts turn to you repeatedly and I find myself wishing you were here with me.”_

Minerva reread the paragraph and erased the words “with me.”

_“It has been a very busy two days, but my thoughts turn to you repeatedly and I find myself wishing you were here._

_“I have enjoyed the company of a few of the others here, however. Quin has been particularly good company, and I found that he had many questions about Hogwarts that I could not answer. I have some research to do!_

_“As you suggested, I am trying to get to know Gertrude better. I had no idea before this visit that she had been married, and even after learning that, it did not occur to me that she might have any children, so you may imagine that I was surprised to meet her son, Robert. He spoke of you fondly and expressed disappointment that you were not here. You see, Albus, you are missed!_

_“You must also know Ella, Gertrude’s sister-in-law. She seems very nice, although she is quiet, and Quin tends to dominate conversations when he is around, so I haven’t got to know her very well.”_

Minerva paused. Should she mention Valerianna by name? It might make him uncomfortable; she would wait until she saw him, then she could judge his reactions better. And he may not want to be reminded of her; Minerva doubted his heart had been broken by the witch, but anything that could have brought about such a reaction on her part could not bring him any happy memories, not to mention that Quin had said that they obviously avoided one another whenever they attended the same events. Better to wait. 

_“There is a party tomorrow evening. Quin and I have decided to attend together as allies. Having someone else there to turn to in the case of an encounter with a particularly unpleasant witch or wizard will be reassuring for us both, I think._

_“I hope that you are sleeping peacefully as I write this letter, and I think I can now go to sleep more easily, myself, for having written it._

_“I am looking forward to seeing you Thursday, if you are at the castle when I return, and telling you all about my trip, as you suggested in your letter._

_“Until then,  
“Yours,_

_“Minerva”_

Minerva wrote Albus’s name on the reverse side of the parchment and then reread her letter. She wouldn’t send it, she decided. Or only after rewriting it. It was far too familiar. But it had felt nice to write it, and to sign it as she had. After talking with Quin and writing her letter, she felt relaxed, content, and sleepy. She doused the lights and crawled into bed, holding her tartan afghan to her, and quickly fell asleep.


	48. Lessons in Letter-Writing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva learns an important lesson, which she shares with Quin and Gertrude, and we see Albus again. He writes Minerva another letter.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Gluffy, Quin MacAirt, Gertrude Gamp, Albus Dumbledore, and Poppy Pomfrey.

**XLVIII: Lessons in Letter-Writing**

Minerva awoke to the same gravely voice she had the morning before.

“Good-morning, Madam Professor! It is morning, Madam Professor!”

Minerva groaned and pulled her pillow over her head. She could still hear the house-elf’s voice rumbling on about something. She finally moved the pillow aside and said, “Tea, with milk.”

Minerva heard a crack as the elf Disapparated. She opened her eyes and Summoned her wand. Blinking, she cast a _Tempus_. Seven-thirty. Well, that was better than yesterday, Minerva supposed, but by the time she’d climbed into bed the night before, it had been almost two o’clock, and she would have liked another hour’s sleep. She stretched, remembering the previous night and the letter she had written to Albus. She should rewrite it, if she sent it at all . . . two letters in as many days was probably one too many. Just as she was thinking about her letter to Albus, she heard a rattling at her window. Minerva turned and squinted. An owl was sitting on the window ledge tapping at the glass with its beak.

Minerva swung her legs out of bed and padded over to let in the owl and take the letter from it. Probably another letter from Poppy in response to the one she’d sent the day before. “Wait there, I’ve got biscuits somewhere here.”

The owl didn’t follow directions well and hopped into the room and settled on the little desk next to the window. Minerva returned with the little packet of ginger newts and broke off a piece for the bird. As she held it out, she looked down at the desk. Minerva stared. Her letter. It was gone. Minerva looked at the owl. It was nibbling the biscuit. The only letter in sight was the one in her hand. The letter she had written at one in the morning was gone.

“Gluffy!” Minerva yelled. “Gluffy! _Now_ , Gluffy!”

Gluffy popped in, a small tea tray hovering above his head. He smiled his wide, toothy grin. “Yes, Madam Professor? Gluffy serves!”

“Gluffy, there was a letter on the desk this morning. Where is it?”

“Gluffy not know, Madam Professor. The owl has it somewhere in the air.” Gluffy continued to grin up at her, his pointy, bristly ears perking forward happily. 

“The _owl_? _What_ owl?”

“A Gamp Post Owl, Madam Professor. A nice strong Eagle Owl!” Gluffy seemed untroubled by Minerva’s growing agitation. “Gluffy chooses a good Owl for Madam Professor’s letter! And your tea. With milk!” Gluffy nodded vigorously at Minerva before disappearing with a loud pop.

Minerva sank into the chair, not caring that the owl beside her had helped himself to another biscuit and was getting crumbs everywhere. Damn! What had she said? At least she’d only been tired, not tipsy, she thought with a sigh. She knew she felt she’d been too open, but at least she hadn’t confessed her feelings to him, as Quin had suggested she should. Minerva took the packet of biscuits from the desk before the bird could eat another one and make himself sick, then looked down at the letter that she had gripped in her fist.

Minerva smoothed out the parchment. It was from Albus. Well, at least she knew it was in response to her previous letter, and not to the ill-advised one she had written that morning and that Gluffy had so helpfully posted.

* * *

Albus smiled as he watched Minerva Portkey off to the Gamp estate, then sighed after she disappeared. He was standing in Minerva’s bedroom, and it occurred to him that it would be impolite to tarry in her room now that she had left. He hadn’t been in it since he had first shown Minerva her quarters the previous December, though, and he looked around him. There were only a few indications of Minerva’s personality in this room, her hairbrush, hairpins in a small dish on the vanity, a colourful scarf draped over one corner of her mirror, a photograph of her parents and her three brothers on one side of the vanity, a picture of Melina and Murdoch on the other, and . . . a very small picture of him. Albus stared at it, then picked it up. 

It was a photograph that had been cut from a _Daily Prophet_ ; he recognised it as one that had been taken shortly after he had defeated Grindelwald. He had been leaving a press conference at the Ministry and had been crossing the Atrium with a few other wizards and witches when flashbulbs had begun going off around them. Minerva had trimmed away most of the newspaper picture to create a portrait that showed only Albus’s head and shoulders. The view of his profile looked almost like a Muggle photograph, he moved so little, turning only slightly toward the camera before turning away again. Minerva had put the little picture in a tiny silver frame and placed a charm on it to make the paper sturdier. A warm feeling passed through Albus as he looked at the little photograph in its small frame. How very sweet of her . . . to have included his picture with those of her family. He swallowed. After all the time they had known each other, she had had to cut out a photograph from a newspaper. Of course, that would have been more than ten years ago, now, but there had been no other photograph to replace it since then.

Albus smiled wistfully. He had his own photographs of Minerva. He kept them in a drawer of the small desk in his quarters. The first one wasn’t really of Minerva; it had been taken at a Quidditch match her seventh year and showed the Gryffindor section of the stands. Minerva was rising up from her seat, cheering after a particularly daring catch by the Ravenclaw Seeker, who flashed through the picture, raising the Snitch in his hand and waving it toward Minerva. Carson, of course. Odd that he hadn’t realised until that terrible day in France that Carson and Minerva had been a couple. Of course, Carson and, later, Minerva, had denied it, but Minerva’s eyes sparkled in the photograph, and it was clear that the Ravenclaw’s flight across the Gryffindor stands had been more than an ordinary victory lap. 

The second photograph of Minerva that Albus kept was one that had been taken at a Victory Ball after Grindelwald had been defeated. Albus had seen it when the photographer had come to him to get Albus’s approval for a photograph of himself to be included in a commemorative book that the Ministry was putting out. Albus wasn’t pleased with the idea of the commemorative book – at least as envisioned by the Ministry – but he could at least try to make sure that they didn’t use a ridiculous picture of him. The one of Sprangle made the man look like some kind of ancient Roman general; Dumbledore thought that such images were the sort of thing Grindelwald himself would have favoured. As Albus flipped through the photographs, the photographer pulled one out, saying it must have been incorrectly filed, but Albus had stopped him and looked at the picture. It had been taken from the far side of the ballroom; a pensieve expression on her face, Minerva was standing next to one of the French envoys and looking off across the room at something or someone who didn’t appear in the photograph. Alastor Moody, raising a glass to his lips, was on the other side of the foreign wizard, who was looking at Minerva, smiling, and saying something. A few other witches and wizards were standing off to one side, chatting. Minerva was the only figure in the photograph who did not appear to move at all, but Albus could detect a slight softening of her expression as a small smile appeared at the corners of her mouth and crinkled around her eyes. Albus assumed that the French wizard had said something to amuse Minerva, but she seemed so distracted, and he had always wondered what it had been she had been looking at and what had brought the small smile to her face.

The last picture in Albus’s desk drawer was one that had been taken just after Minerva had defeated Madame Feuilly in her Apprentice’s Challenge. It was the only colour photograph of the three, and Minerva was flushed and accepting the congratulations of several wizards as she turned toward Albus, who was standing off to one side, smiling with pride at her accomplishment. As Minerva turned, her polite smile became brilliant as she caught sight of Albus. He remembered that Minerva had been swept off by the French Minister for Magic and the Headmistress of Beauxbatons immediately after the photograph had been taken; for once, Albus had been forgotten and Minerva was in the limelight, which suited him just fine. Albus had seen Minerva later that day at the dinner the Ministry had held for her and at which she had been unofficially bestowed the soubriquet _“la grande dame de la Metamorphosis”_ by the French newspapers, and he’d been able to offer her his own warm congratulations. Albus smiled as he remembered how she had returned his embrace and whispered her thanks to him for all he had taught her. But then a few months later, she was offered an apprenticeship with an old wizard in Heidelberg, and that began the longest period during which they had not seen each other, even for a quick lunch or cup of tea. 

After informing Albus of the offer, and this time asking his opinion of it before accepting it – Albus warned her that the master, Herr Magister Gerhardt Sachs, was unpopular because he had escaped Grindelwald and then disappeared without lending his assistance to the Resistance, but nonetheless was a highly competent master of Transfiguration – Minerva left for the Continent, first studying German to improve her facility with the language, and then spending the next year at her apprenticeship. Albus hadn’t seen her in more than a year when she had shown up at Hogwarts the first week of October to tell him that she was back and would be taking up a new job at the Ministry in November. Remembering that her birthday was in early October, Albus had convinced Minerva to stay for the afternoon so that he could take her out to dinner to celebrate both her Mastery and her birthday. He had always wished he had brought her someplace nicer than the Three Broomsticks, but Minerva had seemed pleased, and they had forgotten their surroundings as they talked and she told him about her time in Germany. Albus asked her about the wizard she had often mentioned in her correspondence, a Rudolf Brauer, but Minerva didn’t reveal very much. From her letters, Albus had the idea that she had been romantically involved with the German Apothecary, but Minerva said she had no plans to visit him, and that, as Rudolf’s shop was in Heidelberg and it was difficult for him to get away, it was unlikely they would see each other any time soon. She had brushed off Albus’s suggestion that distance was no obstacle to a relationship if they worked at it, looking at him strangely and saying that she was sure that her life in London would keep her very busy.

Albus replaced the small photograph on Minerva’s vanity and went into her sitting room to look at the books on her shelves. He selected two Muggle novels, choosing ones by authors he was unfamiliar with. Albus looked around him before he left. Blampa had already cleared away their breakfast dishes, and the room felt very empty without Minerva there. Feeling somewhat melancholy, Albus stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. He smiled slightly and whispered, _“Alvarium album.”_ The door clicked and he pulled it open before closing it again. Humming, he set off for his office and a long day of paperwork and Floo-Calls with Ministry officials.

The next morning as Albus ate his solitary breakfast in his rooms, he remembered the pleasant breakfast with Minerva the day before, and he wondered whether she had opened his present the night before, and whether she had enjoyed it or had thought it was silly. Albus had been second-guessing himself since he had left her rooms, particularly having kissed her before she Portkeyed to the Gamps. She hadn’t seemed displeased or offended, only slightly surprised. Albus sighed. He could make all kinds of promises to himself, but the fact of the matter was that he found it difficult to be around Minerva and not demonstrate his affection toward her. It would probably be best if he always arranged to see her in public; that was the only way he could be sure of not stepping over the line he had drawn for himself. Albus also regretted the openness he had exhibited in his letter to her. From now on, he would not send her any letters without rereading them and waiting at least a few hours before sending them off. He hadn’t made Minerva uncomfortable yet, but he was sure it was only a matter of time before he displayed some behaviour that either triggered her disgust or her pity. More likely her pity, given her fondness for him. But it would have to be tinged with disgust . . . he knew that he was very old and far from attractive. Pity or disgust, he could not risk it. He did not want to cause her discomfort, let alone lose her friendship. And she clearly valued their friendship, as well. Albus smiled as he remembered the tiny photograph she kept of him next to those of her family. He would have to play the role of the genial uncle, then, as difficult as that might be, and not behave like a pathetic old man.

Albus dressed and went to his office to begin another day. It was a morning like any other, but after having spent so much time with Minerva over the last few days, he felt an uncharacteristic sense of ennui. It seemed that without Minerva in the castle, he had little to look forward to that day, especially since Gertie – and most of the rest of the staff – was also gone. It was ridiculous, really. He had lived and worked at Hogwarts quite happily for almost twenty years. Twenty very busy years. Most of them without Minerva there . . . today should be no different from any of those previous perfectly happy days. Albus set down to work, dismissing all of his foolish thoughts and cares and finding that his mood improved as the morning progressed and he cleared his desk of the correspondence that had piled up.

Just before lunch, Albus opened a window to let in three owls, one after the other, bringing him more work from the Ministry, then he let in a fourth owl, carrying a letter from Garbhan Govannon, no doubt a thank-you for his assistance the week before. Albus smiled, thinking that if it hadn’t been for Garbhan’s mishap, he might not have inadvertently insulted Minerva, and then never overheard her conversation with Poppy, and thus not had the last few lovely days with her. He should write his own letter of thanks to Garbhan! Albus was chuckling and in the process of closing the window when a large Eagle Owl swooped out of the sky. As it landed on the sill, Albus saw the yellow band on its leg and knew it to be a Gamp Post Owl. After giving each owl a few treats from Fawkes’s supply, Albus sat down in one of the armchairs next to the fireplace and opened Minerva’s letter.

Albus smiled. She had written it that morning to thank him for his little present. It didn’t seem that she thought it was silly or foolish at all. He reread the letter more slowly, pausing to savour it. So Minerva had not thought his letter overly sentimental . . . she missed him, as well. Of course, she could have said that out of politeness, but Albus didn’t think so. He smiled happily as he reread the lines, “if I may make a confession of my own, as I stood there prepared to Portkey away, all I wanted to do was stay and spend the day with you. I hope you forgive my own sentimentality.” Of course he would – gratefully!

As he reread the rest of the letter, Albus got the sense that Minerva was not having a very good time. He wondered if anyone was giving her a particularly difficult time, and he froze, thinking of one witch who might, as improbable as it seemed to him, also be a guest of the Gamps that week. If _she_ were there, Minerva might be in for a difficult time, indeed. But surely Gertrude would take care of her, keep them apart. Albus didn’t think that he’d ever mentioned that brief and ill-fated relationship to Minerva; whilst he was seeing her, he had been inexplicably reluctant to mention it to Minerva, and afterward, well, there was no question that he wouldn’t mention it to her. Why would he? Merely to embarrass himself more? But if she were there . . . . no, she wouldn’t say anything to Minerva. It would only embarrass _her_ , after all. The witch might be quite nasty, nonetheless. 

Albus sighed and looked at the letter again. Minerva seemed to be spending time with Quin. Albus didn’t know him well, but knew that Gertie thought highly of him, and what contact he had had with the young wizard had always been favourable. He certainly was devoted to his children. That must be why Gertrude had invited Minerva down for a visit. To meet Quin. A little matchmaking. Albus fought the sadness that began to settle in his stomach. Quin was a fine young wizard. And he couldn’t fault Gertrude for trying to encourage the two of them to get to know each other. They would have beautiful children. . . . Albus swallowed. This was ridiculous; he had them married with children, and they’d only just met! And besides, it would be good if Minerva found someone . . . a good wizard. He had the impression that she hadn’t seen anyone seriously in several years, at least, if he was even correct about believing she’d had a relationship with the German Apothecary. Perhaps her heart had been broken when Carson died – although she denied it – and she hadn’t been able to develop a relationship with anyone since. 

As he sat and gazed at Minerva’s letter, Albus determined that he would do all that he could in order to see Minerva happy. Quin could be quite a catch. He was intelligent, talented, very well-off financially, both in the wizarding and Muggle worlds, and he had been devoted to his wife when she’d been alive, and he was a good father – not to mention that he was very good-looking and charming, as well. Eminently suited for his Minerva. Well, she wasn’t _his_ Minerva, but there was no question that Quin could be a very good match for her. He would do all he could to encourage a relationship between them. Of course, he would have to be careful and not be too obvious about it. But if Gertrude was working on Quin, he could work on Minerva . . . subtly. And he would be happy about it. Yes, he _would_ be happy about it.

Albus called Wilspy and asked her to bring him a sandwich and some tea. He would take dinner in the staffroom with the few who were still in the castle, but he wanted to respond to Minerva’s letter, and he sat at his desk and began writing. That evening after dinner, Albus put the finishing touches on the third draft of his letter, then put it away in the small desk in his quarters, deciding to reread it before posting it in the morning.

He slept poorly that night, finding it difficult to fall asleep, then waking up at one o’clock, thinking of Minerva. Albus called Wilspy to have her bring him a cup of chamomile tea and went out onto the roof of his tower to look out over the castle’s grounds. Conjuring a flowered armchair, he settled down and looked off to the south, wondering what Minerva was doing at that moment. Sleeping, no doubt, as all sensible witches and wizards did at that hour. The chilly fresh air and the chamomile tea drove him back to his bedroom and under his covers, and he fell into a restless sleep, with dreams of Minerva and Valerianna, himself looking on helplessly as Valerianna taunted Minerva . . . it was odd, but he could hear Valerianna’s voice, yet he could not comprehend a word that she said. Then Minerva turned to him, crying, telling Albus it was all his fault, that everything was his fault, and, as is the way in dreams, suddenly Valerianna was no longer there, but Quin was, and the young wizard took Minerva into his arms and looked at Albus, shaking his head at him, as though disappointed. Albus forced himself awake from the dream. It was only four-thirty in the morning, and he was covered in sweat. Clearly, he had been spending too much time thinking about Minerva. Of course, thinking of Valerianna the previous evening was not conducive to a good night’s sleep, either.

Albus got out of bed and stretched stiffly, remembering his letter to Minerva. He was unsure now whether he should send her any letter at all. But he did not want to offend her, and her own letter had been so sweet. Wilspy brought him a strong blend of tea, and he put on his dressing gown and brought his tea with him out to the small study off his sitting room. He took out the letter he had finished the night before and reread it. He promptly tore it up before banishing the pieces. He pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and wrote a letter, sealing and addressing it without rereading it, then he called Wilspy and asked her to post it for him – without delay. There was such a thing as being too careful, after all.

* * *

Minerva glanced at her waiting tea, then unsealed the letter from Albus. She smiled as she saw his familiar handwriting. He’d written this one quickly, it appeared, that very morning. Well, it wasn’t as though she laboured terribly over her own letters to him. . . . She only agonised about them after the fact. Particularly letters that weren’t supposed to be sent in the first place.

_“Wednesday, 10 July 1957_

_“Dear Minerva,_

_“I was very pleased to receive your letter yesterday and was glad to hear that my present was welcome and useful, although I detected that you may not be enjoying yourself as much as you might. I know Quin MacAirt slightly, through my acquaintance with Gertie, and I think he should be very agreeable company for you. I hope you have been able to spend more time with him. He seems to be a very talented and decent wizard, and worthy of your company. Gertie has always spoken very highly of him, and I know that he dotes on his children._

_“You have not mentioned any other new acquaintances by name, but it occurred to me that one particular witch, a widow of a friend of mine, might also be there. Although her husband and I were friends, his widow and I have since had a parting of the ways. I do not know if she is in attendance at the Gamps’ house-party, but if she is, I imagine that she might find reason to be less than pleasant to you. Hopefully, she will remain civil, but if she does not, I hope that you remain unbothered by her._

_“I have missed you, Minerva, but I hope that you are enjoying yourself and spending time with some of the young people there, especially Quin. Please extend my greetings to him – and to Gertie and her parents, of course._

_“Take care and have fun! I am looking forward to seeing you when you return tomorrow._

_“Yours,_

_“Albus”_

Minerva poured her tea and added some milk before rereading the letter. Well, he must be speaking of Valerianna. The fact that he had left the witch unnamed and had only said that they had “a parting of the ways” certainly indicated a reluctance on his part to tell her anything about their relationship. Of course, it would be rather awkward to do in a letter, not to mention that he didn’t even know whether the vile witch was there or not. It was nice of him to say something about it, nonetheless. 

She sighed as she folded the letter and finished her tea. It hadn’t been as warm as his previous letter, but he _had_ said he was looking forward to seeing her. And he seemed to like Quin, which was nice to know. 

Minerva got up and put the letter in her carpet bag with the others, then dressed in her saffron-and-raspberry robes. It was good that today was Wednesday and the ball was tonight. She was running out of robes she hadn’t been seen in yet. She would wear this one for the day and change for the party before dinner. 

After dressing, Minerva went downstairs, heading toward the veranda where she had breakfasted the previous two days. There were several people there, including Quin, who was leaning against the rail watching the house. He straightened when he saw her and smiled, meeting her halfway across the veranda. 

“Good-mornin’, love! I thought we might take our breakfast elsewhere this morning . . . and may I say that you look beautiful today!”

“Thank you, you look nice, yourself.” Quin was “wearing Muggle” again, in a crisp white shirt open at the neck, a navy blue double-breasted blazer, and grey flannel trousers. “Where did you have in mind?”

“Gertie has set up a table down in the rose garden. I thought we could join her. Unless you’d prefer to, um, _mingle_ ,” he added in a low voice, looking around them at the various Blacks, Flints, and Yaxleys.

“I think I had enough mingling yesterday during dinner, thank you,” she answered, taking his arm and starting down the stairs. “I do feel as if I’ve been monopolising you, though, Quin. I’m sorry. You needn’t feel you have to spend time with me, you know. I’m a big girl.”

“I was just thinkin’ about you . . . after last night. Hopin’ you slept well,” he said, looking toward the hill fort rising up in the northwest.

“Thank you . . . I’m fine, though. You didn’t need to wait for me.”

“Mmm, I was the reason for your upset, though, Minerva,” he said softly as they walked into the rose garden.

“No, no, you weren’t. Let’s not talk about it now, Quin,” she answered as they turned a corner and found Gertie sitting at a small table, drinking coffee.

Gertrude looked up and nodded at the two. “Good-morning, Minerva, Quin.”

Minerva sat in the chair that Quin pulled out for her. “Good-morning, Gertrude.”

“Sleep well?” Gertie asked Minerva as Quin gave her a quick peck on the cheek before he sat on her other side.

“Fairly well,” Minerva replied. “But you have one annoyingly efficient house-elf.”

“Gluffy? I find that he is usually quite good at getting me moving in the morning,” Gertie answered.

“Mmm. However, I have a word of advice for both of you,” Minerva said as she accepted a cup of tea from Quin, then paused to take a sip. 

She looked at them seriously. “Never cover your head with a pillow when a house-elf is talking.”

Quin raised an eyebrow and Gertie looked at her, waiting for an explanation.

“Your very efficient house-elf was rumbling on about something while I had my head covered with my pillow. When I got up, I discovered he had posted a letter that I hadn’t finished yet. I actually hadn’t even decided whether to send it at all.” Minerva sighed and shook her head ruefully. 

“I hope it wasn’t anything that could have negative repercussions for you, Minerva. I will speak with Gluffy about owling guests’ letters without their permission,” Gertrude said seriously.

Quin furrowed his brow. “Nothin’ . . . _indiscreet_ in the letter, I hope.” 

“No, no, just unfinished.” Minerva shook her head. “But speaking of letters, I had an owl from Albus this morning. He sends his greetings to both of you – and to your parents, Gertrude.”

“I owe him a letter, I’m afraid,” Gertrude said. “It’s been difficult this week, with all of the guests, to have more than a few minutes to sit and think. When you see him tomorrow, let him know that I will write him soon. Most of the guests should be gone by the weekend, except close family, so I’ll have more time then.”

Minerva agreed, saying she certainly understood the constraints on her time, and no doubt Albus would, too. Breakfast appeared on the table, and the three moved on to other topics.

* * *

Albus put the finishing touches on some changes he wanted made to the wand-use laws; he had little hope that they would actually be approved, but if he introduced them often enough, eventually some of them might be adopted. He stretched; he would need a nap after lunch, he thought. After the restless night he’d had, and his very early rising, Albus felt as though the day should be half over, and it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. A walk on the grounds would pick him up a bit, he thought.

It was a beautiful morning; the air was still cool, but the sun was warm, and as he wandered along the edge of the lake, Albus wished that Minerva were there to enjoy it with him. The sunlight glinted off the water as it rippled beneath the light breeze, and Albus conjured a chair and sat and looked out across the lake. He was glad he had answered Minerva’s letter, and glad, too, that he had made mention of Valerianna, if not by name. It wasn’t as warm as his first draft had been yesterday, but he thought it struck a better balance between collegiality and friendliness than his final draft had done. That version, which he had torn up and banished, had seemed positively cold when he’d reread it in the morning, and, of course, it had held no mention of Valerianna, either. 

Valerianna Yaxley. He had scarcely spared her two seconds of thought over the last couple of years, but in the last few days, he had been reminded of her several times, and it was uncomfortable. Probably just as well, however. It might help him to remember to behave himself around Minerva and not act like an old fool. He hadn’t been in love with Valerianna, but he had thought he was growing fond of her. And it had been so many years since he had spent so much time in the company of one witch . . . . Albus shook himself. There was no point in thinking about it now, not this long after it was over. 

Albus gazed unseeing out across the lake, thinking instead of another witch, one of whom he was more than just fond, when the screeching of an enormous Eagle Owl interrupted his reverie. It landed with dramatic flair on a large rock a few yards from him and preened before finishing its journey and flapping over to the arm of his chair. Albus detached the letter that was fastened to the owl’s leg. Another Gamp Owl. And another letter from Minerva. He furrowed his brow. She couldn’t have received his letter and responded to it so soon, could she have? Albus fished a peppermint pillow from one of his pockets and gave it to the owl, who scorned it and took off for the Hogwarts Owlery in search of something more satisfactory. Albus paid the indignant bird no heed, however, as he opened the letter and read it.

_“10 July  
“The Gamp Estate_

_“Dear Albus,_

_“Despite a long and tiring day, I am still awake at one in the morning, so I was drinking a nice cup of chamomile tea and thinking of you.”_

_“I had your letter out and reread it – your friendly words were as soothing as the cup of tea, or more so. I must, however, correct a misapprehension on your part. It seems that you believe that you require an excuse to spend time with me, and I wish to reassure you that no excuse is necessary. I will always want to spend time with you, Albus. I do not know whether you are missing me as you had anticipated, but I have missed you, though that perhaps sounds foolish to you. It has been a very busy two days, but my thoughts turn to you repeatedly and I find myself wishing you were here._

_“I have enjoyed the company of a few of the others here, however. Quin has been particularly good company, and I found that he had many questions about Hogwarts that I could not answer. I have some research to do!_

_“As you suggested, I am trying to get to know Gertrude better. I had no idea before this visit that she had been married, and even after learning that, it did not occur to me that she might have any children, so you may imagine that I was surprised to meet her son, Robert. He spoke of you fondly and expressed disappointment that you were not here. You see, Albus, you are missed!_

_“You must also know Ella, Gertrude’s sister-in-law. She seems very nice, although she is quiet, and Quin tends to dominate conversations when he is around, so I haven’t gotten to know her very well._

_“There is a party tomorrow evening. Quin and I have decided to attend together as allies. Having someone else there to turn to in the case of an encounter with a particularly unpleasant witch or wizard will be reassuring for us both, I think._

_“I hope that you are sleeping peacefully as I write this letter, and I think I can now go to sleep more easily, myself, for having written it._

_“I am looking forward to seeing you Thursday, if you are at the castle when I return, and telling you all about my trip, as you suggested in your letter._

_“Until then,  
“Yours,_

_“Minerva”_

Albus realised that as he had been sitting on the roof of his tower drinking his chamomile tea, Minerva had been writing this letter to him, also drinking a cup of chamomile tea. As he reached the second paragraph, he inexplicably got a lump in his throat. Minerva wished to spend time with him and she missed him. He thought of his own rather distant letter and wished he had been just a bit more expressive in it. But he would see her tomorrow. He couldn’t write her another letter . . . but she was rereading his first one. Perhaps she would welcome just one more short note. One of encouragement, perhaps. She was attending the party with Quin. As allies, she said. That might give them a chance to get to know one another better. It must be what Gertie had in mind when she had invited Minerva there, after all. He might even encourage her to stay another day or two, get to know Quin better. She had said that she was looking forward to seeing him on Thursday, but she shouldn’t feel obligated to return then if she wished to stay. . . .

Albus rose and banished the chair and headed back to his office to write one last note to Minerva. As he climbed the many stairs to his tower, Albus grew warm thinking of her words. She always wanted to spend time with him. Her thoughts turned to him, and she wished he were there. Albus smiled. Although he would encourage her to enjoy her time with Quin, he would have to express his appreciation for her, as well. He didn’t want to neglect her as he had done before; it still caused him pain to remember her words to Poppy, but not because of any insult to him, rather because it reminded him of the hurt he had caused her. And after all of these years and all that they had been through together, Minerva had every right to expect more of his friendship than he had given her during her first months at Hogwarts. It was time that would never return, and she would never again have a “first term” as a teacher. He should have spent more time with her then, both as a friend and as Headmaster.

They did have a nice time when they were together . . . better than “nice,” from his perspective, Albus thought, remembering their recent meals together and their outing to London, and Minerva seemed to value it, as well. But he would have to make sure that she did not feel obligated to spend time with him and that he did not monopolise her when she could be getting to know other wizards, such as Quin.

* * *

Minerva was surprised when, just as they were finishing breakfast, a small Scops Owl flew up and politely settled on the edge of their table, hooted softly, and bobbed its head. There were two letters attached to its leg, and when Quin reached over to remove them, the little fellow hopped over to Gertrude.

“Well, snubbed by an owl! See if you get any o’ me bacon, you little urchin!” Quin said with a smile.

“You haven’t any bacon left, Quin,” Minerva told him.

“I have a bit o’ toast I’d have shared, though,” he grumbled jokingly.

Meanwhile, Gertrude had taken the letters from the owl and fed it a bit of bread and cheese. She handed Minerva one of the letters. Minerva raised her eyebrows. From Poppy. She looked over at Gertrude, who had glanced at the letter then put it in the pocket of her sea-green robes. Minerva, despite her curiosity, did likewise. 

The remains of their breakfast vanished from the table, leaving a fresh pot of tea and another small one of coffee. Minerva poured herself a third cup of tea and offered some to Quin.

“Ta, Minerva, but I think I’ll go see if me kids are survivin’ Bella. She’s a holy terror, that one – or an unholy terror – for all she appears quiet when she’s around adults. But meet me on the veranda in an hour – you, too, Gertie. Robert and I have some plans that require your participation!” Quin rubbed his hands in anticipation.

“What have you got in mind, Quin?” asked Gertie suspiciously.

“Just show up, Gertie, an’ you’ll see!” With that, Quin stood and took his leave, bending first to kiss Minerva’s cheek.

After he had disappeared behind a hedge, Gertie said, “Well, it does seem that you and Quin are getting along well.”

“Yes, we are. He is fun . . . and easy to talk to.” Minerva felt slightly uncomfortable under the older witch’s sharp gaze.

“I’m glad. It is good to see Quin enjoying himself.”

Minerva had the feeling that Gertrude had been going to add something else, but when she didn’t, Minerva finished her tea in a few swallows, and excused herself from the table. “I think I’ll go up to the house now, myself, Gertrude. I may pay a visit to the library before whatever it is that Quin has planned.”

Gertrude nodded, then said, “If I were you, and knowing Quin and Robert, I would change my robes.”

Minerva’s eyebrows rose. “Why?”

“They usually arrange some kind of vigorous activity one morning. I fear that you have been caught up in their plans, Minerva. You don’t need to participate, of course.”

“Oh, well, perhaps it’s best to be prepared, however. How like a man not to mention appropriate clothing, though! Thanks for the warning, Gertrude!”

Minerva headed back up to the house and her bedroom. As soon as she closed the door, she pulled Poppy’s letter from her pocket. She had been surprised to see that Poppy must have also written to Gertrude; she hadn’t had the impression that they were particular friends, although Poppy probably knew her better, since she’d been at Hogwarts longer than Minerva had.

_“10 July_

_“Dear Minerva,_

_“I’m glad to hear that you are surviving V. Now that I know that Gertrude spoke with you, I feel reassured. I’m sorry if I sounded a bit hysterical yesterday. It doesn’t sound as though V. has been anything but ordinarily obnoxious._

_“I am intrigued by this Quin. You sound rather taken with him – I know, I know, I’m not supposed to be getting any ideas, and I’m not, really. It’s just been a while since you last wrote so fondly of any wizard but Albus, that’s all._

_“It would be nice to see you soon. I will be visiting my grandmother in Leeds after leaving Violet’s, and then I’m going to London to visit some of my friends from St. Mungo’s. Would you like to come for a visit tomorrow? I’m sure you’re looking forward to some time to yourself after being at the Gamps, but perhaps you could just come for lunch, or for tea. You could Floo to the Hag’s Hump – it’s just a short walk from my sister’s house – and we could meet there. You’re welcome to stay a couple days, though – Violet said she’d enjoy seeing you again._

_“Enjoy the ball tonight. I know you like dancing, and there are precious few opportunities for that when one’s on the staff at Hogwarts! Perhaps you could speak with Albus about creating a few more opportunities for you!_

_“I hope to see you tomorrow, Minerva._

_“Best,_

_“Poppy”_

Minerva quickly pulled out a piece of parchment and composed a note.

_“10 July_

_“Dear Poppy,_

_“I’d love to come by tomorrow for a brief visit. As much as I appreciate Violet’s invitation, I think I will pass. I think I need a few days to recover after this!_

_“I am fond of Quin, as you would be if you met him, Poppy, and it’s nice to have a new friend, but please do not read any more into it. You are worse than my mother sometimes!_

_“If it doesn’t pose a problem for you or Violet, I’d like to leave open my arrival time. I want to get back to Hogwarts first. Could I arrive sometime between noon and three o’clock? I know where Violet’s house is, I think, and if I get confused, I’m sure they can direct me at the Hag’s Hump. If I don’t hear from you otherwise, I will assume that this is all right with you both._

_“I’m sure I will enjoy at least some aspects of the party tonight, and I will dance with any wizard who can keep his hands in the proper places and avoid drooling on me! (Quin says I’m to “save him from the drooling old hags,” so I am hoping he will return the favour if someone gets too fresh, clingy, or drooly!)_

_“See you tomorrow,_

_“Minerva”_

Minerva quickly folded and addressed the letter, then pulled off her dress and changed into her pale blue robe, which was plain cotton with long sleeves, and its matching sleeveless over-robe. She could always use a Cooling Charm if she became too warm. Pulling on her dragonhide boots and charming them to match her dress, Minerva wondered what activity Quin and Robert had planned. Robert had struck her as being very quiet, the little she had seen of him yesterday afternoon and at dinner. But Quin was quite the opposite. He had suggested a “clamber” to Robert; perhaps he was bringing them all on a hike. She wouldn’t mind getting a closer look at some of the menhirs and discern whether they were laid out in any sort of pattern. Gertie could probably tell her more about them, but it would be more fun to see if she could see a pattern for herself.

“Gluffy!” Minerva called, deciding that if the elf could post a letter he wasn’t supposed to, he could post one that should be sent.

Gluffy popped in promptly, wide, toothy grin plastered to his jowly, purplish-grey face. “Yes, Madam Professor? Gluffy serves!”

“Yes, Gluffy, I have a letter that needs to be posted to Wales.” She held it out to the old house-elf.

Gluffy’s grin wavered slightly, but then he took the letter and bowed. It was the first time he had bowed to her, and Minerva found she didn’t like it, though she should be used to it from house-elves.

“By the way, Gluffy, I wish to apologise to you – ”

Gluffy turned greyer. “Oh, no, Madam Professor – ”

“Yes, I do. And you will let me.” The house-elf, grin completely faded, looked up at her, listening obediently. “I left out a letter last night. This morning you owled it for me. I assume you were telling me that you were doing that while I had my head covered with my pillow.” The squat little fellow nodded. “I wish to apologise for blaming you. It should have occurred to me to put the letter away last night, and I should have listened to you when you were speaking to me. Of course, it would have been a good idea if you had made absolutely certain that I wanted it sent first, but I am sorry if I got you into trouble with your mistress.”

Gluffy gave a small smile. “Madam Gamp is a good mistress. Madam Gamp is telling Gluffy not to owl guests’ letters without guests asking to. Gluffy not in big trouble, Madam Professor. Only a little trouble.”

“Good, then. Thank you for owling this letter, then!” Minerva smiled down at the elf, whose natural colour had returned.

“Gluffy happy to serve, Madam Professor!” He grinned at her before winking out of the room with the letter.

Well, a Gamp house-elf who didn’t cringe when thanked. He couldn’t be the one that Quin had bribed that first day. Quin . . . so much had happened, it was hard to believe she had only been here two days, that she had only known Quin such a short time. And after what he had said last night, Minerva felt even closer to him. How had he known? She had definitely felt Quin’s magic flowing over her. It must be some sort of empathy, but it wasn’t only her feelings he had sensed, but their nature and their potential consequences. The consequences. He had said that if she didn’t act on her feelings, her joy would die. Minerva shook herself. She didn’t believe in such things. Yet she could see how what Quin had said might be true . . . but then, if it were true, it was inevitable that her joy would die. There was no chance that anything positive could come of telling Albus how she felt. He would feel sorry for her, and in his fondness for her, he would be kind, but she didn’t think she could bear having him feel sorry for her, or having him know of her feelings and not returning them. And he would wonder how she had felt when he had hugged her or kissed her; he would feel very uncomfortable about that. And she couldn’t blame him. It seemed as though telling Albus would end their friendship, and yet, from what Quin had said, if she didn’t tell him, she would become more and more miserable until their relationship was no longer a source of joy for her.

Minerva swallowed hard. She’d more-or-less agreed to meet Quin and Robert on the veranda; they would be expecting her soon. Looking in the mirror over the washbasin in the corner of her room, Minerva saw that her eyes were red, despite not have shed a tear, and there were circles under her eyes, probably the result of too little sleep the night before. Minerva Summoned her wand and cast a light Glamour on her eyes, reducing the redness, puffiness, and dark circles, then she splashed her face with cold water and ran downstairs to the veranda.


	49. Games at the Gamps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva spends her morning engaged in more vigorous activity than she had planned and sees Gertrude in a new light.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Druella Black, Orion Black, Quin MacAirt, Alro MacAirt, Gertrude Gamp, and others.

**XLIX: Games at the Gamps**

It turned out that Quin and Robert’s idea of a grand time was a pick-up Quidditch game. Quin, Gertie, Minerva, Alroy, and slender Crispin Fastnott made up one team, and Robert, Francis Flint, young Bartie Crouch, Orion Black, and Druella Black made up the other team. They played with just two Chasers and one Beater, and only one Bludger. Apparently Gertie normally played Seeker, but this time, as the smallest on the team, Alroy did. Minerva was very relieved when, after she spent almost two very sweaty hours of playing Chaser, Alroy finally caught the Snitch. They had been down by six points when they finally scored the last one hundred fifty points, and Minerva had never been much for playing Quidditch, preferring to watch and cheer others on. It didn’t help that Druella was the Beater on the other team, and she seemed to take her job a bit too seriously for a friendly pick-up game. The former Slytherin would bare her teeth as she whacked the Bludger, seeming to smile with evil glee when Gertrude’s defence was inadequate. And Gertrude’s skills were such that she seemed unable to aim the Bludger on the few occasions her bat actually made contact with it.

Minerva limped up the stairs to her room, wanting, no, _needing_ , a shower before lunch, which was in only a half hour. She was pleased to see Gluffy appear with a small vial of some kind of pain potion. With nary a qualm, Minerva swallowed it down. She doubted that the Gamps would poison her, after all. Within moments, she felt much better. A quick shower, and she’d be good as new. Or near as she could get after having been caught by the Bludger a few too many times. 

Poor Gertie must be even worse off. She was far older than Minerva, and as an inexperienced Beater, she had been hit by the Bludger more often than she’d been able to hit it with the bat. In moves that would have been disapproved in league play, she would just fly between the Bludger and Minerva or Alroy in a vain attempt to keep the Bludger from hitting either the Chasers or the Seeker. Well, not entirely in vain, since the Bludger didn’t usually hit its intended target – indeed, Alroy was never hit – but it _did_ strike Gertie more often than not. She even fell from her broom at one point, and her son, the Keeper for the other team, caught her with an _Arresto Momentum_ followed rapidly by a _Mobilicorpus_. The stubborn witch just climbed back on her broom and wouldn’t hear of switching positions with either Quin or Minerva, even after her son intervened and suggested she play Keeper or Chaser. Of course, she wouldn’t have been much better off with Minerva playing Beater. Minerva suspected Gertie had even suffered a broken arm with the last blow. Minerva wished that she’d had that bat just once; Druella would have learned a lesson from her. Minerva would have driven that Bludger right into the miserable hag’s fat, leering face.

It hadn’t helped that Valerianna was down there cheering every time that Francis scored a goal or Robert blocked Minerva from scoring, and making loud, deprecating sounds every time Minerva scored. Of course, most of the guests were out, looking on and cheering for one team or the other – or for both – but Minerva could hear Valerianna’s voice over all the others. After the game, once Gertie had been bundled off to the house with Columbine, Minerva saw Robert and Quin tallying scores. Apparently, they played a Quidditch game every year and kept a running tally of how many points each team scored. Minerva simply rolled her eyes when Quin announced ecstatically that his team was up by thirty-two points. She would have punched him if she hadn’t thought she would fall over if she tried. 

After lunch, at which she was seated next to Robert, with Quin at the opposite end of the table from her for the first time, Minerva excused herself, declined an invitation to go out for a “clamber” with Robert and the MacAirts, and went up to her room for a long nap. If she was going to be fresh for the evening, she needed one, especially after her morning. She stopped to see Gertie first, and reassured herself that the older witch was quite well. Gertie had only received a hairline fracture to her ulna, quickly healed by Healer Fastnott, but Minerva scolded her gently and told her that next year, it would be safer for all involved if she declined to play Beater. Gertie grinned ruefully and admitted that Minerva was probably right, and she just might retire from the pick-up games altogether after this. 

Despite her exhaustion, Minerva woke just before three o’clock to find an owl sitting on the night stand, patiently waiting to deliver its letter. Minerva wondered how long it had been there. Owls were usually quite insistent on making their deliveries and then moving on, and she was surprised the bird hadn’t awakened her.

After taking the letter from the bird and sacrificing a half a ginger newt to it, Minerva put on her glasses and opened it. She was surprised to see that it was yet another letter from Albus. He must have received her letter; hopefully, he hadn’t found it offensive in anyway. Well, he probably wouldn’t find it _offensive_ , but he might find it silly. And she was normally so reserved, he might find it peculiar, as well. If he did, Minerva hoped he put it down to her being surrounded by strangers and missing Hogwarts, and not to an inappropriate attachment to him. She wished she had a clearer memory of what she had written.

_“10 July 1957_

_“Dear Minerva,_

_“It was lovely to receive another letter from you this morning. I had to smile as I read it, since it appears we were both awake at the same time, drinking chamomile tea instead of sleeping! I am glad that my little gift has been useful and comforting._

_“I was thinking of you, as well, and hoping that you were peacefully asleep after a nice day. I am sorry to hear that you were not, but I am glad that you took the opportunity to write me another letter. It was a welcome surprise this morning. I was particularly touched to read that you are missing me, although I hope that does not mean that you are not having a good time at the Gamps. If you go to the party with Quin, you should enjoy yourself this evening, at least. I am glad to hear that he is keeping you company and amusing you._

_“Please give my greetings to Robert. I am sorry that I will not see him there this year, but I hope to make a trip to the Continent before the end of the summer and would enjoy visiting both him and Thea, if it is convenient, of course. I hope that his wife is well._

_“I am glad you are able to spend some time with Gertie. It is often easier to get to know a colleague when you are both elsewhere, I think, and I am sure that she is enjoying the opportunity to see more of you, as well. You mentioned Ella Gamp. She is rather quiet, but I have also always found her a pleasant and friendly witch._

_“I will continue to find excuses to spend time with you, Minerva, although you say I need none; without an excuse, I am afraid that you would grow quite tired of my company, though I doubt I could ever grow tired of yours, my dear. I am very glad that you are at Hogwarts and that we had our little talk the other day. I feel as though I must thank Garbhan Govannon for falling off his broom and disrupting my usual routine, or I might have remained blind for much longer and continued to have so senselessly deprived myself of your friendly companionship. It will be good to have you back at the castle, my dear, and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow morning._

_“I hope you enjoy yourself with Quin this evening. You two will certainly make a fine-looking couple, probably the most attractive there! Speaking of couples, please give my congratulations and best wishes to Walburga and Orion. It is neither an unexpected match, nor an unanticipated one, although I have my reservations about it. Nonetheless, I hope that they are happy together._

_“I am glad that you will be attending the party with Quin. I am sure he will take very good care of you – and if he is in need of ‘rescue,’ himself, he couldn’t be in better hands than yours, either! Do have fun tonight!_

_“Yours,_

_“Albus”_

When Minerva finished reading the letter, she put it down and looked out the window, off across the gardens. It was a lovely letter . . . but it left her wistful and sad, nonetheless. She was glad that Albus enjoyed spending time with her so much, and that he had apparently appreciated her letter, which eased her mind, but it was “friendly companionship” that he found with her. Minerva knew that already, of course, and had always known that was all she could hope for from their relationship, but seeing it written on the page, in Albus’s hand, brought a lump to her throat. It was far more than she had expected from their relationship for years, and it certainly met her greatest hope when she had accepted the job at Hogwarts, that she would be able to develop a good friendship with Albus, but her desire outstripped her hopes, and she would always be aware of what it was she really wanted and could never have. What had Quin said last night? That she had to reclaim her heart and then give it to him openly . . . . She didn’t know precisely when she had given Albus her heart. Was it that day in the Transfiguration classroom when, with all the melodrama a teenager could muster, she had been convinced that she would die of her love for Albus? Perhaps that was when she finally let her heart go, or it may even have been some time after that, but she had begun giving her heart to him much before that day. It hadn’t happened overnight. How could she reclaim it? It was impossible. And if she were able to reclaim her heart, she certainly wouldn’t give it to him openly . . . 

Quin had also said she should let him love her. Love her in the knowledge of her love for him. Albus surely loved her in some way, and she wasn’t stopping him from it. That would have to suffice. For what could she tell him of her feelings? She had come far too close to revealing herself fully in her letter, and that was as far as she could go. Regardless of what Quin said, her emptiness and longing would simply have to remain as they were and be satisfied by what relationship she _could_ have with Albus; there was no point in telling him anything more, for it couldn’t change what they had, except to make it uncomfortable for them both.

Minerva looked down at the letter. He had mentioned Quin again. She sighed. At least he liked her friends. She could try harder with Gertie. It wasn’t as though she were Valerianna, after all. Albus had known Gertrude for years, well enough for her son to call him “Uncle,” and had taught beside her for almost twenty years. Albus clearly had not known Valerianna more than superficially until after they had begun seeing each other. And he had made it clear that they had had “a falling out,” as he put it. And if what Gertie and Quin had said was correct, he’d been involved with Valerianna less than a year before he discovered her true colours. Gertrude clearly cared for Albus and was loyal to him. There was no denying it. That alone should make her worthy of Minerva’s respect, even if she couldn’t ever muster a strong affection for her. Although Minerva _had_ felt some warmth for Gertie when she stopped to see how the older witch was feeling after her multiple encounters with the Bludger that morning. Foolish witch, to have played on so stubbornly. Quin should have insisted that she switch positions with him. Or she could have played Chaser whilst Minerva played Keeper and Quin switched to Beater. Minerva would have a stern word with Quin, if she could find him. Just because he and Robert “always” played Keeper didn’t mean they had to continue to do so – they _were_ supposed to be adults, after all!

Minerva put her raspberry-and-saffron robes back on and headed downstairs. She followed the sound of voices to the conservatory, where she found several witches in conversation about the latest fashions. Deciding to be at least minimally sociable, Minerva joined them for a while. When Irma complimented her on her robes, Minerva smiled politely and told her that it was thanks to her niece’s good taste that she had them, as she normally wouldn’t have chosen either the colour or the style. She quickly grew tired of the vapid conversation, however, and excused herself to step out on the veranda, where she found Quin, Robert, a few of the other younger wizards and a couple of witches. Quin sprang up from his chair and offered it to her, but she declined. 

“I think I will take a walk. I’m afraid I’ll be quite stiff if I don’t,” Minerva said.

“Mind some company?” Quin asked, a winning smile on his face.

“No, not at all – Robert, would you like to come along?”

The tall, auburn-haired wizard smiled shyly and said that he wanted to some time with his mother that afternoon, and she should be up from her nap soon. Minerva heartily approved of that idea, but, given her short acquaintance with the wizard, she forbore mentioning that she thought he might have been a little more solicitous of his mother before she’d been Bludgered by his teammate. She would not be so restrained with Quin, however, although she would wait until they were out of earshot of the rest of the company on the veranda. Minerva conveyed Albus’s message to Robert, which elicited a larger smile from him, and his soft thanks.

Quin followed Minerva down into the garden. “Why am I gettin’ the idea you’re unhappy with me, Minerva?”

“You are?” Minerva was perturbed by his cavalier treatment of Gertie’s safety, especially given that he seemed fond of the witch, but she didn’t believe she had behaved in anything other than a normal manner with him just then. “Well, I don’t know what would give you that notion, but now that you bring it up, I found your willingness to allow Gertrude to play Beater this morning most displeasing. She’s not as young as you are, Quin, and she clearly had no ability to play that position.”

“Well, I did offer to have her play Chaser, but she insisted. Crispin has that bad shoulder, so he couldn’t take the position, and Gertie didn’t want either you or Alroy hurt –”

“I may not be particularly good at Quidditch, in any position, but I would have been better suited to that position than she, not to mention the fact that as the largest, strongest player on the team by far, you would have been the logical choice to be Beater.”

“I didn’t think of that immediately, honestly, Minerva. And before we started, I had no idea she would be as abysmal as she was or I would have insisted that I play Beater. But I always am Keeper, just as Robert is always Keeper for the other team, and it just didn’t occur to me to change off this year.”

“Well, then, you still should have insisted she trade with one of us once it was clear she had no clue how to stop the Bludger without flying into it! I don’t think I’ve seen anything quite that . . . _inept_ in any Quidditch game. And barring that, you or Robert should have called Druella out on her unsporting behaviour – had her either play a different position or at least not be so cutthroat about it. The witch was positively nasty. She certainly took advantage of the fact that Gertrude didn’t know what she was doing.”

“You saw Gertrude, Minerva. She wouldn’t hear of it, and as for Druella . . . she certainly won’t be asked to play again. And I would say that she and Cygnus will not find the Gamp Estate so welcoming in the future. Columbine was most displeased.”

Minerva snorted. “Lovely. The miserable toad practically kills Gertrude and she will – horrors! – be snubbed at future Gamp gatherings.” Minerva shook her head.

“Come, now, Minerva, ‘practically killed’ is an overstatement. And Gertie was not entirely innocent in the matter. She should have swallowed her pride and switched positions, but she didn’t. Don’t worry, we will make sure that our friendly game is friendlier next year. But did you see Alroy! He was fabulous!”

“Mmm. He’s eleven; he was good and showed potential. But the game would have gone faster if he or Bartie had been more experienced and one of them had managed to catch the Snitch sooner,” Minerva grumbled. Seeing Quin’s crestfallen face, Minerva added, “But Alroy _is_ extremely good for his age, and he had very good control of his broom. He will have to try out for his House team his second year.”

“Second?”

“Yes. As a general rule, first-year students are not allowed to try out for Quidditch. Partly to allow more students an opportunity to play, partly because they are usually not skilled enough, but mainly because the practices would distract them too much during a time when they should be settling into their studies and getting to know all of their classmates, not just other Quidditch players.”

“I’ll have to get him a new broom, to be sure. The Cleansweep Four, perhaps.”

Changing the topic, Minerva asked, “Looking forward to this evening, Quin?” 

“O’ course I am, love! I’m only escortin’ the most beautiful witch there, after all. I’ll be the envy of every wizard in attendance.”

Minerva laughed.

“It’s laughin’, she is! Sincerity oozin’ from me every pore, an’ she’s laughin’!” he huffed.

Minerva took his arm as they walked out of the garden onto the moor. “No, no, it’s just that you compliment me so much, and I’m not used to it.”

Quin turned and looked at her seriously. “You should be, Minerva. This wizard of yours, he isn’t appreciating you, then?”

Minerva blushed, but answered him. “I’m sure he does, in his own way.”

“But not to be complimentin’ you, tellin’ you what a fine witch you are an’ how beautiful . . . .”

“No, no, he does; it’s just different,” Minerva said with a sigh.

“Different? How?” he asked.

“He doesn’t mean it the same way.”

“You mean he’s not sincere?”

“Of course he’s sincere, Quin . . . I really don’t want to talk about this now.”

“All right . . . but it seems to me that if he’s payin’ you compliments an’ they’re sincere, well, p’raps it’s not as much a lost cause as you were tellin’ me last night.”

“It is, Quin, believe me, it is.”

“Oh . . .” Quin’s brow furrowed. “He’s married, then?”

“No! No! Of course not!”

“Um, a ‘confirmed bachelor’?” he offered tentatively.

“No, he’s not like that, either.”

“Then I must confess to bein’ confused, love. He appreciates you sincerely, he’s not married or prone to, um, other sorts of attachments, and you love him. I don’t understand why you feel so despairin’ about it all,” Quin said gently.

“It doesn’t matter, Quin, really.”

Quin paused, looking at Minerva. “I see. All right, love. Then . . . about tonight. Shall I come by your room and fetch you?”

“That would be nice, Quin, although I would prefer it if you didn’t think of it as ‘fetching,’” Minerva replied, glad he had let up on the other subject.

He smiled. “I shall arrive fifteen minutes before dinner, then, and escort you to the ballroom – I was right in my guess they’ll have the dinner there.”

“That’s fine, Quin,” she answered, distracted by her thoughts of Albus and what Quin had said.

“I hope you enjoy dancin’ – and that you’ll save a few for me.”

“I enjoy it very much, actually, and if you can dance, you may actually have more than a few,” she smiled up at him, turning her thoughts back to her companion. “I’m genuinely looking forward to it, Quin.”

“And you mustn’t let any of these folks spoil it for you, either, Minerva,” he answered, his fingertips briefly touching her cheek.

“Do you know something, Quin?” Minerva asked, slightly alarmed.

“I don’t know anything, nothin’ specific, to be sure. Just that a few of these folks, as you know, enjoy stirrin’ things up whilst appearin’ perfectly innocent.” Quin led her to a fallen menhir and they sat on the sun-warmed stone.

“That description sounds like it could be of you.”

He laughed. “Touché! But I only stir things up for people who started the stirrin’ first. There’s a difference.”

“It didn’t seem that Francis was ‘stirring’ when you taunted him at lunch that time.”

“His remark about not seein’ me recently was not calculated to be mere small talk, love. I just reminded him of what happens when he _does_ see me around the Ministry, that’s all.”

“Gertie told me something about that. It seems you were rubbing salt in his wounds, and a long time after the fact, too.”

“Rubbin’ salt in his wounds, is it? If he has any wounds to be rubbin’, they’re self-inflicted. I warned him off, in a friendly sort o’ way, an’ he could have backed off at any point, but he didn’t stop until the Ministry put an end to it after he’d run through his entire budget investigatin’ meself. And with nothin’ to show for it.”

“I don’t understand why he did that, Quin – if there was nothing to his suspicions, he must have realised it. Why didn’t he quit? Or _was_ there something to it, and you were just more clever than he?”

“He believes the latter. Or has convinced himself of it. Not that I’m more clever, of course, but that I was luckier than he. As to why he didn’t quit . . . only he could answer that, but I think it was ambition. He thought that bringin’ me down would advance his career. Instead, it earned him a one-way ticket to obscurity.” He looked down at her. “I really _did_ try to tell him, Minerva, but when he kept goin’ – it was divertin’ me resources and causin’ me no end o’ trouble. So I went ahead an’ made things a bit more interestin’ for him . . . little hints ’n’ whiffs of nothin’, but he followed ’em all to his own destruction. If he’d o’ left well enough alone, or even just done his job, I would o’ left him alone. He should o’ known there was nothin’ there after his first look-see.”

“Hmm. I see. I suppose I don’t want to get on your wrong side, Quin!”

He grinned. “Not a chance o’ that, love. Not a chance.”

Minerva stood. “I suppose we should be getting back. I’d like to see Gertie again before the party.”

“You’re warmin’ to her, then,” Quin said.

“I would be concerned about _anyone_ who was beaten by a Bludger that way.”

“Mmm. And you _are_ a carin’ sort. Though you have a habit o’ hidin’ it, I think. Another way that you’re like Gertie.”

Minerva just rolled her eyes and took his arm for the walk back to the house. “You really _are_ incorrigible, you know that, don’t you?”

“’Tis part o’ me charm, though, an’ you love me for it!” He grinned impishly, blue eyes twinkling.

“Piffle!” Minerva laughed, feeling more light-hearted, her melancholy thoughts shed in the sunlight and Quin’s good company.


	50. Curious Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva has a peculiar conversation with Gertrude that doesn't seem to answer any of her questions.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Gertrude Gamp,

**L: Curious Conversation**

Minerva stopped by Gertie’s room before going to her own. She still hadn’t asked her about Poppy’s letter or told her about the words she’d overheard from Valerianna the day before. When she entered the room, Gertie was stretched out on a chaise longue, reading _Arithmancy Today_ , and eating an apple. Minerva was suddenly transported back fifteen years to the evening when she had so rashly broken curfew, and when Professor Dumbledore had returned her to her dormitory, Professor Gamp was sitting in the Gryffindor common room in a very similar position, waiting to talk to Minerva.

As a result of the talk they had that night, Minerva began offering Transfiguration tutoring to anyone from any House, on a regular basis, at the beginning of her seventh year. She had gone to Professor Gamp for assistance in securing a classroom to hold the sessions in, explaining to Professor Gamp that this was her way of repaying Professor Dumbledore, and she’d prefer not to bother him for help. Professor Gamp’s lips twitched a slight smile, and she gave Minerva permission to use her classroom at set times each week. If Professor Gamp noticed that these times also overlapped with Professor Dumbledore’s usual office hours, she said nothing about it.

Approximately three weeks after beginning her tutoring sessions, Minerva was quite enjoying the parade of students, which ranged from a few nervous little first-years to several fifth-years who were afraid they’d been too lax in their studies and, now that OWLs were upon them, were suddenly very serious. There were even a few sixth-years who dropped in occasionally when they had trouble with a particularly difficult Transfiguration. Minerva only turned away students who were a distraction, or there just to cause problems, and seventh-year students, telling them that since she was in the same class as they were, she thought they’d be better off going directly to Professor Dumbledore. She often ended up tutoring them informally, however, rather than having them “bother” Professor Dumbledore. 

One Wednesday evening in late September, Minerva was helping a second-year student with an organic-to-inorganic Transfiguration when she began to feel as though she were being watched, and not just by the students. She turned her head toward the door; there was no one there, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of being observed. A moment later, she looked toward one corner. No, no one there. After the events of the previous term, she was nervous about sensing a presence and seeing nothing. The third time Minerva looked up toward the corner from which she felt eyes upon her, she was prepared to dismiss the students and send for Professor Gamp. She blinked, then blinked again. Professor Dumbledore came into focus. He was standing there, smiling at her as though it were perfectly normal to be invisible one moment and visible the next. Leaving the students she’d been speaking to, Minerva began to walk toward her professor, but he shook his head and raised a finger to his lips. Minerva looked about her. No one else had seemed to notice Professor Dumbledore standing there watching them, and when she looked back, he was no longer there. Or, more accurately, Minerva could no longer see him. She continued to sense his presence moving about the perimeter of the room for the next twenty minutes, until she sent the last student off to her common room.

Minerva turned toward the window, where she sensed her professor standing. “That’s the last of them, Professor. You can . . . come out now, or whatever it is you are doing.”

Professor Dumbledore shimmered then solidified. He looked slightly puzzled. “You could see me?”

“No. That was no ordinary Disillusionment Charm, Professor.” Minerva furrowed her brow. “If I know someone’s Disillusioned, I can usually make out their outline, but I couldn’t see you at all.”

“No, I wasn’t Disillusioned . . . but you seemed to know where I was, even before I showed myself to you. Was I breathing particularly loudly?” he asked with a smile.

Minerva laughed. “No, I couldn’t hear you breathing.” Still chuckling, she said, “I could just feel you there. At first, I didn’t know it was you. I could just sense that someone was watching me, and I was getting nervous about it. Once I knew it was you, I could tell where you were when you moved.”

“Hmm. I didn’t realise you were that sensitive, Minerva.” His brow knit in thought.

“I’m not, really, I’m just used to you, I suppose, from Animagus training and such,” she responded, slightly uncomfortable with her admission. “I was surprised to see you, nonetheless. And not just because I _couldn’t_ see you!”

He smiled brightly, eyes twinkling. “I was wondering where all my students were. Performance this year has been particularly good, and yet so few students have been coming to me for extra help, I was quite puzzled. I didn’t think that my teaching methods had suddenly become that much more effective, nor did I think that the general level of talent amongst the students could have changed that drastically over the summer. I wondered if other teachers were experiencing a similar drop-off in students coming to them for help, and, among those who usually see students during office hours, none had. This puzzled me even more, until I asked Derek McKinney how it was that he had been unable to Transfigure his beetle into a button on Monday and yet he was able to do so quite easily today. He informed me that you showed him what he was doing wrong. Upon further questioning, I learned that he and others have been receiving regular tutoring from you, Miss McGonagall.”

Minerva reddened. Perhaps she should have asked him first. But he had never minded the occasional tutoring she’d done for a few students now and then over the last few years. This was much more extensive, however, and Minerva had a sudden sense of how arrogant she might seem, presuming to tutor all of these students. “I’m sorry, sir. I should have checked with you first.”

“Quite all right, my dear, quite all right. Mr McKinney informed me that your sessions take place in here, so I spoke with Professor Gamp about it. She told me that she had given you permission to use her classroom. I was slightly puzzled as to why you didn’t discuss your plans with me, but Professor Gamp said that I should speak with you about that.” He waited.

Minerva thought a moment, then said, “Truthfully, sir, I wanted to help you. I have taken a lot of your time over the last few years, and I know how hard you work and how many demands you have on your time. I thought I could . . . free you for more important things.”

“The education of my students is very important to me, Minerva,” he said quietly.

“I know that. I’m sorry sir. I should have asked your permission before doing anything,” Minerva said guiltily.

“That’s not what I’m saying at all, Minerva. Thank you for taking such good care of my students. And you may, of course, continue. I would not want to see your own studies suffer for it, however. And I sometimes have other duties that are more . . . _pressing_ , if they are not more important.” He smiled at her, one of his warm, gentle smiles that shot straight through her.

Blushing, Minerva said, “I always planned on sending anyone to you if they weren’t catching on, or if I couldn’t help them. And I have plenty of time this year, really, Professor. You needn’t worry about me.”

“I will always be concerned for your well-being, Minerva. In fact, after all that teaching, you must be quite famished!” he declared with a grin.

Minerva had protested, but Dumbledore had called Wilspy for biscuits and milk, and they were in the midst of a lovely conversation of the finer points of conveying the proper wand movement for multilevel organic-to-inorganic Transfigurations when Professor Gamp had arrived to lock up her classroom for the evening. It was one of the few times as a student that Minerva had seen a soft, genuine smile cross the older witch’s face; she had left the two of them to their biscuits, milk, and conversation, and Professor Dumbledore to lock up.

Minerva smiled, remembering that long ago evening when she’d found Professor Gamp waiting for her in the Gryffindor common room. It hadn’t been amusing at the time, of course, and she’d been dreadfully upset that Professor Dumbledore had been so angry with her, but she had enjoyed the tutoring sessions, and she had been very happy to be able to help Professor Dumbledore. Not to mention that he had revealed one of his unusual abilities to her that evening when he’d come and observed her tutoring the younger students. He had never explained to her precisely how he was able to become invisible, but it must have been quite a difficult feat to achieve, particularly since he was able to become visible to her whilst remaining invisible to everyone else in the room. She had never heard of anyone being able to do such a thing before, not outside a myth or legend, anyway. Prior to that evening, she would have said that it would be as impossible as flight without the aid of a Charmed object – unless one were a flying Animagus, of course.

“Good-afternoon, Gertie. Feeling better?”

Gertrude smiled slightly. “Much, thank you. Good as new for tonight. And you, Minerva? All set for the party?”

“Quin is coming by for me fifteen minutes before dinner; we’ll be going together.”

“He’d mentioned that.” Gertie looked at Minerva a moment. “I am glad to see that you two are getting along so well, and it is none of my business, but I was wondering . . . are you planning on seeing each other again after this?”

Just as Minerva was warming to the witch, she had to ask something like this. “Perhaps. We enjoy each other’s company. And he’s easy to talk to.”

“Yes, yes, he is. He seems fond of you, as well.”

Minerva began to blush, then remembered her Occlumency exercises. Calming herself, Minerva answered, “It would appear so. Friends usually are fond of each other.”

Gertrude twitched a slight smile. “Yes, they are. However, I need to tell you that I have not seen my nephew spend this much time with any one witch in years, not since Aileen died.”

Minerva’s Occlumency nearly failed. “Well, you do spend most of the year at Hogwarts, Gertrude. I doubt that I am as unusual as you seem to be suggesting.”

“Perhaps not . . . and I do I hope that you will both have a good time this evening. Have you found this holiday a nice break for you?” she asked, changing the subject.

“It has been interesting, as you said it might be. I think I would have preferred another look at the hill fort to the Quidditch game this morning, though.”

Gertie grinned. “You and I both. I hope that the other guests have treated you courteously.”

“With the exception of Valerianna, no one has been precisely discourteous. Although some of them were annoying without even trying, if that is not too impolite to say.”

Chuckling, Gertrude said, “That’s actually rather kind of you. And I do apologise for Valerianna’s behaviour, although I doubt there’s anything anyone could say to her that wouldn’t simply encourage her.”

“Speaking of Valerianna, Gertrude, I overheard her yesterday in the garden talking with Francis . . . I didn’t intentionally eavesdrop, but when I heard what she was saying, I did stop and listen.”

Gertrude’s eyebrows raised questioningly. “And?”

“She was saying something about giving me a tale to carry back to Albus – well, she didn’t use his name, but she must have been referring to him – and not wanting to wait to do something. Francis apparently agreed with whatever she was proposing. She seemed to think that I had somehow coerced you into inviting me here in order to do something to her – I couldn’t figure out what she thought my purpose here was, but in her mind, everything revolves around her.”

“I think you put your finger on it right there, Minerva. She does believe that everything revolves around her. I didn’t inform her that you would be here, and she took me to task for that, and she also implied that somehow you had cannily tricked me into inviting you for the week. It appears that my response did not convince her. _You_ were the reason I invited you here, Minerva. I hope you do not think that I invited you this week merely to irritate Valerianna. There are many ways to irritate Valerianna, and, although your presence seems to be doing an admirable job of that, if I simply wished to irritate her, I would not involve you.”

“She presumed to imply to your face that you shouldn’t have invited me this week?” Minerva asked, appalled.

“Oh, she did presume, and she did more than just imply it. I did tell her that who was invited to the Gamp Estate was a matter for a Gamp to determine and that I required neither her permission nor her approval to invite a friend to spend a few days here. If she didn’t like it, she could leave.” Gertie grinned. “She didn’t appreciate that suggestion.”

“I would think not.” Minerva smiled back. “But aren’t you concerned about what she has planned?”

“I am concerned about you, naturally, but I think that anything that Valerianna has planned is likely to be a public spectacle, and I doubt we can avert that. As for you . . . keep an eye out for her. Don’t let her corner you, and she won’t have an opportunity to needle you.”

Gertrude’s words reminded her of Poppy’s hysterical letter. “Gertrude, the second letter that I received from Poppy was in response to a letter I had written to her. She warned me very strongly against being alone with Valerianna. She was practically hysterical. Do you know what that was about?”

“Poppy is a very loyal friend, Minerva. She was worried about you, no doubt.”

“Yes, but why? I didn’t even know who Valerianna was before you told me, let alone have any idea that I should avoid her. Why would Poppy be so vehement?”

“You will need to ask Poppy that question, Minerva. I am sure she was motivated by her concern and affection for you, however, just as was I when I told you about Valerianna that first morning you were here.”

Minerva was not entirely pleased with Gertrude’s answer, feeling that the older witch must know more than she was saying. “But why is Valerianna so obsessed with me, Gertrude? You are a friend of Albus’s, as well. If she dislikes me simply because she dislikes Albus’s friends after whatever happened between them a few years ago, shouldn’t she dislike you even more?”

“More?” Gertrude snorted. “Perhaps she does; I do not know. But we have known each other for many years, Minerva, and the dynamic is different, particularly since I am closer to her own age and my status, in her eyes, is rather different from yours.”

“Mmm. The other evening, she implied that I was some shrinking violet who had escaped the hectic life in London for the safety of Hogwarts, and she kept emphasising how young and inexperienced I am – or she believes me to be.”

Gertrude laughed out loud at that. “She was trying to get under your skin, Minerva. I am sure that she wasn’t even expressing her true opinion of you as much as she was trying to elicit a reaction from you. I assume that was the conversation that Quin interrupted before you two went upstairs together to . . . entertain yourselves.”

Minerva did blush at that. “Yes, it was. I don’t think I gave her satisfaction, however. I simply stated that, although Hogwarts is quite different from London, I had enjoyed my time in the city very much. She then started on about how much I must like old people at that point, I think. Anyway, she kept harping on my age. It was actually rather peculiar.”

“Did she,” Gertie said drily. “She must have been annoyed that Quin came along and took you away before she could find the right thing to say.”

“What do you mean, ‘the right thing’?”

“That thing which would have you lose your composure. She thinks that she knows what that would be, but she is operating with too little information. She doesn’t know you or your situation well enough. Eventually, she might have struck the right nerve – or the wrong one – just by fishing about.”

“You know, Gertie, I don’t think it’s only Valerianna who’s operating with too little information. I feel that she knows something I don’t – ”

“It is not _what_ she knows, Minerva. It is what she _presumes_ she knows.”

“But I still don’t understand why she feels the need to annoy me, or worse. It is clearly occupying a lot of her energy, given the conversation I overheard. Not to mention that she can’t help but stare at me during meals. What is it about me?”

Gertrude looked at her pensively. “Surely you must know, Minerva, that Albus thinks highly of you, that he values you a great deal. I have little doubt that he mentioned you to Valerianna, and very likely on several occasions, at least. Whatever it is he may have told her about you, she no doubt heard what she wanted to, or only what she believed he was saying, and fixated on something that is now driving this behaviour.”

“She called me a ‘kitten’ that first evening,” Minerva said, her brow furrowed in consternation. “I thought at the time she must have heard about my Animagus form, either from Albus or from you, and perhaps that she might know a few other details about me through her acquaintance with you, but I didn’t give it any further thought.”

“Mmm. I have told her little to nothing about you, Minerva, although she approached me more than once with poorly veiled questions about you . . . no, whatever Valerianna thinks she knows, she has made up for herself, pieced together from things Albus may have told her and perhaps from some information she was able to glean elsewhere.”

“I still don’t understand . . . .”

“Perhaps it’s best not to worry too much about it, Minerva,” Gertie said gently. “I think Poppy’s suggestion that you avoid her is well-meant, however.”

“That brings me back to my original question, though: why did Poppy warn me?”

“As I said, you will need to discuss that with her. No doubt she is concerned about you and is aware of Valerianna’s less-than-friendly demeanor.”

“Does she know that Albus and . . . that witch were seeing each other?”

“She was on the staff at that time, Minerva. Speaking of time, it is now time for me to begin dressing – and you, too, if you wish to be decently attired when Quin arrives to escort you to the party.”


	51. The Lovely Couple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva learns something interesting about Alroy, attends the engagement party with Quin, and witnesses Valerianna's plan unfold.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Quin MacAirt, Alroy MacAirt, Valerianna Yaxley, Francis Flint, Douceline Malfoy, Robert Crouch, and Gropius Gamp.

**LI: The Lovely Couple**

As Minerva changed her robes for the party and began to do her hair, she thought about what Gertrude had said. The witch was terribly frustrating. She certainly could say a lot while adding no new information. It did seem as though Poppy must have some knowledge of Valerianna’s relationship with Albus. Minerva cringed at the word “relationship” used in connection with the two of them. Whatever had Albus been thinking? She supposed that only Albus could answer that question, and she wasn’t about to ask him. At least not right away. He hardly ever spoke of himself, as it was. He must have been lonely . . . so many years with no one special in his life. Valerianna took advantage of his loneliness and his good nature; that had to be it. Quin had said that she could become very interesting for whatever wizard she’d set her sights on. Gertrude had said the other day that sometimes Albus needed protecting; Minerva had scoffed at the time, but it seemed that Gertie was correct. But if Gertie knew that, and if she was so blasted loyal to him, how could she have allowed Albus to become involved with someone like that? Gertie must have known Valerianna and what she was up to. Of course, it might be difficult to go to one’s boss, no matter how good a friend he was, and tell him that he should stop seeing someone. She still should have found a way.

Minerva inspected herself in the full-length mirror, mercifully uncharmed, and despite her critical eye, she was pleased with what she saw. She had pulled her hair into an elaborate, multi-pieced chignon, and left a few tendrils to frame her face. Her gown was of a luscious, flowing emerald-green silk brocade with darker green panels in the full skirt, one large one in the front and two smaller ones on the sides, which peeked from the folds of the skirt and revealed themselves as she walked or danced. The skirt, falling from just below her natural waist, was longer in back than in the front, creating a slight train-effect, and was charmed to resist snagging and dirt. The bodice had a very deep sweetheart neckline and was tailored to fit her closely, flattering her figure, and had a deep “v” in back. Her arms were left entirely bare, though the straps nominally holding up the dress were wide across her shoulder.

Minerva wished she could wear her amber necklace, but it really didn’t look right with this robe, and she had worn it that day, anyway. Instead, she had chosen a heavy emerald necklace that her Grandmother Siofre had given her when Minerva had visited her after she had returned from her apprenticeship. Her grandmother had embraced her warmly before presenting it to her, telling her how very proud she was and how glad that she had done the apprenticeship on her own terms, rather than staying with “that dreadful French witch.” It had been Siofre’s mother’s, given to her on her wedding day by her husband’s parents. It was old-fashioned and ornate, but Minerva thought it suited the gown well. Minerva had tried to decline it, saying that it should go to Siofre’s daughter, Maisie, Merwyn’s much younger half-sister, but her grandmother had insisted, saying that she would be terribly hurt and offended if Minerva were serious about refusing it. So Minerva had accepted the jewellery happily, but had only had a few opportunities to wear it since. 

Minerva added a pair of Charmed emerald earrings, not as ornate as the necklace, but she thought they complemented it well. Finally, she waved her wand a few times, applying some make-up charms. She started over three times before she was satisfied with the result – just in time, as there was a decisive knock on her door. Quin must have arrived.

Minerva hurried over to the door and greeted Quin and, to her surprise, Alroy, who was in navy dress robes, hair slicked back neatly, looking like a little gentleman.

“I’m sorry we’re a bit early, Minerva. I know you ladies like to have every minute to get ready – but may I say now that you are looking ravishin’! – but I mentioned your special trick to Alroy, and he’s convinced his self that there won’t be another opportunity to see it. I told him, though, that it was entirely up to you, and he’s not to pout if you decline.”

Minerva smiled and invited them in. She wasn’t sure of the effect her make-up charms might have on her Animagus form, if any, but she was happy to show Alroy her “special trick.”

“Now, Alroy, you have to understand that becoming an Animagus is a long, arduous process. There have been wizards and witches who have become long-term patients at St. Mungo’s Hospital because they have tried to become an Animagus without proper training or without taking the appropriate amount of time. If you seem to have the qualities required to become an Animagus, we will know that in a few years. Until then, you must make a solemn promise not to try to become an Animagus on your own. It has nothing to do with wand-use – in fact, one doesn’t use a wand in the transformation – or any differences between the magic you’re familiar with and what you’ll be learning at Hogwarts. Are we agreed?”

The boy nodded solemnly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Hmm. And don’t mention this to your classmates. I prefer to surprise them.”

Another nod from Alroy. Minerva looked at Quin.

Quin smiled. “He’ll be good for you, Minerva – if he isn’t, he’ll catch it from me, he will.”

“If he isn’t, he’ll have detention with Ogg – and you do _not_ want detention with the Hogwarts groundskeeper, I assure you!”

Alroy’s eyes widened.

Minerva twitched a slight smile, then, without further preamble, transformed into a tabby cat with a loud pop. She looked up at the boy’s face; he was utterly entranced, then he dropped to his knees joyfully. “Oh, ma’am,” he said, “that is brilliant. Just brilliant!”

Minerva thought to herself, it’s nothing after you’ve been doing it since you were a teenager, but she felt pleased, nonetheless, that the boy appreciated the transformation.

“Oh, but it _is_ somethin’! It’s . . . it’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen! An’ you’ve been doin’ it for so _long_!” Alroy exclaimed.

Minerva tilted her head, looking at him. It had been almost as though he had known what she had thought. How . . . peculiar. She looked into the boy’s eyes. She had discovered early on, to her great amazement and to Albus’s amusement, that she could communicate rather well with some animals when she was in her Animagus form; it was easiest with magical creatures, such as hippogriffs and kneazles, but she could even have a rudimentary conversation with mundane animals, although it was usually too much work, and they had very dull and uninteresting thoughts. Minerva narrowed her eyes and thought very distinctly, “I have been transforming longer than you have been alive.” Then she waited.

“I’m only eleven . . . how old were you when you first became an Animagus?”

Quin interrupted, “Come, Alroy, she can answer your questions when she transforms; don’t be pepperin’ her with questions she can’t answer now. It’s time to stop your pretendin’. You’re a big boy, goin’ to school soon. Behave like yer ain grown self!”

Minerva, beginning to believe the boy could actually understand her, batted a paw at Alroy, who had turned to look up at his father, a sullen expression on his face. Alroy turned back to her.

She thought, as distinctly as she could, “Numbers are hard for cats.” Minerva could, of course, still count, and she retained her human rational faculties, but when communicating like this . . . she’d never had an occasion to think anything other than, “a lot,” “a little,” “one,” and “none,” when conversing with other animals, and she wasn’t quite sure how to go about it.

Alroy laughed. “Okay.”

“You may pet me if you wish,” Minerva thought at him regally.

Alroy reached out a hand and petted her. “Wish me da understood,” he whispered.

Minerva lay down and let the boy rub her behind her ears. “He’s surprised.” She looked up at Alroy mischievously. “Let’s have fun! Hide-and-seek. I hide. You find me.”

Alroy stood and turned to his father. “Can we go into the hall a min?”

“Excuse the rudeness o’ me offspring, Minerva. We’ll be back in a moment.”

Minerva looked around. Where could she hide? She leapt to the back of the lady’s armchair in the corner of the room and would have tipped it over had it not been so close to the wall. After quickly regaining her balance, she crouched down, tail twitching, then took a giant leap to the top of the wardrobe. She had been correct: the ornate scroll work at the top of the wardrobe would hide her if she flattened herself down sufficiently. Minerva waited, still as could be, her feline heart pounding in her chest. A moment later, there was a knock, and the door opened and Alroy walked in, Quin following.

“Alroy! You’re not to be enterin’ a lady’s bedroom without her permission!” Quin broke off his scolding, looking around the apparently empty room.

“She’s a _cat_ , Da.” Alroy rolled his eyes and shook his head at the stupidity of parents.

“She’s still a lady . . . where’d she get to?” He looked perplexed.

“It’s hide-an’-seek. She wanted t’ play.” Alroy grinned.

“Don’t be daft, boy.”

“All right, Da,” Alroy said with obviously exaggerated patience, but he crossed the room and looked under her bed, the most obvious hiding place for a cat.

“Minerva?” Quin called, puzzled.

“Hide-an’-seek, remember?” said Alroy, grinning at his father as he crawled around the room looking under furniture.

Minerva risked peeking over the scroll work. Neither of them was looking up. Quin walked over to the screen by the wash basin and knocked on it gingerly before looking around it. 

“Could she have Apparated away?” Quin wondered aloud.

“ _No_ , Da; that would be unfair,” Alroy huffed with a boy’s clear logic, shaking his head in exasperation. He opened the wardrobe door.

“You shouldn’t be lookin’ in a lady’s wardrobe, Alroy,” Quin scolded. “Besides, how would she have opened the door?”

Alroy grinned. “ _Now_ you’re thinkin’!”

His father moved over to the windows and looked behind the curtains, then he looked up at the rods holding them. He grinned. “What do cats like t’ be after doin’, Alroy?”

“Chasin’ mice.”

“Somethin’ else.”

“Climbin’ trees.”

“Right you are. Now we have no trees here, but . . .” Quin went over to his son, who was still standing beside the wardrobe, and lifted him easily above his head.

“There she is! We found her, Da!” Alroy shouted triumphantly.

Minerva stood and stretched, then looked down at the two of them standing next to each other, Quin looking somewhat bemused.

“Hide-an’-seek, is it? I think it’s hoodwinked I’ve been!” he said, not looking unhappy about it, though. 

Minerva, not wanting to risk the jump to the narrow back of the chair – it would be embarrassing if she missed or slipped – instead prepared to jump down to Quin. First, though, she looked over at Alroy. “Make sure he doesn’t move.”

“She’s goin’ to jump down now – don’t move!”

She leapt down, landing with her front paws on Quin’s right shoulder, using all her human concentration not to extend her claws and grab on, trusting to him, instead, to make sure she didn’t fall. Sure enough, as soon as he felt Minerva’s paws touch him, Quin’s arms came up and held onto her. He petted her gently and kissed the top of her head, then whispered, “You an’ I have somethin’ to discuss, I think.”

Minerva just butted her head against his jaw affectionately. Quin petted her once more, then put her down, and she stretched languorously before popping back to her ordinary form.

“So, when were you two after brewin’ this up? An’ Minerva, I’d rather you weren’t encouragin’ him in his fantasies.”

Minerva rolled her shoulders then went over to the vanity to check her make-up and hair. 

“Just now, didn’t we, Alroy? I hadn’t seen him before this, if that’s what your suspicious mind is thinking, Quin.” She turned and smiled at him. “And your son and I _do_ need to talk before he arrives at Hogwarts. I will want to warn the Care of Magical Creatures teacher about him. He has a bit of an unfair advantage over the other students.”

Quin looked at Minerva, then looked at Alroy, then back at Minerva. “You mean he’s really . . . understandin’ you? When you’re a _cat_?” His brogue thickened in his shock.

Minerva nodded. “Yes, rather well, actually. I will have to be careful how loudly I think around that boy, I can see that.” She smiled down at him.

“It’s only wit’ animals, ma’am, not people. An’ not all animals.” Alroy blushed with pleasure.

Quin looked down at his son. “I’m sorry, son. I should have known . . . you’re a level-headed boy. I’m sorry I thought you were pretendin’ at it.”

“S’okay, Da,” said the boy with a magnanimous shrug. “It _is_ weird, I guess.”

“We’ll be missin’ our dinner, if we hang about flappin’ our jaws much longer, though. You run along, Alroy. We’ll see you later.”

After the boy left, Minerva asked, “Do I look all right, Quin? After transforming, I mean.”

“You look absolutely beautiful, love. Not a hair out o’ place.”

“Why didn’t you warn me about Alroy? I could have thought something quite indiscreet and not known he could overhear me!”

“Well, I thought it was a bad childhood habit he’d broke, just playin’ pretend. I didn’t think there was anythin’ to warn you about.

“Hmm. It’s a rare talent, and one children often do grow out of. That he hasn’t yet is encouraging that he might not – no thanks to his father trying to discourage him!”

“Well, how was I to know?”

“You said he was good with animals; didn’t that go to show you that he might not be pretending?”

“It didn’t . . . I just thought it encouraged him in his fantasies. Bein’ good with animals, I mean. He’s stubborn, though, like his mother, to be sure.”

“And his father’s _not_ stubborn?” Minerva laughed. “I do think it is interesting to see you react to magic that you don’t understand, Quin. Perhaps you now understand, just a little, what I felt when you called up those owl treats. And _he’s_ your _son_.”

“You’re right, o’ course. P’raps I’m not as open-minded as I thought . . . but I’ve been tryin’ t’ raise him to be a respectable wizard, an’ respectable wizards don’t go about pretendin’ to talk with animals.” He smiled. 

“I’ll be interested to know what it is that he experiences when he listens to animals.”

“So will I, Minerva, so will I.” He smiled down at her. “You really are a wonder, Minerva.” He caressed her cheek briefly, then said quietly, “It’s accompanyin’ the most beautiful witch in Cornwall tonight, I am.”

Minerva arched an eyebrow. “Only in Cornwall?”

He chuckled. “Basin’ it on my own limited experience, I will extend it, to be sure . . .” His expression soft, he said, “The most beautiful witch o’ me acquaintance.” 

His blue eyes seemed to deepen, and Minerva felt a slight thrill go through her at his gently spoken words. If only Albus would look at her like that . . . speak to her like that. . . . Minerva swallowed and smiled. “Well, you’re not looking too much like a hedge wizard tonight, yourself. You look very nice.” Minerva thought he looked more than “nice,” but she considered that Quin’s opinion of himself was already high enough and his male ego needed little stroking. He still broke out in a broad grin.

“Glad you’re pleased. Thought I’d go all wizard tonight, with just a nod t’ the modern world,” he said, gesturing at his stiff, white, winged collar and white bow tie. Looking at only his neck and chest, one might think Quin was wearing Muggle evening dress. He was clearly wearing some kind of starched white shirt with silver studs; a white pique dickie and a white waistcoat showed beneath his black robes, which had shiny silk facings, but rather than a cut-away coat, his over robe mimicked Muggle evening dress only in its sweep of fabric behind him. The wide-sleeved over robe closed in front just slightly above the waist, then opened again at the hips to flow out behind him in a long train, and, rather than trousers, a widely-pleated under robe of black fabric showed beneath it. Minerva wondered if the under robe was attached to the shirt, or if it was a separate layer altogether, but discretion kept her from inquiring. He looked quite dashing, and Minerva thought, somewhat immodestly, that Albus had probably been correct – they would be the most attractive couple there, and she said as much to Quin.

He laughed. “Well, ’twouldn’t be hard, with this lot, but I do think we would be quite presentable anywhere in the wizarding world. Come, that was the second dinner bell. We mustn’t be late, remember!” he said, grinning, reminding her of their first evening there.

“It would be _most_ rude, darling,” Minerva said, affecting a Valerianna-like drawl and setting off Quin’s laughter again.

He offered her his arm, and his wide, black sleeve fell back to reveal a stiffly starched white cuff with a silver cufflink decorated with a simple triple spiral. Minerva smiled and laid her hand on his elbow, and the two set off for the ballroom.

Minerva was relieved, when they arrived, to see that they had been seated beside each other. Some formal functions placed couples at a distance from one another, even at different tables, a practice that Minerva only appreciated at the time she was dating Jean-Paul, the French envoy, and was preparing to break up with him. She had been quite glad on that occasion to be seated across the room from him rather than across the table. Other than that, she found it a peculiar custom, ostensibly implemented to encourage mingling, but Minerva never liked being seated at a table full of strangers, stiffly trying to make conversation, and she saw little point in going to a formal occasion with an escort and immediately being separated from him. She was quite happy to go alone, in that case, or not go at all.

The room was filled with round tables, each seating ten, with one longer rectangular table at one end, apparently where the feted couple would be seated with their hosts and a few others, probably including their parents. From the number of tables, Minerva guessed there must be at least one hundred twenty witches and wizards in attendance. Probably just about anyone of any status had been invited. And here she was among them. Attending with a “hedge wizard.” Minerva smirked. She wondered whether the other guests to be seated at their table would also be such reprobates, and she was mildly disappointed to see the usual array of Blacks, a Malfoy, and a pair of Crouches, but was pleased that Robert was next to her on her other side and that Ella was seated beside her son-in-law. At least the Crouches were pleasant, although Minerva had the impression that the three Blacks and Douceline Malfoy felt slighted at being seated with such “nobodies.” Minerva hadn’t spoken to Douceline yet that week, and she attempted to make some conversation, asking her about her son Lucius, but the witch was monosyllabic in her responses, and Minerva gave up and turned to Robert, instead.

He told Minerva that Gertrude had mentioned to him her offer to have her mother visit his wife. “I’d be very grateful, Minerva, if you would ask her. After the second one, the healers reassured us that she’d carry the next one . . . that we’d have a healthy child.” He shook his head. “But it hasn’t happened. I was prepared to give up. It has been so traumatic for Thea, and physically, as well as emotionally . . . but she wanted to try once more. She’s been on bed rest, and she’s into her fourth month. I’m very worried about her. And I know that Thea would appreciate anything new that your mother could tell us. Uncle Albus would be pleased, as well. He’s been devastated each time. He . . . well, you must understand, Minerva, I do not blame him at all, but he didn’t even visit the last time. It was too disturbing for him, although we did get a lovely letter from him, and he visited a few months later. But he hasn’t been to see us since we found out Thea’s pregnant again. Of course, it was term time . . . .”

“Oh, Robert, I didn’t mention this to you, but I received a letter from Albus today, and he wanted me to tell you he’d try to make it to Amsterdam sometime toward the end of the summer to visit you, if it’s convenient, and he hopes that Thea is well. I don’t know when Thea was last . . . but before I started at Hogwarts in December, he was doing double-duty as Headmaster and as Transfiguration teacher, so if it was during the school year, well, he was very busy.” Minerva hated having anyone think that her Albus was insensitive . . . even if he were, very occasionally, remembering their own misunderstanding. 

“It’s quite all right, Minerva. I understand.” He smiled at her. “And you’re as kind and as pretty as promised.”

Minerva laughed. “Now, you see, I was given the impression that Quin was the only flirt and that you would be the model of reserved decorum.”

The young wizard beside her blushed. “I’m sorry if I was too familiar . . .” He looked away and tasted his soup.

“No, no, not at all . . . really, Robert.” Minerva smiled him. “I’m just not used to so many compliments in such a short time, that’s all.”

Robert returned her smile. “I’ve just heard so much about you . . . after my father died, Mother moved us back to England – to this estate, in fact – although I returned for school during the year. I saw quite a bit of Uncle Albus during the holidays and then again during the war. Between him and Mother . . . well, I felt as though I knew you. And I certainly would have recognised you anywhere.”

Puzzled, wondering whether he had been another of the spectators at her Challenge, Minerva asked, “Have we met before, then? I’m afraid I don’t remember seeing you before . . . and, well, not to embarrass you, but Gertrude never spoke of her personal life . . . .”

He chuckled softly. “So you didn’t know of my existence, then? It’s all right, Minerva. My mother does like to maintain a certain distance with people. It’s quite a good sign that she invited you this week. She always sounded somewhat fond of you, but it’s difficult to tell with Mother, even for me, sometimes.”

“So she spoke of me?” Minerva was still trying to wrap her mind around that idea. She wouldn’t have expected Gertie to give her a second thought outside of Hogwarts.

“Occasionally, but usually just when Uncle Albus was mentioning you.”

“But how would you recognise me? _Have_ we met?”

“No, but I saw a photograph of you. Something taken after that Challenge you did, one of you and Uncle Albus and a few others. You haven’t changed.”

“It wasn’t that long ago . . . .” Minerva remembered all of the cameras and flash bulbs going off, but she hadn’t realised that a picture had been taken of her and Albus together. Albus must have a copy . . . she felt sad, thinking of the tiny picture she had of him, knowing that perhaps there had been a better picture she could have had of him, quite legitimately and without raising any awkward questions. “So is this photograph something your mother has?” Minerva thought it likely that the older witch would have photographs of Albus, perhaps even one with her in it.

“No, I don’t think so . . . I’m fairly sure that it was Uncle Albus who showed me. Along with several newspaper articles.” Robert smiled fondly. “He was very proud of you. Came straight to Amsterdam from the Challenge. Yes, he showed us the photo at the same time as he waved the newspaper articles about. I’m sure of it.”

Minerva blushed. She was glad that Albus had been proud of her . . . probably like a proud parent. And if he’d never had children – and Minerva was certain she would know at least _that_ about him, even if he had never mentioned it – it would be natural for him to stop at Robert and Thea’s to report to his surrogate son and his wife about his . . . protege’s performance. She shied from the appellation “surrogate daughter.” She didn’t feel like his daughter, and she didn’t want to deal with the fact that he likely saw her that way. 

Uncomfortable with the current topic of conversation, Minerva steered it back to his wife’s health. Robert promised her that he would leave all of their contact information with a house-elf to give her before she left the next day. He was sure that he could arrange a Portkey for both Egeria and Merwyn, if she were willing and able to come to Amsterdam and examine Thea.

Dinner finally came to a conclusion after five courses. Minerva talked mainly with Ella, Quin, and Robert, since the others seemed perfectly happy to ignore them. To be fair, the Crouches, who were across the table from Minerva, seemed even more reserved than they had earlier, but were as equally reserved with Douceline and the Blacks as they were with everyone else. At least they didn’t look as though they were prepared to scowl or sneer at the drop of a hat, Minerva thought.

There was the sound of a bell lightly ringing – a charm, Minerva thought – and all conversation ceased. Gropius Gamp stood and indicated that everyone else should, as well. When everyone but a few elderly guests were standing, he made a gesture and, with the exception of the long table at which he and the guests of honour were seated, all of the unoccupied tables and chairs disappeared, to be almost simultaneously replaced with dainty chairs along the walls, a few small tables scattered amongst them. Minerva had no doubt that it was the work of house-elves, and nothing that Gropius himself had done. Albus probably could have achieved the same effect with no assistance, she thought.

Gropius pointed his wand at his throat and uttered the Sonorous Charm. Good thing, too, given how weak his voice sounded even with the Charm.

“Dear friends, Columbine and I are so very happy to have you all here to help celebrate the engagement of Orion and Walburga Black. . . .”

Gropius continued waffling on for a few minutes, wishing the young couple every blessing of the wizarding world on them and their progeny, and hoping the guests had enjoyed their dinner and would continue to enjoy the party for the rest of the evening. Minerva noticed that other witches and wizards were beginning to shift about as they stood silently listening to the old wizard’s rambling congratulations. 

Finally, he raised his glass and a veritable armada of house-elf-levitated trays of drinks distributed themselves around the ballroom. A few moments later, when he was fairly sure that each guest had had the opportunity to take a glass of champagne, Gropius said, “I would like to toast the happy couple!” He raised his glass. “To Walburga and Orion!”

“To Walburga and Orion,” repeated a chorus of voices. 

Minerva had just taken a sip from her flute when a stridently familiar voice was raised above the slight murmur that had begun as it became clear that Gropius was likely finished with his speech. Minerva’s stomach contracted to hear Valerianna’s drawl.

“We, too, have our announcement to make, darling,” she said, apparently addressing Gropius. “I _do_ hope you don’t mind, but Francis and I are just _so_ overjoyed, we simply _must_ share our pleasure with you all.”

Valerianna had been seated near, although not at, the head table, and she had now stepped out in front of it, blissfully ignorant of Gropius’s wide-eyed stare and dragging Francis with her.

“Francis and I are engaged!” she announced triumphantly, staring straight at Minerva. Not taking her eyes off of Minerva, she continued. “Yes, we _had_ thought to wait, but why wait when we are _so_ much in love? And so _perfectly_ suited to one another? Such a _perfect_ match as this is not to be denied, as I’m _sure_ Walburga and Orion would agree!” Still staring at an increasingly bemused Minerva, Valerianna went on, “I hope you will understand how _eager_ we are to begin our new life together.” She paused dramatically. “We will be wed on the first of September!” For the first time, the witch took her eyes from Minerva and looked about the room filled with flabbergasted guests.

Minerva couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen such a blatant display of bad taste. To announce one’s own engagement publicly was something of a faux pas in itself – a friend or relative should be enlisted – but what was worse, how had the witch ever thought it appropriate to make such an announcement at the celebration of another couple’s engagement? Minerva was not particularly keen one way or the other on the social niceties of pureblood society, but it was common courtesy and respect for the feelings of the engaged couple not to do such a tasteless thing. 

Minerva shook her head and turned to Quin. The room had begun to buzz, and no one had toasted the new couple. The expression on Walburga’s face was priceless. Minerva thought that there was one pureblood household that would not be welcoming Valerianna and her new husband any time soon.

In a low voice, she said, “That must be what I heard her talking about in the garden yesterday. I mentioned it to Gertie earlier. She seemed to think that whatever she had planned would be something that would disturb me, but I don’t particularly care – and it looks as though she’s alienated at least half the room with her ill-timed announcement.”

Quin was unable to answer Minerva at that moment, because Gropius began speaking again. 

“Yes, we offer our felicitations, of course. Now I believe the groom had a few words to say.”

Minerva smirked. Not only had Valerianna rudely interrupted an engagement party to announce her own engagement, but she had interrupted the host and the groom before the groom had even been able to speak. She must have lost some of that urbanity and sophistication that Gertie and Quin had claimed she had. For the thousandth time, Minerva wondered what Albus had seen in the pathetic witch.

After a few more polite toasts to Walburga and Orion, Gropius announced that the happy couple were going to lead the first dance. Minerva then noticed that, while everyone’s attention had been on the head table, musicians had been setting up at the other end of the room. Quite an extravagance. There were only a few wizarding bands and chamber ensembles, and they were very expensive to hire. From the array of instruments and the number of musicians, Minerva had some hope that there would be a variety of music that night, particularly when she saw a saxophone.


	52. Shall We Dance?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva has several interesting dance partners, including a few unexpected ones, Valerianna has her say, and Quin lends his assistance, all while Albus spends a quiet night at Hogwarts, contemplating his relationships, particularly that with Minerva.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Robert Crouch, Quin MacAirt, Francis Flint, Valerianna Yaxley, Gertrude Gamp, Bellatrix Black, Alfred Tapper, and Albus Dumbledore.

**LII: Shall We Dance?**

The first piece the ensemble played was a traditional waltz, and after the engaged couple – Walburga and Orion, not the upstarts – had danced for a few minutes, Gropius and Columbine and the parents of the bride and groom stepped out onto the floor, signalling that others could begin dancing, as well, if they wished. Minerva was not surprised to see Valerianna immediately drag the hapless Francis out onto the dance floor.

“Would you care to dance?”

Minerva had expected Quin to ask her for the first dance, so when Robert’s voice reached her ear, she turned, surprised, to him. Well, she hadn’t promised Quin anything, after all. And poor Robert was there without his wife. “I’d love to, thank you.”

Robert took her hand and led her out onto the dance floor. He was a good dancer, and he quite competently led her through the waltz and into the next dance. 

“So, Robert, what did you think of the surprise announcement?”

“Rather appallingly poor taste,” he said stiffly, sounding completely British in that moment, not a trace of the Continent in his speech.

Minerva’s lip twitched. “Mmm. I actually overheard her planning it with Francis, although, of course, I didn’t know precisely what she had planned. I told your mother about it, in fact. If we’d had any idea . . . ”

“Mother would have let her go on with it and hang herself in front of the entire company, I am sure.”

Astounded, Minerva looked up into the steady gaze of the tall young wizard. “Really? But Walburga and Orion – ”

“Will recover from this slight quickly. Valerianna will not. Mother may not have told you this, but she despises the witch.” The music changed again, and Robert shifted his hands and his stance to lead Minerva in a foxtrot. 

“My goodness, you’re forthright!”

“I take after my mother, I suppose. Although Father was not known for keeping his opinions to himself, so I am probably a combination of the worst of them.” He smiled slightly at her. “I am sorry if I offended you.”

“No, no, not at all. I didn’t have the impression that Gertie liked her, but she never said she didn’t.”

“Mmm. Well, after that business a few years ago . . . Mother didn’t have the time of day for her before that, and after, well, I hadn’t seen my mother so angry at anyone since the war.”

“What business was that?”

“Oh . . .” Robert looked uneasy. “Um, just a personal situation. I thought perhaps you knew of it, but then, you were living in London at the time, weren’t you?”

“I lived in London until last December, yes. Is this to do with . . . Professor Dumbledore?” Minerva asked, unsure whether to broach the subject or not.

“Something to do with him. Well, I think I am going to have to relinquish you to the arms of another, Minerva,” Robert said with a gentle smile. “Thank you for the dances.” He stepped away from her, bowed, then raised her hand and kissed it in a courtly gesture.

“May I?” Quin asked, holding out his hand.

Minerva smiled. “Of course. Although don’t you generally ask that of the wizard before you cut in?”

“Robert and I understand one another well. He wouldn’t dream of keepin’ you to himself.” Quin grinned down at her.

“Your timing could have been better, though, Quin,” she groused, thinking of what she might have learned from Robert about his mother’s feelings toward Valerianna and about what happened with Albus. Minerva now had the distinct impression that Gertrude had not been a disinterested bystander, as Minerva had thought she’d been after their conversation out by the hill fort on Monday morning. 

“Really?”

“Yes, this is my fourth dance, and I need to sit and have something to drink,” Minerva responded somewhat disingenuously.

“If you insist, love.”

“Were you dancing with someone?”

“Just by me lonesome – only jokin’. You are the fourth witch I’ve danced with this night, and the most beautiful and graceful of them all, to be sure.” His tone was light and joking, but when Minerva looked up, smiling, she saw genuine warmth and affection in the wizard’s eyes. “You were worth the wait, Minerva.”

Minerva blushed and lowered her eyes, not noticing that the music had changed again, but Quin stepped back and led her from the floor. He handed her a glass with some kind of frothy punch and took one for himself from a floating tray. As he brought her to a free chair and held it for her before sitting himself, he said, “Me first dance was with Ella, dear mother of me sainted wife, the second was with Columbine, and the third was with Gertrude, who, despite being an abysmal Beater, is an astonishingly good dancer. I always look forward to dancing with her if I have a chance.”

Minerva looked out across the floor, searching for Gertie, and almost missed her. There she was, gliding gracefully across the floor, dancing with a tall, straight-backed, silver-haired wizard, whom Minerva recognised as the Minister for Magical Transportation, Alfred Tapper. Gertrude was dressed in frosty blue and silver robes and wearing sapphire and silver jewellery. Her hair had been artfully arranged, and her fringe, light, feathery, and swept back from her face. She hardly resembled the stern Arithmancy teacher at all. If Minerva were a wizard, _she_ would want to dance with her. 

Nearby danced Valerianna and Francis. She was dressed in robes of orange and peach. Minerva thought they were ghastly. To give the witch some credit, her hair was well-coiffed. It looked as though she was leading. Definitely _not_ a candidate for a dance, if she were a wizard, Minerva thought, wondering yet again what had possessed Albus. Perhaps he _had_ been possessed . . . or cursed, or dosed with a potion. Minerva sighed. No, Albus was more likely to be victim of his own poor judgment, she feared, than the victim of a hex or a potion. Perhaps Gertrude meant that sort of thing when she told her that Albus sometimes needed protecting. Did Gertrude see herself as his protectress, then? And if she did . . . did Gertrude see Minerva as someone to protect Albus from, or as someone who would help her protect Albus? It sounded as though it were the latter, although certain things she had said could be interpreted otherwise.

The music ceased and the bell charm sounded again. Columbine Gamp stood beside the musical ensemble and pointed her wand at her throat before speaking. Her voice amplified by a Sonorous Charm, she thanked the musicians for their work and expressed her hope that the guests were all enjoying themselves as much as she was; she then announced that the “young witches and wizards” would be joining them for a time, and she hoped that they would be made welcome.

Minerva watched as about ten children ranging in age from six to about fifteen filed in, most of the boys looking awkward in their dress robes, but Alroy looking as comfortable as could be. His younger sister, Aine, who was dressed in a set of pretty lavender robes with filmy, floaty sleeves, looked a bit nervous, but she walked gracefully, almost regally, beside a shuffling young witch about her age. Barty Crouch was looking quite pleased with himself; he was one of the older children, and he was wearing very fancy dress robes with black-on-black embroidery and velvet trim. Minerva thought they had probably been purchased for him for the previous holiday season, perhaps a New Year’s party, because they were somewhat heavy for the season, but she considered it eminently sensible of the Crouches not to get him something new for this occasion. He was growing, after all. Bella was wearing a bright red sleeveless robe with a long pale pink chiffon tunic over it. Minerva thought it an odd choice for such a young girl, but she had to admit that the colour set off her shiny black hair beautifully, and she was more self-possessed than some of the older children.

Columbine pointed the wand at her throat again, then turned to the musicians and said something to them. They began to shift about and change instruments. Minerva smiled to see one of the two clarinettists pick up the saxophone she had noticed earlier. They began to play a fairly lively swing tune, something Minerva remembered hearing a lot during the War when she would go out to Muggle London with friends. She hoped it was not the only such piece they’d play.

The children, in the meantime, had walked further into the ballroom to join the party, and Minerva was startled by Alroy’s voice beside her. She had seen him approaching her and Quin and had assumed he was coming to join his father, but she had been so intent on watching the musicians as they prepared to play something jazzier than a foxtrot, she hadn’t noticed that he’d reached them.

“May I have this dance, ma’am?”

Minerva blinked. “Don’t you want to dance with one of the girls?” There were two girls there about his age, one a little younger, one a little older.

“I want to dance with the most beautiful witch in the room, ma’am,” he said with a flattering but self-confident grin. “Besides, Clara has a crush on Barty, Fiona is spoiled, and Elissa is boring. And Bella is just . . . weird.” He looked up at his father. “I _will_ dance with Aine, Da, I promise.” He turned back to Minerva and held out his small hand.

Minerva stood and put her hand in the boy’s. “I would be honoured, Mr MacAirt.”

Alroy’s grin widened, but then he became more serious and bowed to her before leading her onto the dance floor.

It was peculiar dancing with someone that much shorter than she, but, considering his age, he was competent enough, probably better than some of the adult wizards. Minerva tried to chat easily with Alroy, although it was difficult to forget that she would be teaching him in less than two months. She always tried to maintain a professional distance from her students while remaining accessible to them. She wasn’t there to be their friend, after all, but she did want them to be comfortable enough with her to talk to her if they needed to. Minerva was still figuring out how create that balance.

As she danced with her young partner, Minerva remembered Carson bringing her out one night not long before his death; the band had played this song, and they had danced to it, Carson swinging her energetically. Alroy was not up to the “swinging,” but in his navy dress robes, his auburn hair falling across his eyes despite the effort that had been made to slick it back, he strongly reminded Minerva of a young Carson. She smiled. A bit like Carson . . . and like his father. Yes, Quin also resembled Carson, in a way. Something about the eyes and the smile. And the easy way he had about him. The thought brought a bittersweet ache to her heart.

When the dance was over, Alroy bowed and thanked her, and Minerva thanked him, as well.

“Guess I’d better find me sister now.” He sounded resigned.

“You’re a good older brother, Alroy. She’ll appreciate it, I’m sure.” Minerva thought of her own brothers, particularly Murdoch, who had always tried to make time for her. “Maybe not tonight, but she will.” Minerva patted him on the shoulder.

“Ta, ma’am. An’ you’re not only the most beautiful witch here, you’re the nicest, too.” He barely blushed as he made this pronouncement.

“Well, thank you, Alroy – but don’t think that such compliments will get you out of detention when you’re at Hogwarts, if you deserve it!” Minerva smiled at him and winked, but remembered a Slytherin who used to use his charm to get out of trouble. She didn’t want Alroy, who seemed such a nice boy, to turn out that way. Although there had been far more wrong with Riddle than just using insincere charm to manipulate people. Alroy didn’t have a cruel streak in him, from what Minerva had seen.

Alroy grinned cheekily. “Wouldn’t be expectin’ anything else, ma’am! But when I’m not in trouble . . .”

“Which I hope will be a _permanent_ condition, young man. Now go find your sister.” She sent him off toward where she thought she’d seen Aine dancing awkwardly with a young wizard.

Minerva looked around, trying to find Quin, or perhaps Robert. Not seeing them nearby, she moved toward the French doors that opened out onto a large balcony. When she’d seen the wide balcony over the veranda, Minerva had wondered what room could accommodate it. She was just considering stepping out onto the deserted balcony for some fresh air when a wizard appeared at her side.

“Would you care to dance, Professor?”

It was Francis Flint, standing there stiffly. He smelled slightly of alcohol, but didn’t seem drunk.

“Umm, I don’t usually refuse a dance, and I would accept, but . . . won’t Valerianna mind?” Minerva asked bluntly.

“If you are dancing with her escort, it is courteous for your escort to dance with her . . . .”

“So you are actually here on Valerianna’s behalf because she wants to dance with – my escort?” Minerva asked, raising her eyebrows, avoiding Quin’s name, since it was clear that Flint disliked him.

“Yes.” He glanced over his shoulder uncomfortably. “Please. I could have said anything to you, Professor, but I told you the unvarnished truth.” Minerva saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down as the wizard swallowed nervously. “May I please have this dance?” he pleaded. He put his hand out to her. “You do dance beautifully.”

Minerva knit her brow and thought quickly. It could be that Valerianna was setting her up for something. She didn’t trust that witch one bit. Or she could be setting up Quin. But Quin was a big boy and had known her for a long time. He could take care of himself. Minerva looked at Flint, who was now sweating despite the cool breeze coming through the doors. She didn’t know what it was he got out of his relationship with Valerianna, and if he was attaching himself to the harridan, he could bear the consequences of it; she shouldn’t care whether he got into hot water with the witch . . . but Minerva was curious to know what the other witch was up to. And she did feel somewhat sorry for the wizard beside her, so she took his hand, grimacing as she felt his sweaty palm. “Yes, one dance, Mr Flint.”

He smiled, and Minerva could almost feel his relief.

They danced rather sedately, Francis careful not to hold her too closely or place his hand anywhere it shouldn’t be. Finally, unable to contain herself any longer, Minerva asked, “Have many people congratulated you on your pending marriage?” It was all she could do not to say “impending doom,” rather than “pending marriage.”

He cleared his throat. “A few.” The wizard had little control over his emotions, and his colour heightened.

“I take it you wanted to announce it under other circumstances?” Minerva asked, keeping herself from her real question: _“What possessed the witch to make such a social gaffe?”_

“Um, yes. Actually, I hadn’t been sure . . . .”

“You weren’t even sure you were going to become engaged?”

“Well . . . we’d talked about it. Generally. But I hadn’t thought we’d come to any conclusions. But when Valerianna decides something . . .”

Minerva almost laughed. She doubted that Francis had even asked Valerianna to marry him. Or that _she_ had asked him. She had probably merely decreed that it would happen, and Flint lacked the stones to refuse her.

“Still . . . this was perhaps not the best venue for such an announcement,” Minerva said gently.

“I tried to suggest that we announce it at lunch, at least, if she wished to do it this week. But she seemed . . . well, she wanted to make an impression.”

“I would say she made _quite_ an impression. Though I doubt that it was the impression she had hoped for.”

Flint sighed. “I know. And now she’s unhappy about that. Please don’t repeat that to her.”

“I don’t speak to her if I can help it, Mr Flint.”

He cocked his head slightly, looking at her. “I remember you from school, you know.”

“You do? I’m sorry; I didn’t realise we had been acquainted then.” Minerva had remembered seeing him ghosting about the hallways of the Ministry, but she didn’t remember ever seeing him to speak to before that week.

“We weren’t, not really, but the younger years talked about you. Said you were . . . really good. They were jealous, I guess.” 

“What year were you?” Minerva asked, trying to imagine what he’d looked like as a teenager, before his hairline had receded and life had placed its weight upon him. He was an inch or two taller than she, but the slump in his shoulders made him seem shorter. Minerva would have wondered what Valerianna saw in him if she hadn’t already realised that the other witch probably wanted to have a man about whom she could control easily. She probably saw Flint as a compromise candidate: someone with enough ability to advance at the Ministry but who was still amenable to her control. As for what he got out of it . . . perhaps after the business with Quin, he’d become discouraged, and he saw Valerianna as someone who could, what? Help him to advance at the Ministry? Help him to take revenge on Quin? Minerva wondered whether she had made a mistake in accepting the dance, but Flint seemed innocuous enough at the moment.

“My NEWTs were in ’41, just a year before all that nastiness.” He shuddered. “I was glad to have missed that.”

So he was only two years older than she. Perhaps less, depending on his birthday. He looked older than that, she thought. She’d had the impression he was more Quin’s contemporary. Valerianna had to be a good thirty or thirty-five years older than he, if she were about ten years older than Gertrude. Not what a younger wizard usually sought in a wife, particularly not if he wanted a family – although there was a chance that Valerianna was still within her childbearing years, it was a slim one. “And you were in Slytherin?”

“Yes. And you’re a Gryffindor.” He grinned slightly. “Never thought I’d ask a Gryffindor to dance!”

Minerva laughed. “Well, you aren’t the first Slytherin I’ve danced with, and they’ve all survived the experience, so hopefully you will, too.”

The music came to an end, Flint bowed awkwardly and backed away. Minister Tapper, the silver-haired wizard who had danced with Gertie earlier, stepped up to Minerva and asked if she would care to dance. 

The minister was a very good dancer and, other than a polite query about how she was enjoying her new career, seemed interested in dancing rather than in conversation, which suited Minerva well. She hadn’t thought that the minister had any idea who she was, so she had been somewhat surprised by his question. Not that she’d expected him to introduce himself; no doubt he believed that everyone knew who he was and that he required no introduction. But Minerva’s work in experimental Transfiguration at the Ministry intersected very little with any area under Minister Tapper’s purview, so she believed he wouldn’t have known anything about her. On the other hand, there _was_ a certain prestige associated with teaching at Hogwarts, even if the likes of Valerianna didn’t appreciate it, and perhaps he’d heard of her in connection with her “defection” from the Ministry to the school.

Minerva looked around discreetly, trying to find Quin. She had spotted him only once, dancing stiffly with Valerianna, just before her own dance with Flint had come to an end. She wondered if he were angry with her for putting him in a position in which Valerianna could claim a dance from him. He could have refused, though. It wasn’t as though he was obligated to dance with the witch, after all, and he’d had no trouble tweaking the other guests on previous occasions. He certainly wouldn’t feel constrained by etiquette not to refuse her if he wished to. Minerva still felt slightly guilty; Quin probably would feel more obliged to dance with her and not appear rude on that particular evening, especially with the children present. Minerva smiled as she saw Alroy dancing with the shy little witch who had walked in with his sister. The boy was looking down at his partner, smiling at her. The girl couldn’t dance very well, but Alroy’s expression never faltered, even when she stepped on his foot. Minerva chuckled, and drew the Minister’s attention to the little couple.

Minister Tapper smiled, himself. “That’s my granddaughter, Elissa. I told my son she should have lessons, but he said that at nine, she was too young yet. I am glad the young wizard is a gentleman.” His lips twitched as he saw Alroy save Elissa from tripping over her robes. “Who is the boy, do you know?”

“Alroy MacAirt. He begins at Hogwarts in September.”

“Ah, Columbine’s great-grandson. Well, well. Turning out quite fine, despite everything.”

Minerva turned a cool gaze on the older wizard. “And precisely what does that mean?”

“Well, mother dead, father not precisely . . . hmm, er, _refined_ , shall we say?”

“Shall we?” Minerva asked softly. “I would not. For to me, ‘refinement’ means that one has eliminated the dross and left the pure metal. And Quin MacAirt, in that sense, is very refined, indeed, for he is true to himself. _He_ is the one responsible for raising that young wizard who is dancing so kindly with your granddaughter, Minister, and you may thank Mr MacAirt for it.” She never raised her voice above its initial quiet tone, but there was sharp steel behind her words.

The minister raised an eyebrow. “You presume to lecture me, young woman?” Then he suddenly barked a laugh. “You will do well at Hogwarts. And you are correct in every point, Professor.” As the music died away, Minister Tapper stepped back, bowing and raising Minerva’s hand to his lips briefly. When he straightened, he smiled down at her and nodded. “Now I see, yes . . . yes, I see. Thank you very much for the dance, Professor. And for the tutoring!”

Minerva stepped back toward the French doors again, looking about for Quin, worried now that she had put him in an uncomfortable situation with Valerianna and that he hadn’t forgiven her for it, but then she saw him coming toward her. Minister Tapper stopped him and shook his hand, his other hand on the younger wizard’s shoulder, standing close and speaking in his ear. Quin was smiling slightly, then he nodded. A minute later he was beside her.

“Well, m’ darlin’ Minerva, I must thank you for havin’ arranged such a pleasant dance partner for me. Wouldn’t o’ thought of it, meself. Stroke o’ genius, that was.” Quin was grinning down at her.

Despite Quin’s smile, Minerva wondered whether he was upset with her. “I’m sorry, Quin. Francis . . . he seemed so pathetic. And I was curious.”

“Ah, I see, you and your kind heart and your curiosity. O’ course. Should have guessed it meself.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry yourself, Minerva; you look so beautiful tonight, you mustn’t spoil it with an unhappy expression. So, another dance or a little drink? Or perhaps a bite to eat. There’s food in the supper rooms,” he said, gesturing up toward the rooms off the interior balcony above them. 

“I think something to drink. I don’t think I could eat anything more – unless you’d like something?”

“Not at the moment. You wait here; I’ll bring you something.”

“Something nonalcoholic, please, Quin; I’m thirsty.”

“Your every wish is my command, and if they haven’t anything suitable, I’ll get you a glass and fetch you some fresh water from me own spring, I will,” he said grandly.

“You just want to show off again, Quin,” Minerva laughed.

He winked at her. “Got me figured out already, haven’t you?”

Quin set off for the trays that were floating along the wall across the room from them. Minerva moved into the doorway and relished the feel of the cool night air behind her. She turned and looked out. There was one couple in the shadows at the other end of the balcony, but it was empty other than that. Minerva stepped out through the doors; she could keep an eye on the doorway for Quin. He would find her, in any case.

* * *

Albus sat in a comfy overstuffed armchair atop the Headmaster’s tower and gazed out over the school grounds as twilight grew, watching in the gathering darkness until he could no longer distinguish the line of the Forbidden Forest from its shadow. Standing and stretching, he banished the chair. Comfortable though it may have been, he had not felt at ease. Making his way down the ancient stair to his quarters, Albus wondered whether Minerva were having a good time at the party. He hoped that Quin was treating her well. Gertrude had sent him a brief letter just that morning, reiterating her invitation, saying they could always make room for him, even if he only wished to attend dinner and leave immediately afterward. But he hadn’t made arrangements to leave the castle, although he knew that Johannes would have been happy to look after things for a few hours, and that provided him with as good an excuse as any to decline.

In actuality, the thought of being at the same function with both Minerva and Valerianna, not to mention Gertrude, was daunting enough, but he also knew that Minerva would feel obligated to spend time with him, and that was time she should be spending getting to know Quin. Or if not Quin, then another suitable young wizard. Melancholy though he should not be, the image of Minerva laughing, dancing, and smiling at the handsome young MacAirt did not cheer him, but gave him a pang of desolation that his solitary evening did nothing to dispel.

Determined to put it out of his mind, Albus went down to his office and began straightening his parchments, organising the work he had completed that day, setting aside what he needed to tend to the next, and pulling out anything that was not associated with either Hogwarts or Ministry business. As he sorted through his documents, putting them in their proper places, he found his “Minerva lists” again. He smiled slightly seeing them. Perhaps they qualified as Hogwarts business . . . but remembering the feelings he’d had as he had written them, Albus knew they were very personal and that his desire to have her remain at Hogwarts had only a little to do with Minerva’s abilities as a Transfiguration teacher, as excellent as they were. 

They had had a lovely time together in those few days before she’d left for Cornwall. It was difficult to believe that it had been less than a week since he’d overheard her complaints to Poppy. He had squandered more than six months in which he could have enjoyed her company, nurtured their relationship and her professional growth, six months that would not return.

They had a long-standing relationship, and certainly they were friends, but would their friendship last when Minerva became involved with a wizard who would desire any free time she could spare him once she had discharged her duties at Hogwarts? It was difficult enough for a witch or wizard on the staff to maintain a relationship with someone who wasn’t in residence at the castle, it would only make it more difficult if she felt a tie to _him_ . . . an obligation to spend time with her friend and mentor. And Hogwarts already demanded so much time and energy. A wizard could resent that; Albus had seen it happen before. He would not do that to Minerva. She deserved a chance at happiness. He would not grasp at her little free time, depriving her of the opportunity to develop a real relationship with someone. Provided the someone was deserving, of course. If he made her unhappy, or was unsuitable for her . . . Albus would have to try to steer Minerva toward someone more appropriate, or at least protect her from an ill-chosen match. He would be her friend . . . for as long as she wished him to be, at any rate. They had maintained a correspondence when Minerva was in London, after all; there was no reason they couldn’t do the same again. Of course, their correspondence had become less frequent during her apprenticeship in Germany, but they both had been busy that year, he knew. Her apprenticeship had been time-consuming, as could be expected, and he’d always thought she had been involved with Rudolf, the Apothecary she had mentioned in her letters, although she’d never told him in so many words. And he’d had his own life. . . .

Albus sighed and gathered up a few personal parchments, including the lists, and headed back up to his suite to put them away. He would keep the lists with his photographs of Minerva, he thought. Sitting at the small desk in his private study, Albus glanced over them again. On the reverse side of the second parchment, the one listing “Insults and Indignities,” he saw a piece of doggerel that he’d jotted down that Friday afternoon as he was making plans for his dinner with Minerva. Just a few lines, pure silliness, really, inspired by the events of the morning.

His eyes misted over as he thought of Minerva. Albus didn’t really know when he had fallen in love with her. The first aching in his heart, that ache which he had always called by another name, was an ache that he remembered first feeling so many years ago that it shamed him. Minerva was still young then, barely out of school, really, and she had just lost the wizard who had loved her and whom she had loved, though Minerva had denied it, trying to spare his feelings . . . she had certainly been too young for someone of his years to even dream of loving. Minerva had been so upset that day when he had come to see her at the McGonagall home and give her the letter that Carson had written her. Yet she had wished to offer him comfort, comfort which he had rejected, and in that moment of rejection, he had felt that ache for the first time. . . .

Albus looked at the few lines of verse. They were whimsical, but they called him to express his feelings more truly, without their inanity. He took up his quill and quickly penned a few more lines. Rereading them, he felt they were foolish, even more so than the first ones that had inspired him to write more. Yet they were true . . . or partially so. How to express the entire truth of his feelings for Minerva, feelings that would by necessity remain hidden from her, hidden from everyone? Albus began to write again, and this time, he did not stop until he knew he had written the final line, the one that completed the expression of his feelings.

Albus gazed at the parchment, not reading it, and thought he should really just burn it now, or banish it in a thousand particles as dust across the castle grounds. But he didn’t. Instead, he carefully placed it in the drawer beneath the photographs of Minerva.

He felt better after having expressed himself. Now, perhaps, he could be a true friend to her and help her find happiness. Albus didn’t understand why Minerva was still unmarried, or why she was not in a relationship, at least. She was a beautiful, intelligent, witty, talented, strong witch. Although she was not rare among witches in that regard, particularly those who worked at the Ministry or at St. Mungo’s, who often remained unmarried and unattached for the first ten or twenty years of their careers. But Minerva deserved more than just a career at Hogwarts. She deserved some personal happiness.

Whatever wizard she chose, he would be welcome at Hogwarts; indeed, perhaps he could be put on staff . . . even if a position had to be created for him. Albus furrowed his brow; from what he’d heard of Quin, it was unlikely he would want to give up his business interests in order to teach at Hogwarts. Perhaps he would relocate to Hogsmeade, though, to be closer to her . . . but, more likely, Minerva would leave the school if she married him. Who would want a part-time wife who spent almost all of her days, all of her meals, and all of her nights at Hogwarts for nearly ten months out of the year?

It was inevitable: he would eventually lose Minerva. Not that he had her now, but she was here in the castle. And he had wasted six months; he wouldn’t waste whatever time they did have together. But, Albus reminded himself, he must not stand in the way of her getting out of the castle when she could. Even if Quin weren’t the wizard for her, she needed to take every opportunity to meet someone appropriate who could appreciate her and give her the love she deserved. And someone whom she could love . . . .

Albus got ready for bed and sat up for a while reading one of the novels he had borrowed from Minerva’s room. He hadn’t made any time to read as he had told her he would, so was only on the third chapter. He wanted to be able to return it to her and tell her that he’d taken her advice. That wouldn’t happen tomorrow . . . perhaps he could arrange a little surprise for her in the morning, though. A little “welcome home” to show her that he valued her and that he hadn’t forgotten his promise to her. He extinguished the lamps and settled down to sleep, thinking about how best to welcome Minerva home in the morning. The prospect of seeing her chased away any residual melancholy, and he drifted off with a smile on his face.

* * *

Minerva took a deep breath of the fresh air and turned to look out over the gardens. There were small fairy lights set at intervals along the paths, not enough to provide true illumination, but the effect was a pretty one.

“So, deserted _again_ , darling? And still so _early_ in the evening . . . _such_ a pity.”

Valerianna’s affected speech caused Minerva’s skin to crawl. She turned to face the older witch, who was a dark shadow framed by the light from the ballroom beyond.

“Not at all; I’m merely taking a bit of air,” Minerva responded, remembering her resolve not to rise to Valerianna’s bait.

“Cormac is a hot-blooded young Irish wizard; it does not surprise me that he might seek more . . . _agreeable_ company.” Minerva could hear the sneer in Valerianna’s voice, but before she could reply, the other witch continued, “Unlike the old Headmaster at your school, who may find it quite _pleasant_ to have the unthreatening, sycophantic company of a . . . _witch_ such as yourself. A nice . . . little . . . pet kitten. But _who_ strokes _whom_ , that was always _my_ question.”

Minerva felt almost nauseated. “I do not know what you think you’re implying, Madam Yaxley, but Professor Dumbledore does not require sycophants, as _you_ seem to, and I am _no_ one’s pet.”

“Ah, me, then it _is_ worse than I had _thought_ , poor old fellow,” she said, feigning distress. “But perhaps you _are_ well-suited, after all – _you’re_ a cold fish and he’s . . . well, I shan’t tell tales out of school!” She cackled as though she thought she’d said something particularly funny.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, and it is quite clear that you don’t, either, but I will not hear another bad word about the Headmaster.” Minerva was fairly shaking, any attempts at calming herself a failure.

“Oh, I believe you _will_ . . . quite a few of them, _my_ _dear_. And _not_ all from me. Does that grizzled old charlatan still have you convinced that he is universally loved?” The older witch clucked her tongue. “But I suppose that’s not surprising . . . do you _know_ that when I heard him speak of you, I thought you’d be something _special_? And then I do a _little_ investigation of my _own_ , and what do I discover but that you’re just another Ministry-hag-in-the-making, too good for the wizards in your Department, of course. And still I had to hear him talk – _on_ and _on_ – about you. His little kitten. And the way he always wanted to take time to see you when he was in London visiting _me_ . . . well, _I_ was enough for him and I made sure he knew it.” Valerianna stepped further out onto the balcony, and Minerva could make out her face, its expression contorted into one of disgust.

“Really? He _never_ speaks of _you_ ,” Minerva responded coldly.

Valerianna’s eye twitched. “I was too much witch for him, _my dear_ – as you well know,” she spat. “And now I meet you in the flesh, and I still see nothing special, just a jumped-up little chit, no better than a – a – _Mudblood_ , and an icy one, at that! No wonder he’ll have you around, the pitiful, old, dried-up – ”

Valerianna didn’t finish what she was about to say about Albus, because, simultaneously, Quin appeared behind her and pulled her roughly toward the door, and Minerva drew her wand from the folds of her robe and pointed it at her. 

“I don’t know what you think you’re doin’ here, Anna, but from what I just heard, nothin’ good.” Quin turned to Minerva, who was still pointing her wand at the older witch. “Come, love. You don’t need that stick.” Quin waved a hand and the two drinks that had been floating behind him settled on a small, low table.

Minerva lowered her wand some, but didn’t put it away. Heart pounding in her chest, she was blistering with outrage that that witch, someone whom Albus had apparently once valued in some way, could dare say anything bad about him. Valerianna had been privileged just to _know_ him, and she dared betray him with those vicious words. Minerva gave her wand a subtle flick.

Quin came around in front of Valerianna. “Come, Minerva, my sweet Minerva, she’s not worth your breath or your thought,” he whispered, putting an arm around her and turning her away from the still sneering witch. He guided her toward the edge of the balcony, then leaned toward her and, in a low whisper, said, “Shall we play?” He ran a hand down her right arm, encouraging her to pocket her wand. “You don’t need that with me here, love.”

Quin caressed Minerva’s face with his left hand, pulling her into an embrace with his right. His breath tickled in her ear. “Is she still there?”

Minerva turned her head slightly to look past him; the witch still stood in the doorway, a looming shadow between them and the ballroom. She looked up at Quin, angry tears in her eyes, and nodded slightly. 

Quin kissed her forehead, whispering again, “Shall we play, then?”

Minerva put her right arm around his waist and raised her left to his shoulder, then tilted her head to meet his kiss. Quin’s lips touched hers as he pulled her closer. He kissed her and kissed her again, his right hand warm on the skin of her back, his left hand cradling her head. Minerva held him more tightly, parting her lips to return his kisses, to venture into his mouth, to stroke his tongue with her own. Quin pulled away with a slight moan, only to return to kiss her neck. Minerva was breathing heavily, and as his lips touched a sensitive spot on her throat, she gasped and pushed herself even closer to him, threading her arm beneath his overrobe. 

Quin’s kisses trailed up to her ear, and he whispered, “Is she gone yet?”

Minerva had forgotten their audience for a moment; she opened her eyes and moved her head to look toward the door. Blinking, she realised that Valerianna was gone, but there was another witch standing in the doorway. She swallowed. 

“Yes, yes, she is,” she said softly.

Quin gently released her from his hold, then stepped back slightly, raising a hand to her face, smiling and wiping a tear from her cheek. “I think perhaps we may have made an impression of our own.”

At Minerva’s distracted expression, he frowned slightly, then turned, following her gaze. There was Gertrude, the silver in her dress and jewellery reflecting the light, but her face unreadable in the shadows of the balcony.


	53. The End of the Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva talks with Gertrude, then returns to the party.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Gertrude Gamp, Quin MacAirt, and Robert Crouch.

**LIII: The End of the Party**

“Quin, could you fetch me a drink, please.” It wasn’t a request, but a directive.

“O’ course, Gertie.” But he turned and looked at Minerva, raising his eyebrow questioningly.

“It’s fine, Quin . . . go,” she said softly.

Minerva turned and looked out over the garden, resting her hands on the cool balustrade. Her mind was a blank; after the rush of adrenaline from her encounter with Valerianna, followed so quickly by Quin’s very convincing kiss, she couldn’t think. There was still a part of her that could have wept with anger, but she kept a tight hold on herself.

As Quin crossed the balcony, Gertrude said, “No need to rush, Quin.”

The wizard didn’t respond, but Minerva heard his steps falter as he hesitated before proceeding to the ballroom. She hadn’t heard Gertrude move, so she was surprised when the older witch appeared beside her.

“Are you all right, Minerva?” she asked gently.

“Fine. . . fine.” Minerva tried to remember her Occlumency exercises, tried to calm her breathing. She _wasn’t_ fine. That dreadful witch, the things she had said . . . Minerva couldn’t get them out of her head, yet she couldn’t quite grasp them, either. How dare she speak of Albus in that way? She turned her head away from Gertrude and closed her eyes a moment. As she tried to gather herself, she was surprised to feel Gertrude’s hand gently rest on her shoulder. Had she spared it a thought, she would have believed that the older witch would have been upset to find her in a passionate embrace with Quin.

“From the look on Valerianna’s face as she left the balcony, may I assume that Quin was _assisting_ you with her just now?”

Minerva just nodded. She thought she really would be fine as long as she didn’t have to speak. She didn’t know whether she wanted Gertrude to go and leave her alone or to stay and talk to her. 

“Good. . . .” Gertrude let out a sigh. “I saw Valerianna from across the ballroom when she came out onto the balcony, but I didn’t know you were here. I should have realised when I saw that she was alone . . . but when I saw Quin headed here with two drinks in tow, I followed. . . .” She squeezed her shoulder gently. “What did she say?”

“Just rubbish,” Minerva replied quietly, her voice cracking slightly.

“Minerva, I know that you have not always seen me as an ally – ” At Minerva’s shake of her head, Gertrude said, “It’s true, Minerva, and it’s all right. But I want you to know that I did not want you to be hurt.”

“What _did_ you want, then, Gertie?” Minerva asked, not looking at the older witch. “Why did you invite me here? As you say, we have never been . . . particularly friendly, although I have always respected you. Your invitation was unexpected, and now it still remains unexplained. That _person_ must have something to do with it. . . . Why am I here, Gertie?”

“You are here, I imagine, because you were curious. As to why I invited you . . . it is not simple. Or perhaps it is. I saw you at lunch and you looked distressed. I had been present when Albus so obliviously dismissed you without rescheduling your appointment. It was apparent to me as the term progressed that you were under some nervous strain. You were handling your classes well, however, and as Deputy Headmistress, I had no reason to approach you about it, particularly given our somewhat distant relationship. I hoped that it was just a matter of becoming used to living at Hogwarts as an adult, which can require a period of adjustment, especially after living in London and working at the Ministry. But when I saw you at lunch . . . the thought occurred to me that it might be good for you to get away from Hogwarts for a bit. Gain some perspective. After I arrived home that afternoon, I thought that perhaps if I were to invite you for a visit, I might be able to speak to you in a way that would be difficult to do at Hogwarts. And so, thinking that a change and some distance might do you good, and that an opportunity for the two of us to get to know each other would be even better, I decided to invite you down. I thought you might enjoy meeting Quin, as well . . . I believed chances were even that you would decline, actually.” As Gertrude finished speaking, she withdrew her hand from Minerva’s shoulder, but did not move away.

Minerva listened silently, looking out at the fairy lights dotting the garden paths. There was more to it than that . . . she felt that Gertrude was being truthful, but not fully honest. But what question could she ask to get the answer that she needed?

“Why this week? Why not invite me to come down over the next weekend, after everyone else was gone? I asked about Valerianna and you said nothing about her in your answer.”

The witch hesitated. “As I told you Monday morning, it has not been my place to speak to you of Valerianna. Her . . . attempt at a relationship with Albus, while not precisely common knowledge, was not clandestine when it occurred. . . . You would hear of it eventually. While I wanted you to know of the witch’s existence, Minerva, I did not want you to be hurt by her.”

“Why not just invite me to tea at any point during the term and tell me these things?”

“Minerva, you do know yourself fairly well, I believe. How do you think you would have reacted if I had invited you to tea and inquired after the state of your nerves?”

Minerva was silent a moment. “I would have told you that I was well, of course. As I still would, if you were to ask.” Minerva quirked a rueful smile to herself. Even now, she would not tell Gertrude, who had already told her she believed she was under some nervous strain, that she had felt on the edge of a precipice by the end of the term. And she most assuredly would not tell her why. “And as for Valerianna . . . ?”

“I would not have told you about her under other circumstances. As I have said, it wasn’t my place. But now you do know about her – and as more than just an abstract fact, but as a living, breathing witch.”

That seemed hardly an adequate explanation to Minerva, but she doubted that she would receive any better one, and perhaps Gertie didn’t even have one. She also wanted to ask about Gertie’s relationship with Albus, and whether it had anything to do with her invitation, but she didn’t know how to frame such a question . . . but if her motivations did have something to do with Albus, perhaps another sort of question might elicit a clue or two. “And Quin? Has he anything to do with why you invited me?”

“Quin I thought you would enjoy spending time with, that’s all. Now I have answered your questions, but you have not answered the one I asked you.”

“She . . .” Minerva hesitated, knowing precisely what question she had not answered. “It wasn’t even _what_ she said. It was the way she said it, and somehow . . . she was implying something nasty.”

“That’s not a surprise, as she is a nasty woman. But go on.”

“Just some awful things about Albus, the way she described him was just . . . she said that she was too much witch for him. And that she had had to listen to him talk about me, but that I was nothing special. It sounds so . . . _benign_ now, but the way she said it, it sounded dreadful. She made it sound like I was some sycophantic, repressed witch, and as though Albus . . . as though he needed someone to worship him, and I filled the bill somehow. She made it sound deviant, too, and sordid, though I don’t know how.”

“Valerianna was bitter about it when Albus broke things off with her; she identifies you with him, in her mind. She would say whatever it took to disturb you, I think, simply because of that. I am surprised you didn’t hex her. I would have had trouble restraining myself, to be honest.” Gertrude’s tone was harsh as she uttered those last words. 

“Well . . . I drew my wand. But Quin arrived.” Minerva’s hesitation was palpable. “I actually _couldn’t_ restrain myself, I’m afraid. But I didn’t hex her . . . it was just a little charm. I’m sorry, Gertie, I know I shouldn’t have cast anything at all – ”

“What charm?” Gertrude interrupted, sounding more curious than distressed by Minerva’s admitted breech of etiquette.

“Fairly soon, her shoes will be very uncomfortable. . . . It was a slow-shrinking charm. She won’t notice it at first. It was just a little jinx. And on her shoes, not on her person.” One did not attend a party and hex another guest, regardless of the provocation, but Minerva could see Gertie’s grin, and added, “I would have charmed her robes to enlarge, but I thought we should all be spared that sight.”

“No, indeed, I would prefer not to have to see that, as well.” Gertie grinned widely. “But don’t worry about it, Minerva. She richly deserves far more than the little discomfort you may have visited on her. But I do think you might want to avoid being alone the rest of the night.”

“No problem with that,” Quin’s voice came from behind them. “I’ll do a better job o’ lookin’ after the lass for you, Gertrude.” He looked from one witch to the other. “Since you’re both standin’ there lookin’ fairly chipper, may I assume I am not in any trouble with you, Gertie?”

“Should you be?” she asked.

“Oh, probably for somethin’, but ’twould be hard for me to pinpoint exactly what,” he answered, handing her a glass. “I hope I wasn’t too hasty in my return?”

“No, but now I am even thirstier, Quin,” Minerva answered him, then smiled when he gave her the drink he had brought her earlier. 

“Some kind of fizzy cherry-flavoured drink,” he said “No alcohol, as requested.”

“Mmm. This is good, but now I feel as though I could use something stiffer.”

“Well, how about another dance, instead?” he suggested. “The musicians were taking a break, but they’re about to start up again.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Minerva,” Gertrude said encouragingly.

Minerva hesitated. She didn’t want to have to see that awful witch again, but on the other hand, she didn’t want to let Valerianna think that she had succeeded in devastating her, either. Besides, Valierianna’s shoes were probably becoming quite tight by now. She’d like to see the results of her wand-work. Minerva set her empty glass down and took Quin’s arm.

“I would love another dance, Quin, thank you.”

As Minerva and Quin danced, she looked around for Valerianna and chuckled when she saw the witch limping toward the door, Flint at her side. She clearly hadn’t figured out why her feet hurt. Minerva wondered whether she had the sense to use a _Finite Incantatum_ before the shoes rubbed her toes raw. In an uncharacteristic moment of schadenfreude, she hoped Valerianna was too distracted by her own resentment and bitterness to realise that her shoes had been jinxed.

“So, you are all right now, Minerva?” Quin asked.

“Yes. That witch . . . she really is one of the most obnoxious people whom I’ve ever met.”

“She wasn’t always that bad, Minerva. She used to have a kind of brittle wit and charm to her; it had eroded into mere polish with no shine over the last few years, but I thought she had mellowed some since she’d latched onto Franky. Seeing you seemed to bring out her most abrasive side.” He held her a little more closely and spoke into her ear.

Minerva snorted. “She should simply ignore me, then. It’s as though she gets a perverse pleasure out of her resentment.”

“Perhaps . . . I didn’t hear all that she said to you, obviously, but I think that we may have at least dispelled any notion that you are ‘icy.’”

“She started out her nastiness by saying quite openly that you had abandoned me in the search for a willing witch.”

“She is a fool as well as obnoxious, then. Do you know that she propositioned me this evening?” At Minerva’s astounded expression, he said, barely loudly enough for her to hear him over the music, “She left out that little detail, I see. That’s part o’ what bothered her about our performance, I’m sure. Yes, within a short time of announcing her engagement, Anna was tryin’ to get another wizard into her bed. I think she thought to do it in order to injure you, I suppose, but she’d never had any success with me before, so I don’t know what she thought had changed. She did seem to think that I would find it . . . titillatin’ to make love to another wizard’s fiancée, no strings attached, just sneakin’ off for a quickie.” He shuddered at the thought. 

“But Francis . . .”

“Likely had no idea what she was up to. Though I don’t know if it would have come as a surprise to him.”

“I don’t understand these people at all. Not at all.” She shook her head.

“Theirs is a marriage of convenience, no matter what Anna may say about their ‘joy,’ I see only two people who are each usin’ the other for pragmatic reasons. O’ course, Anna always does seem to enjoy her men, particularly ones younger than she, so, although I cringe to speculate on their private life, I imagine that he also satisfies certain of her other needs.”

“Oh, Quin, I really did not need that image in my mind!”

“Sorry, love. But she only understands relationships between men and women on those two levels – how they might exploit one another and . . . how they might, um, serve one another, so to speak. She no doubt thinks you and I are in such a relationship – and you and Dumbledore, for that matter. The exploitation part of it, I mean.”

Minerva stiffened at the mention of Albus. “I think we have exhausted this topic. It’s beginning to nauseate me. Literally. It’s not a suitable topic for the dance floor.”

“Sorry, love.” He changed the subject to Alroy, telling Minerva proudly what a positive impression his son had made on the Minister for Magical Transportation. For all his not seeming to care about whether he was accepted by society or not, Quin clearly was glad that his son was becoming what he called a “respectable wizard.” “And he mentioned you, too, Minerva. Said he understood now why that school o’ yours was willing to wait for you to take the job.”

“Ah, I wondered why he’d known who I was. The Ministry wasn’t entirely happy that I was leaving, I’m afraid. They felt they’d made an investment and I should have been honoured to spend the rest of my days there. Not everyone, of course.” Minerva didn’t tell Quin what she’d told the minister. Let him think that Tapper had come to an unalloyed positive impression of Alroy entirely on his own.

“May I cut in?”

Quin turned and looked at Robert. “You’ve already danced with me escort more than I have tonight, Robert,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “But if the lady wishes?”

“Of course, Robert, thank you.”

A moment later, Minerva saw Gertie take Quin by the arm and lead him off to the side of the room. 

“So, did your mother send you to dance with me?” Minerva was slightly annoyed.

“She said she wanted to talk to Quin, but she told me something of what happened earlier. I thought you’d prefer dancing . . . but if you’d rather not, we could sit it out and wait for Quin.” Robert looked uncomfortable. “Or if you’d prefer to dance with someone else . . .”

“No, I appreciate it, thank you, Robert. I suppose I’m just feeling a bit . . . passed about.”

“I’m sorry. Mother said that Valerianna had left, but that she might be back. I agreed that you should have a friend at hand in case she decided to approach you again.”

“Did she tell you what the witch said?”

“No, just that she upset you deliberately. I do not know her well, myself, for all that she’s a cousin, but from what Mother has said of her, she sounds nasty and manipulative.”

“I don’t know her well, either, but she _is_ nasty and manipulative. You needn’t have a close acquaintance with the woman to discover that.”

The music picked up in both pace and volume, and so the two danced without speaking until Minerva signalled Robert that she needed to sit for a while. Her feet hurt after so much dancing. No doubt that’s what Valerianna initially thought her problem was when her shoes began to get tight. Minerva felt only a slight satisfaction at that thought. She and Flint hadn’t reappeared since disappearing from the ballroom fifteen or twenty minutes before.

As they made their way over to where Quin and Gertie were sitting, heads together, Minerva saw Columbine approach Gertrude, a concerned expression on her face. Gertie was smiling slightly and shaking her head, but she got up and followed her mother out of the ballroom.

“What was that all about?” Minerva asked Quin as he stood.

“What? You mean Columbine? Valerianna is believin’ that someone here has hexed her. She and Gertrude went to sort it out. You wouldn’t happen to know anythin’ about that, would you now?” He raised an eyebrow, suppressing a grin.

Minerva took the chair that Gertie had vacated, and the two wizards sat on either side of her.

Minerva looked at him, deadpan expression on her face. “I have cast no hexes tonight, Quin.” She glanced at Robert, then said, “A charm perhaps . . . but not on Valerianna.”

“A charm? An’ what charm would that be, Professor?” Quin asked.

“Just a _little_ spell. But not on her. On her shoes.”

“Her _shoes_?” Robert looked confused.

“A shrinking charm. A slow-shrinking charm.” Minerva smirked, as did the two men. “She probably just thought she’d been on her feet too long.”

“I saw her hobblin’ out o’ here a while ago, leanin’ on her fiancée’s arm. Thought she’d turned her ankle. I didn’t see you castin’ anythin’, though,” Quin said.

“It’s a simple charm, and I certainly had no problem forming the intent, I was so angry with her, so it didn’t take more than a little flick.”

“Uncle Albus always said you were talented and clever.” Robert smiled. “He didn’t mention your temper.”

“Well, he _was_ my professor. I tried to keep my temper under control in front of my teachers, after all.”

“True . . . but you stayed in touch.”

“Yes, yes, we did.” Minerva thought she might as well be bold and ask Robert a question that had been on her mind since she met him. “You call him ‘Uncle Albus’; is he related to you?”

“I’ve just known him ever since I can remember; Mother felt it would be disrespectful for a child to address an adult by their first name, so he said I could call him ‘Uncle Albus.’ It stuck.” Robert smiled. “And I couldn’t love him more if he were my uncle. And after Father was killed, he . . . I wouldn’t say he took his place, no one could do that. My father was an extraordinary man, Minerva.” He sighed. “But Uncle Albus was there for me when I needed a man to talk to, a grown wizard. I had my teachers at school, of course, but that’s different. And I always knew that Uncle Albus cared about me – about us both. He was also a friend of my Grandfather Crouch’s when they were in school, and he and Mother had worked together before she and Father moved to Berlin, so I do feel he is as much a part of my family as Mother is.”

“They worked together before Hogwarts? I hadn’t known that. I knew Albus had asked her to come teach at Hogwarts, of course, and that they had known each other before that.”

“It wasn’t a formal working relationship, but he was doing some alchemical research involving the use of Arithmancy, and it was something Mother was interested in at the time, so they collaborated some. I don’t know much more about it than that.”

“I see . . . ” Minerva suppressed a sigh. No wonder they were so close. They had known each other longer than she’d even been alive. And Albus had been a friend of Robert’s grandfather. She wondered if his grandfather had known hers. “My grandfather was a friend of Albus’s when they were in school, but my grandfather was killed in an accident when my father was a baby, so I never knew him. Do you suppose your grandfather would remember him?”

“Grandfather died three years ago of paralytic magical morbilliac fever.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” That was a dreadful disease, rarely seen anymore.

“He went quickly, once he became ill, thank goodness.”

“What do you do, Robert?”

“I have an apothecary.” He smiled shyly at her. “Thanks to you, in fact.”

Minerva was mystified. “Me?”

“Mmm. Uncle Albus used you as an example of why it’s never too late to start an apprenticeship. Of course, I had some difficulties, since Thea and I were married. Her father’s a Potions master, and I’d been working in his apothecary for some time, but he didn’t feel it would be prudent to take me on as an apprentice, and so I had to find another master to take me on. Fortunately, between him and Albus, I was able to find one in Utrecht, and I could Apparate back and forth daily. That was important. Your brother’s Murdoch McGonagall, isn’t he?”

“Yes, yes, he is. You know him?”

“Only slightly. Just the way Potions masters know one another, you know.”

“Do you know Rudolf Brauer?”

“Heidelberg. Owns three apothecaries and turns out the best-trained masters in Germany. Good wizard. I’ve actually collaborated with him on a few new potions recently. You know him from your apprenticeship in Heidelberg, I presume?”

“Yes.” Minerva hesitated. “Yes, I knew him then. I am glad to hear he’s doing so well, opening a third apothecary.” Minerva felt a twinge of wistfulness, thinking of Rudolf, a big bear of a man who had loved her more than she had been able to love him. When he was serious, there was no one more so, yet when he smiled or laughed . . . . And she had been able to make him laugh, until it became clear to him that she was not going to marry him, or even just stay with him in Germany. He never understood why, and she hadn’t been able to tell him; she hadn’t even been able to explain it to herself. Now, of course, she could acknowledge that she could never have loved him enough and that she could not envision living so far from Albus, even though they would never be together. But it had been the right decision, even if only for Rudolf’s sake. And now she was at Hogwarts, with Albus, and their friendship was growing stronger. Albus . . . . she forced her thoughts away from him, away from the longing and despair that seemed the inevitable companions of even her happiest thoughts of Albus.

She turned to Quin. “You were complaining earlier about not having enough dances with me. Here’s your chance!” She smiled at him. 

“Well, p’raps _I’m_ too tired now!” But he stood and held out his hand.

As they danced, Quin leaned in closer. “So, I detected a hint o’ somethin’ just now. Is it that Rudolf fellow . . . is he the impossible one who is breakin’ your heart?”

“What? No, no. If there was any heart-breaking going on, it was my fault.”

“Mmm. I see.” 

As they danced, Minerva saw Gertrude reenter the ballroom without her mother. She pointed it out to Quin.

He said, “Looks like she cleared things up, or she’d be draggin’ us out o’ here.”

“She _is_ watching us, though,” Minerva remarked.

“So she is,” Quin replied laconically.

“What did she want to talk to you about?”

“This and that.”

“That is _not_ an answer,” Minerva said sharply, tired of all of the non-answers she’d been getting.

“It’s not a conversation for the dance floor, either, as you pointed out to me, earlier.”

“Then let’s not dance.” Minerva stopped abruptly and stepped away from Quin.

“All right, calm yourself, now; you’ve had a hard evenin’, but we can talk,” he said soothingly. “Come, it’s some fresh air that’ll do you good.”

Minerva took his arm, seeing the sense in what he said, and not wanting to make a scene over nothing. He led her out to the balcony, where there were now several couples, some arm-in-arm looking out over the garden, others dancing to the music that drifted from the ballroom. 

Quin whispered, “Let’s find somewhere else; it’s gettin’ a mite crowded out here.”

Minerva nodded, expecting to leave via the ballroom, perhaps go to the library. But Quin led her to one end of the balcony and down some stairs to the veranda below.

“What do you say to a walk in the garden, love?”

“That’s fine; just give me a second.” Minerva cast a quick spell on her shoes to widen the heel so she wouldn’t sink into the soft earth if they took one of the paths without paving stones, then pocketed her wand again. “I’m set now.”

Quin offered her his arm, and they strolled toward the garden. They passed a few other couples, and Quin led her further into the garden.

“You haven’t seen the hedge maze yet. We can have a private conversation there; it’s unlikely that anyone else will venture into the maze tonight.”

“Not to pour cold water on your plan, Quin, but I’m not sure I’m keen on entering the maze in the dark, myself.”

“It’s not trustin’ me again, is it?”

“ _You_ can send up sparks, then, if we can’t find our way out,” Minerva grumbled, but following him into the maze.

“They do change the plan every year, but they only have a half dozen different ones they use, and I’ve been comin’ here for years. You’re safe with me, Minerva.” He patted the hand that rested on his arm. 

Sure enough, he led her to the centre of the maze with no hesitation, only making one wrong turn, and retracing his steps easily. In the centre of the maze, the pea stones gave way to slate flagstones. There was an ornate birdbath in the middle and four benches, one on each side of the open square. Minerva sank down on the nearest bench, and Quin sat beside her.

“So, you were going to tell me why Gertrude wanted to talk to you.”

“I was goin’ to tell you what we talked about. There’s a difference, you know.”

“Mmm. Tell me about it,” Minerva said, thinking of the Slytherin’s murky motives.

“She wanted to know what I’d overheard, what had happened before she arrived on the scene.”

“And you told her . . .?”

“What little I’d heard. Somethin’ about your bein’ no better than a Mudblood – pardon the use of the word, love – and that you were icy and that Dumbledore was old and dried up – ”

“Yes, yes, I know what she said, thank you. I just didn’t know how much you’d heard.” She didn’t want to think anymore about Valerianna’s nasty words. “But you talked for a while.”

“She lectured me a bit. The usual Gertrude lecture about takin’ care o’ you and takin’ care o’ meself, and all that.”

“Did she mention what she saw on the balcony?”

“You mean the two of us appearin’ a tad more friendly than usual? No, not directly . . . I think she understood why she found us that way. She did say that Valerianna looked quite unhappy when she left the balcony, so I’d say that our performance was adequate to its purpose.”

“Well, that’s good. It was rather – ” Minerva swallowed “ – rather convincing, I thought.”

“Good,” Quin said softly. “I’m a bit out o’ practice, so I wasn’t sure.”

“Out of practice?” Minerva looked at him skeptically.

“Told you already, Minerva. I’m a lot o’ talk . . . but not much more, usually. Irritates the ladies, I’m afraid.” He looked uncomfortable and gazed out at the birdbath. 

“And all those witches who think that a good – what did you call it? – a good roll in the hay would convince you to change your bachelor ways?”

“‘Widower,’ not ‘bachelor,’” he corrected. “They _think_ that, Minerva. Doesn’t mean they get the opportunity.”

“But Valerianna . . . ”

“You mean her comment about me bein’ off an’ findin’ a willing witch? Don’t you know better than to trust anythin’ she says, love?” He put a comforting arm around her. “I don’t know what other nastiness she spewed, but I can guarantee you that _truth_ was never a consideration for her.”

“Of course. I just thought . . . ”

“I may appear a rogue when it suits me purposes, Minerva, but I’m actually rather tame.” He smirked. “You really _are_ safe with me, love.”

“I knew that, Quin.” She added, “I trust you, too. It’s probably foolish of me, but I do.” She certainly wouldn’t have let him kiss her like that if she didn’t trust him . . . nor returned his kiss. 

“I will do my utmost to live up to your trust, I will.” 

Minerva thought of how she had trusted Quin with a secret that she had told no one in fifteen years, the secret that had grown during those fifteen years. Not that he knew the entire truth of the matter; he knew neither the identity of the wizard she loved, nor how long she had loved him. Quin would pity her if he knew; he probably already did pity her, that’s probably why he had been willing to kiss her, especially when he wasn’t the player he pretended to be. Minerva hoped she could trust his discretion. She wondered whether Quin would have been able to tell that it was Albus whom she loved if Albus had been here this week. She wished Albus _had_ been there; she had always felt safe with him, and he wouldn’t have stood for Valerianna’s behaviour . . . at least, Minerva didn’t think he would have, but if he never acknowledged her presence when they were at the same event, perhaps he simply would have ignored the witch. But Minerva was confident that he wouldn’t have ignored Valerianna if the witch were taunting her. A pity that it hadn’t been Albus who had come through the door to her rescue at that moment, and not Quin. Of course, he wouldn’t have dealt with the situation the way Quin did, more’s the pity. But if Albus had done what Quin had, it would have only hurt, knowing it was done in play, particularly since he had likely done more than that with Valerianna when they’d been seeing each other. Minerva shoved that image from her mind, forcing herself to think of nothing but the cool night air and the scents of the garden, growing drowsy.

They sat in silence for a while, Minerva’s head resting on Quin’s shoulder, then he turned to her and said, “Our dance was interrupted. Would you grace me with another?” He stood and offered his hand to her.

“There’s no music, Quin,” Minerva answered with a smile.

“The witch can’t dance without music? I wonder . . .” Quin got a pensive expression on his face, then squinted, held up a hand and made a motion as though beckoning someone; he closed his fist, one finger at a time, then opened his hand, palm up, and music drifted to them. He smiled delightedly. “Never done that before – didn’t know if I could.” Minerva could see his eyes shining as he looked down at her. “You’re an inspiration, that’s what you are, Minerva, and I’m still needin’ convincin’ that you’re not a goddess.”

He held out the hand with which he had just called the music down to them, and she took it.

“That was impressive.”

“I thought of the music like it was water, flowin’ down toward us,” he said, taking her in his arms. “But unlike when I call water t’ me, I’m afraid that everyone between here and the ballroom will be enjoyin’ the music.”

Minerva laughed. “It’s a good thing you _don’t_ do that with water! There’d be a lot of very wet and unhappy people!”

“You shouldn’t laugh, Minerva,” he said with a grin. “That’s the way I did draw water at first, but now, I just relocate it without it goin’ in between.” 

“Sometime you’ll have to tell me more about how you do that. Is it something that Alroy can do?”

“No. An’ I couldn’t do it ’til I was quite a bit older than he. Doubt he’ll ever have that particular skill. It’ll be all wand-work for him.” He sounded resigned.

“After he’s got used to the wand, he can work on wandless magic. Maybe Albus could help him; he’s very good at it.”

“Mmm. Maybe.” He sounded sceptical, but didn’t protest her idea.

They danced for a while longer, Minerva leaning on him more than she had before. Quin raised a hand and made a motion, ending the flow of music. 

“It’s late, love. You seem tired.”

Minerva looked up at him. “I am. Very.”

“Time to go in, then.” 

He led her through the maze, and Minerva gladly relied on his competence. They entered through the small door at the foot of the veranda stairs and wound their way up to the first floor. When they reached the door to Minerva’s room, Quin raised her hand to his lips. 

“Good-night, Minerva. Leavin’ in the mornin’, are you?”

“Yes, after breakfast.”

“Have breakfast with me, then?” he asked with a gentle smile.

“That would be lovely.” She paused. “Would you like to come in?”

“Ah, well . . .” He hesitated. “You are tired.”

“Just for a few minutes.”

Quin looked down the empty hallway, then turned to her and grinned. “I’d be happy to come in for a few minutes.”

When they entered her room, Minerva kicked off her shoes. 

“Would you like some tea?” she offered, thinking she could use a cup of Albus’s chamomile tea, but also wanting some company.

“Tea?”

“I have chamomile and peppermint. I only have one mug, but I am a mistress of Transfiguration.”

“Yes, thank you. Peppermint would be nice.” He took a seat in one of the armchairs.

Minerva Transfigured a decorative paperweight into a second mug, then retrieved her package from Albus.

After she had handed him his cup, Quin asked, “Do you always bring your own tea with you when you travel?” He seemed amused.

“It was a present.”

“Oh,” Quin said, as if she had answered his question. 

They sat in the armchairs near the small fireplace and sipped their tea in companionable silence, and began to hear others in the hallway, going to their own rooms. 

“The party must be coming to an end, finally,” Minerva said. It was almost two in the morning.

“If I know these folk, an’ I do, there will be another party startin’ up soon, probably down in the conservatory.” He finished his tea. “Do you want to go down?”

“No, I think I’ve had enough ‘party’ for one night.” She smiled ruefully. “A bit too much of one, in fact.”

“I am sorry, Minerva. I shouldn’t have left you alone,” Quin said softly.

“I wasn’t alone when you left me, not exactly. It was my decision to step out onto the balcony, after all.”

“You should have been safe here, Gertie said. She was very distressed, I think, though she didn’t say as much.”

“She was probably just as upset that she saw us apparently in the heat of passion.” Minerva looked at Quin, remembering how nice it had felt to be kissed. She hadn’t been kissed like that in a very long time. And likely wouldn’t be again for a very long while. And never by the one wizard whom she really wanted to kiss her that way. The thought was depressing. 

“I don’t know about that, love. I mean about her being upset about it, not about the apparent heat o’ passion.” He tried to suppress a smile, but unsuccessfully. “One kiss like that, and your impossible wizard would be impossible no more. Or even reluctant.”

“Don’t joke about it, Quin.” She put her mug down, frowning.

“Sorry, love.” He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No . . . but believe me, it is impossible.”

“I assume he’s still among the livin’, and where there’s life, there’s hope. I don’t see why it’s impossible.”

“It is. Just believe me, please.” Minerva wished he would just leave it alone; if she was doomed to lose her joy, she’d rather do it without any fuss and just get on with it.

“All right, love. I’d just like to help you. I’ve grown rather fond of you, and I’d like to be your friend. But o’ course, that’s hubris speakin’. I’m sure you have other friends, someone more sympathetic you can talk to about it.”

Minerva looked at him. “I haven’t. No one knows. No one but you, Quin.” Her eyes filled with tears. She dashed them away with the palm of her hand.

“You’ve had a long day, Minerva. It’s time I’m leavin’ you and goin’ to me own room.”

Minerva nodded. 

Quin stood and said, “Breakfast tomorrow, then? It’s late now, but is eight o’clock too early for you?”

“No, that’s fine. I have things to do tomorrow,” she said, thinking of her visit to Poppy. “I want to get back to Hogwarts beforehand.” And to Albus.

“Good, I’ll see you then.”

Minerva walked him to the door. “Other than the bit of unpleasantness earlier, I enjoyed this evening. Thank you.”

“You are very welcome, Minerva.” His eyes softened. “I’ll always be happy to talk to you, about anythin’, if you wish.”

“Thank you.”

He opened the door behind him. “Good-night, Minerva.” Quin raised her hand and kissed it lightly, but then blinked, leaned forward, and kissed her cheek. “Sleep well.”

“You, too, Quin,” Minerva said softly.

Minerva closed the door and leaned wearily against it. She didn’t regret accepting Gertie’s invitation. In fact, she was glad she’d come. Even though it had meant listening to the nasty things Valerianna had said that evening. She wondered what Albus would say about it if he knew . . . well, it wasn’t the sort of thing she could tell him. But she _would_ mention Valerianna and ask him about her. After all, Albus had already acknowledged her existence in his letter, even if he hadn’t mentioned her name or the precise nature of their relationship.

It would be good to leave, go home to Hogwarts, and see Albus again. She made herself another cup of chamomile tea and took out the little packet of ginger newts. As she got ready for bed, she nibbled a biscuit, and smiled again at Albus’s thoughtfulness, but then she wondered what little gifts he had given Valerianna, that undeserving, nasty, sluttish waste of magic. Minerva couldn’t understand how Albus had ever thought Valerianna worth his time, regardless of what Quin said about her having been charming and witty. If he had been with someone else, someone like Ella, or even Gertie, Minerva didn’t think it would distress her this much.

Minerva took her tartan afghan from her carpet bag, drew back the covers on the bed, and placed the Charmed blanket over the top sheet. Curled up in bed, tired, but her mind still racing, she thought again of what Valerianna had said. If Minerva had to describe the witch’s tirade, she would have said that it was a jealous one. The witch was somehow jealous of her friendship with Albus, which was utterly ridiculous. They had barely seen each other, after all, with him at Hogwarts and her at the Ministry. Albus had made the time to squire _that_ witch around the wizarding world, whereas he and Minerva only managed to have lunch or tea, or, very occasionally, dinner, when Albus happened to be in the city and had the time. Yet there was no doubt that she had sounded jealous of Minerva. Minerva only wished that the other witch had reason for her jealousy. Albus had likely not only spent time with Valerianna, but he had probably also touched the older witch in ways he had never touched her, and never would. Minerva had been avoiding that thought since Monday morning; she tried to push away the disturbing vision of Albus embracing that awful witch, kissing her . . . . She sighed, blinked back tears, and tried to turn her thoughts from Valerianna and Albus and what they might have done together. 

Rolling over and drawing the afghan up around her shoulders, Minerva thought of Albus, her Albus, the Albus she knew, not the one who had courted that awful witch. Albus, brilliant, sweet, thoughtful Albus . . . if it had been _Albus_ kissing her earlier, and not Quin, she wouldn’t have let go. Minerva wondered how it would feel to kiss him like that and to have him kiss her. She felt a wave of warmth flow over her at the thought. If Albus kissed her cheek the way he did on Monday morning, but then didn’t stop with her cheek, but moved to her lips and pulled her into an embrace, holding her in his arms, kissing her . . . Minerva almost moaned aloud, whether from despair or desire, she was unsure, herself. She held the tartan afghan close to her and fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of Albus and Valerianna together in a passionate embrace, and of herself, just standing by, unable to do anything but watch and cry.


	54. Breakfast al Fresco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva has one last breakfast with Quin before Apparating back to Hogwarts and Albus. Quin gives her a lot to think about . . . but will she?
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Gertrude Gamp, Quin MacAirt, and Gluffy.

**LIV: Breakfast al Fresco**

Minerva woke, fuzzy-headed, to Gluffy’s gruff sing-song, “Time to get up, Madam Professor! It’s rising and shining, Madam Professor!”

She groaned and rolled over, trying to open her eyes to look at Gluffy. Her dreams had brought her tears in the night, and she rubbed at her eyes to clear them. Gluffy looked as cheerful as ever. 

“Wha’ time is it?” Minerva croaked.

“It is fifteen minutes after seven, Madam Professor.”

“Mmm. Can you come back at seven-thirty?”

“Of course, Madam Professor!” 

There was a crack, and he was gone. It seemed that no time at all passed, and Minerva again heard, “Time to get up, Madam Professor! Madam Professor is to be getting up and getting dressed and eating her breakfast!”

Minerva, trying to pretend she was still asleep, stumbled over to the wash basin and splashed her face with cold water, rinsing her eyes, which seemed practically glued shut with the residue of her tears. A bit more awake now, she looked in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy and her face was pale. She was going to become quite good at make-up charms, she thought. Or perhaps she should just use a Glamour. 

She grabbed a set of robes, not caring they were the same yellow-and-raspberry ones she had worn the previous day, wrapped her dressing gown around her, and shuffled off for a quick shower. Feeling better when she returned to her rooms, she called Gluffy and asked for a cup of strong tea with milk.

Packing as she sipped her tea, she wondered whether Quin would be on time or not. If she wasn’t ready yet when he arrived, he’d probably be happy to wait for her. A wave of apprehension rolled through her. She had been so indiscreet with him this week. A wizard she’d known only a few days, and she’d spoken with him of things she hadn’t told anyone before. But beyond that, there was the kiss they had shared on the balcony. He had said it was just “playing,” and Minerva’s feelings were torn, shredded in pieces, about that. She felt almost as though she had behaved cheaply in allowing him such a kiss on such a short acquaintance, even if it were done in the good cause of disturbing Valerianna. Minerva wondered whether it had lowered Quin’s opinion of her, though she doubted that. She also felt she had betrayed herself, her own feelings for Albus, by allowing herself not only to kiss Quin, but to have let herself enjoy it. She worried that Quin might think she had stronger feelings for him than she did – and he had clearly expressed that he did not want to become entangled in a relationship with a witch – but she also worried that, despite his declared feelings on that matter, Quin might now want something more than a friendship with her.

Minerva sighed. There was no reason to feel guilty. It was only a kiss. And it wasn’t as though she was in a relationship with anyone, and neither was Quin. She shouldn’t feel bad about it. In fact, if she were sensible, she would feel positively about it. She needed to be able to have a relationship with a wizard who wasn’t Albus, after all, unless she resigned herself to never having any romantic relationships at all. Minerva had been shy of developing a relationship with another wizard after having left Germany and Rudolf. She hadn’t been unaffected by the pain she had caused him. She had never promised Rudolf anything, although she had told him that she loved him. And she _had_ loved him . . . just not enough. Minerva did not want to hurt any other wizard the way she had hurt Rudolf. Was that her fate, then? To always have her feelings for Albus come between her and happiness with another wizard? She was so sensible in every other area of her life, it seemed, but not when it came to her romantic life.

Despite all that, Minerva hoped that Quin hadn’t read more into her reaction than had been there. Especially since he very clearly was tired of witches falling for him when all he wanted was friendship and a bit of fun. As much as she dreaded the mere idea, she thought she should mention it to him at breakfast. That brought her back to her concern about his trustworthiness and discretion; she decided there was no point in worrying about it. Besides, as she had told Minister Tapper the night before, Quin was responsible for having raised Alroy, and he’d turned out to be a nice boy. And Minerva had no indication that he’d said anything to Gertrude about what he’d learned from her when he did his divination; if he were going to tell anyone, it would be she, Minerva believed.

She just finished putting the last of her clothes in her carpet bag when there was a sharp knock on the door. It was just a few minutes before eight. Quin was early. Minerva opened the door to see Gertrude standing there, looking far more awake than Minerva felt.

“Good-morning, Minerva. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Of course, Gertie.” She opened the door more widely to let the witch in. “Quin will be coming along soon; we arranged to have breakfast together. Would you like to join us?”

“Not this morning, Minerva, but thank you. I was concerned that you might not be able to find me before you left this morning, and I wanted to say good-bye now. I hope that, despite the encounter with Valerianna last night, you enjoyed your time here.”

“Yes, I did; thank you for inviting me, Gertie, and thank your parents for me. It was a nice change, as you thought it might be.”

“Well, I doubt that a few days here could cure all your worries, but perhaps you have a new perspective on them.”

“Actually, I do.” Minerva smiled slightly. “I’m not sure whether it’s better or worse, but it’s different.”

Gertrude smiled. “That’s good then. That was the main reason I invited you here, after all – ”

A knock interrupted their conversation.

“That must be Quin now; are you sure you won’t join us?”

“Quite sure.”

Minerva let Quin in.

“Ah, good-mornin’ to you, Gertrude. You are lookin’ lovely this morning after such a long day!” He kissed the older woman’s cheek. “I trust you are sufferin’ no long-term effects of our little Quidditch match yesterday?”

“I’m fine, thank you, Quin,” she answered with a wry smile.

“And you, Minerva, are still a vision!” He grinned at her.

“Mmm. I notice you don’t say a vision of what, though,” she joked.

“Well, you do look a wee bit tired, but some fresh air and breakfast will perk you up. Are you ready?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“We can bring your bag with us, then, and you won’t be needin’ to return for it. I assume you’re Apparatin’?”

Minerva nodded.

Gertrude spoke up. “Would you do me a favour, Minerva?” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a letter. “I could send it by owl, of course, but I thought if you could hand-deliver this to Albus, you could also tell him that if he wants to talk about it, he can come down for a visit this weekend. Most of the guests should be gone then.”

“Valerianna, you mean?” Minerva took Gertrude’s letter and put in her bag on top of everything else.

“Valerianna will actually be leaving today. She was rather upset that Mother and I didn’t take her shrinking shoes more seriously and just gave her a potion for her feet. Good riddance. I believe I have convinced Mother not to invite her here again. But then, I thought I’d convinced her of that last year, too, so we shall see.” She turned to Quin. “You and the children will still be leaving later today?”

“We will be; my mother wants them to visit for a while, so I’ll be bringin’ them to her, then returnin’ to London meself for a while.”

“Please give my regards to your family, Quin. Well, you two should be going, and I need to check on a few things, myself.” She turned to Minerva. “I hope we see more of one another at Hogwarts now.” Gertrude touched Minerva’s arm briefly, and Minerva was apprehensive that the witch would expect some show of affection from her, but she needn’t have worried, since the other witch turned to Quin. “Take good care of yourself, Quin.”

Quin hugged her, and the normally undemonstrative witch returned the embrace, kissing his cheek before pulling away.

“I will see you in a couple weeks, Minerva, if you are at Hogwarts at the time.”

When Gertrude had left them, Quin picked up Minerva’s bag. 

“I hope that breakfastin’ al fresco is to your likin’, Minerva.”

“We have been eating breakfast outside every day.”

“Ah, but today, it won’t be a tame breakfast on the veranda. I thought we could both use the fresh air and some exercise after yesterday.”

“That’s fine, Quin,” she said, wondering what precisely he had in mind.

They went down to the ground floor and out the front doors.

“Shirfy!” Quin called out.

The house-elf appeared, a large picnic hamper floating beside her. “Breakfast for Mr Aileen’s Wizard.”

Minerva suppressed a giggle.

“Very good, Shirfy. That’s all.” The house-elf popped away, and Quin turned to Minerva, whose giggles burst out as soon as the elf was gone. “And what is so funny?”

“ _Mr Aileen’s Wizard?_ ” Minerva asked, gasping for air through her laughter, barely able to get the words out of her mouth.

“Mmm, that. I’m so used to it now, I don’t even notice. She and that Krantzy used to take care of Aileen when she was a child, and ever since they met me, I’ve been Aileen’s Wizard, and her death never changed that.”

“It didn’t bother you?”

He looked puzzled. “Why should it? I _was_ her wizard, after all . . . well, maybe not when they first met me, but ’twas the truth, nonetheless.”

“Well, a lot of wizards might feel it was demeaning to be called by their wife’s name.”

“As I said, we weren’t even married at the time, we’d just started gettin’ a little serious. In fact, when I asked her to marry me, I asked if she would make me ‘Mr Aileen’s Wizard’ in truth, an’ not just to a couple peculiar house-elves.”

Minerva chuckled. That was sweet. “Where are we off to?”

“I thought we’d go out to the hill fort.”

“Gertie and I were there on Monday. I’m not dressed for a trek like that.”

“We’ll just walk part o’ the way, then, and Apparate the rest – would you be up to that?”

Minerva agreed. She could always transform into her Animagus form, after all. 

“Let me take the carpet bag, though, Quin. You shouldn’t carry both.”

“Who said anythin’ about carryin’ them the whole way?” He set the bag and the hamper down, then drew his wand and flicked it at them. “Did you forget you’re a witch?” 

“Very amusing, Quin.” 

They set off through the garden, then began to cross the moor. The two talked softly as they walked. Minerva had placed an _Impervius_ on her shoes and the hem of her robe, but the damp ground was slippery under foot. After she had slipped twice, and Quin had caught her both times, he suggested Apparating.

“I’m fine, Quin. Let’s walk a bit longer.”

“I’m sure you’re fine, but I’m gettin’ hungry. But if you prefer to walk – ”

“Oh! All right, then. Why don’t we meet at the base of the eastern wall?”

Quin nodded and took hold of the carpet bag and the picnic hamper. A moment later, they were both standing beside the hill fort. Quin led Minerva around to the south side of the tower where there was a large, flat stone. He waved his wand, cleaning it off and drying it of any residual dew, then setting the bag and picnic basket down.

“This all right with you?” Quin asked as he took a blanket from the basket.

Minerva had no objections and helped him unpack the picnic basket. She was happy to see there was a large jug of hot tea. Although the fresh air had perked her up, she was still feeling foggy after her poor night’s sleep. After waking from a nightmare involving Albus and Valerianna, she had fallen asleep again, only to wake again an hour later from another nightmare in which she was in an empty, deserted Hogwarts, searching for Albus, but the stairways, corridors, and classrooms shifted constantly, and every time she thought she saw something familiar, it would vanish. The Silent Knight and his dog kept appearing, but he never spoke and would only point; whenever Minerva turned to ask him where he was pointing, the picture frame would be empty. She finally found the Headmaster’s gargoyle, crouching in front of a set of mirrored doors. No matter what password she tried, the gargoyle would not open the doors to her, but only grinned nastily and picked his nose with a long finger. Frantic, she tried to force the doors open, but stopped in horror as she saw herself in their reflective surface. She was an ancient crone, only sparse grey hair sprouting from her head, her face a map of misery and grief, her body skeletal, her robes tattered and falling from her bony form. Minerva awoke in a cold sweat and fell asleep again only after tossing and turning. From the tears that had sealed her eyes shut, she knew that her subsequent vague, half-remembered dreams had been no better.

Minerva Transfigured a couple of stones into cushions for them. She was too tired to make conversation, so they sat and ate quietly.

“You seem subdued, Minerva. Is there anythin’ I can do?”

“No. I just didn’t sleep very well.” She hesitated, but she decided she might as well broach the subject now. “And I feel uncomfortable about last night.”

“Valerianna? Or somethin’ else?”

“Valerianna, yes, but also . . .” She looked at Quin, who wore a concerned expression. “I just don’t want you to think that I ordinarily fall into a wizard’s arms that way. On such a short acquaintance. Or that . . . it, the kiss, meant more.” She blushed.

“I never thought that, Minerva.” His brow furrowed. “I know you were upset by Valerianna, your adrenalin was high, and you just reacted in the moment when I kissed you. I understand that, as I hope _you_ understand that I trust you not to misunderstand me own intentions. I won’t deny that it was a very nice kiss, though – at least, I thought so. But I am fond of you, Minerva. I would not have kissed you at all if I weren’t, so I hope that you are not feelin’ as though I simply . . . used you for meself.” 

“No, no, not at all. I was just feeling uncomfortable about it. Worried you had the wrong idea.”

“The idea I have is that you have been pinin’ for a wizard for some time and that, as a result, you haven’t let yourself have a satisfyin’ relationship with any other wizard. And that until you have dealt with that, faced it, stopped denyin’ your love and your commitment, you won’t have happiness – with your wizard or with any other.”

“I didn’t mention this in order for you to bring that up again, Quin,” Minerva said sharply. “I was only worried you might have thought it meant more. Or less.”

“I didn’t think you were easy, if that was your fear.” He poured them each more tea. “And as for it meanin’ more, I think what I just said demonstrates quite well why I wouldn’t think that.”

“I still say you’re wrong about that, Quin. Just because I’m fool enough to love a wizard who is beyond my reach doesn’t mean that I can’t find happiness elsewhere. I have had other . . . beaus, after all.”

“An’ what happened with them?” he asked.

“They didn’t work out,” she said shortly.

Quin just raised his eyebrows and tilted his head.

“That means nothing, Quin, nothing at all.”

“It means nothin, then?” In response to her glare, he said, “All right, love, all right. I may be completely wrong.”

They sat for a while drinking their tea, Quin picking the currents from a scone and tossing them to a bird that was hopping about a few yards from them.

Minerva sighed. “I’m sorry, Quin. I know you mean well. And you may have a point. But I am fine, really. I just didn’t sleep well last night and I’m short-tempered. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“It’s all right. I told you. But if you want to talk about that, or anythin’, I’m just an owl away,” Quin offered.

She nodded. “But I won’t need to. I may owl you. But I won’t need to talk to about that. In fact, I may have other loves to discuss. Who knows?” she said airily. “I may meet someone tomorrow and forget all about . . . the other wizard.”

He shook his head, smiling slightly at her attempt at nonchalance. “I do not believe that any more than you do, Minerva.”

“You’re telling me what I believe?” Her eyes narrowed.

“I am not; you already did that. . . .” Quin said softly, looking away.

They sat in silence a while longer, then Minerva said, “I should be leaving soon, Quin. I am sorry. I don’t want to leave with you unhappy with me. I didn’t mean to be so curt with you.”

“Don’t worry about it, Minerva. I understand. And I should have known better to bring up a subject that you have clearly told me is none o’ me business. ’Tis I who should be apologisin’.”

“Let’s just forget about it, then.”

They packed up the remains of their breakfast in the hamper, and Minerva looked around them. “It is beautiful here. I can see why Gertrude likes it.”

“You’re right; it _is_ beautiful, wild, and mysterious . . . perhaps a bit like you.” He quirked a grin at her.

Minerva smiled back. “Now I know we’re all right – you’re back to your casual flirting and empty compliments.”

“I take offense at that! I may be flirtin’ casually, but me compliments are sincere.”

“As long as you don’t compare me to the ruins, I suppose I can accept them.” A shiver travelled down her spine as she remembered her nightmare and the ruined vision of herself she had seen in the mirrored doors.

“Are you all right, Minerva? You looked . . . distressed for a moment.”

“Just remembering a dream I had last night, that’s all. A nightmare, actually.”

“A nightmare? What was it about?”

Minerva turned and looked off to the south, toward the broken outer walls of the hill fort. “It was nothing. I can barely remember it.”

Quin came and stood beside her, gazing into the distance. “If you say so, Minerva. But for somethin’ barely remembered, you seemed greatly affected by it.”

Minerva snorted. “I don’t see how you could tell that, Quin. I’m hardly in hysterics over it.”

“Call it the MacAirt gift, if you wish, or just one friend carin’ for another.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I wish you would listen t’ me, Minerva. I have never experienced a divination quite like that, and it disturbs me even more now that I see you are continuin’ t’ deny the effect that this unfulfilled relationship is havin’ on you and your well-bein’.”

“It’s an infatuation,” Minerva replied, unconvincingly. “It doesn’t rule my life. Besides, there’s much more to life than just . . . whether you have a romantic relationship or not. As you must recognise, yourself, since you have made a conscious decision to forego any entanglements while your children are still young.”

“That is true, what you’re sayin’. There are other sources of satisfaction in life – work, friendships, family, community. But this is different, Minerva.”

“So you’re saying that anytime someone falls in love and it doesn’t work out, they’re doomed to misery, completely unable to gain any satisfaction from anything else? That’s ridiculous!”

“’Tis, when you put it that way. But with you . . . you know what I said in the divination. You have given your heart. Fully and completely, but he hasn’t accepted it, and you’ve barely even acknowledged it yourself. From what I understand, you haven’t even let him know how you feel. You haven’t given the man a chance – ”

“A chance for what? A chance for embarrassment? For us both? A chance for him to have to find a way to let me down gently? A chance to make him uncomfortable with me from now on? A chance to ruin our friendship? No, thank you.”

Quin let out a sigh. “I can’t pretend t’ know how he would react, or how he feels, but I don’t know how you can be so sure of it yourself. You need t’ think about giving him a chance, givin’ the two o’ you a chance. Consider it, Minerva.”

“I don’t see what difference it should make to you, Quin. You barely know me.”

“Ah . . . I’m sorry, then. I’ve come to care about you, but clearly me manner has led you t’ believin’ I can only be glib and insincere. Me offer o’ friendship was an honest one, but you needn’t accept it, nor anything I say.” Quin’s voice was harder than Minerva had ever heard it.

She looked up at him. His jaw was tight, and his eyes didn’t waver from their focus on the distant stones.

“That’s not what I meant.” Minerva felt uncomfortable. Quin had meant well. She knew that. And she should be grateful. Not only was he willing to talk to her about the situation, but he was supportive. Of course, if Quin knew who the wizard was, well, he might still be sympathetic, but he would certainly cease encouraging her to bare her heart and soul. Maybe she should tell him who it was. No, she couldn’t do that. Minerva was barely used to the thought herself, despite fifteen years of denial.

“I’m sorry, Quin. I am. Truly. I just . . . I haven’t talked about it with anyone. Please understand that.”

He nodded. “I shouldn’t have been so forward.”

“No. You were fine. I was oversensitive. I do know you mean well, and I appreciate it, really I do. But I’ve got to find a way to deal with this, and telling him isn’t an option. I think it would be better for me to be sensible about it. Get on with my life. Meet someone else. I just need to be open to a new relationship.”

“Simple as that, d’you think? Just . . . be ‘open’ to a new relationship?”

“Yes. If I set my mind to it,” Minerva said with some determination.

Quin chuckled, then looked at her, a smile on his face. “All right, then. So, are we friends?”

“Of course we are, Quin.”

“I have an idea. If we are friends and you still trust me, that is.”

Minerva looked up at him skeptically. “Why do I feel apprehensive about your idea?”

“Mmm, p’raps because you are afraid I’m right an’ you’re wrong?”

Minerva rolled her eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

“Trust me?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t sound sure, but that will have to do. Here, put one hand here on me chest – not there, higher. Good. Now the other hand here, on me face.”

“What?”

“I would like to kiss you, Minerva, with your permission. You can call it a test. Or a demonstration. Whatever you like.”

Minerva withdrew for a moment, but then said, “Yes, fine, all right. But what’s this with my hands?”

“Trust me a moment and you will see,” Quin said.

Minerva replaced her hands on his chest and face. Quin placed his own hands lightly at her waist.

“Now will you follow me directions?” At Minerva’s nod, he continued, “You say it’s just a matter of bein’ open to a new relationship. Now, I’m not offerin’ you one, don’t mistake me, but I’d like you to close your eyes and think o’ me. Only o’ me. And I will kiss you.”

“I don’t see – ”

“You needn’t do this, o’ course, but as I said, look at it as a test. You sounded so confident a moment ago about your solution. This is me response to that. Think of it as a gift from me to you. A farewell kiss and a little somethin’ for you to think about later. And p’rhaps also as an explanation o’ why I will not take it personally if you never again kiss me as you did last night.”

“I don’t understand, but all right.” Minerva looked up at him.

“Remember me instructions, then. Think of me, only of me,” he said quietly.

Minerva closed her eyes. She felt Quin’s breath soft on her face, then, much as she had when he had done his divination, she felt a slight ripple of magic flow over her. She thought of Quin, of his kindness, his humour, his warmth, and then his lips touched hers. Quin kissed her mouth gently several times. It was pleasant, but lacked the anger-induced heat of the previous night’s kiss. But then it changed.

Minerva drew back, opening her eyes widely and pushing him away. “What was that? What did you do? How . . . how . . .”

“Hush, now, Minerva – it was just a wee bit of charm – ”

“ _Charm?_ I felt . . . it wasn’t you, it was _him_. How did you know?” Minerva asked angrily. “You said you didn’t know who it was . . . you led me to believe – ”

“Minerva, Minerva! I don’t know what you felt! I did not project it, not the way you’re thinkin’. ’Tis not like me usual little tricks, honestly. Please listen . . .”

Minerva had turned and was walking toward her carpet bag, ready to Apparate away.

“I’ve listened to you too much, and you . . . you tease me with this.”

“Minerva, wait, please. I just wanted t’ demonstrate to you that even when thinkin’ o’ me, your heart is somewhere else, that’s all. And I don’t know what you felt, or who the wizard is. Truly. ’Tis quite obvious that me demonstration was a success, though – not that I’m happy about it. I wish you had been correct. An’ now that you’re angry with me, I’m wishin’ I hadn’t done it at all. ’Twas stupid o’ me. Please forgive me, Minerva.” Distress was evident in his voice.

Minerva stopped but didn’t turn around. “What did you do? What was that?” she asked in a low voice.

“It’s . . . well, you know that I can . . . project an impression that I’d like to make. Honest, or meek, or menacin’, whatever.”

Minerva nodded. After Gertrude had told her about Quin’s special “personal charm,” she’d asked him about it. It seemed that he had the ability to subtly project, within limitations, a certain impression on those around him. Minerva hadn’t been sure she approved of it, but it seemed he couldn’t overcome someone’s own feelings about him if they were strong enough; he’d compared it to acting, playing a role convincingly. He had reassured her that he couldn’t sustain it very long. And he’d told her, “With you, Minerva, what you see is what you get.” But now she didn’t know if she could believe anything he’d said or done. Still, she listened to his explanation. 

“I can also provide a mirror o’ someone else’s expectations. It’s much more difficult and very dicey, since I never know what someone else’s expectations are, and they may not be positive. In this case, I tried t’ reflect your true desire. I didn’t know what that desire was, and I still don’t. It was just in your mind, Minerva. That’s all it was. Just showin’ you what was in your own mind. That’s all,” he repeated. “And I don’t know what that was. Honestly.”

“I see . . . ” It had been an odd experience. At first, she felt nothing but Quin and his kisses, but then, under her hand, his face seemed to change, his lips felt different on her own, and it was suddenly as though Albus were kissing her. She had even felt his beard, though when she opened her eyes, it was Quin’s clean-shaven face she saw. 

Minerva swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “So that was what you meant by it being a test? And you think I failed it?”

“I wouldn’t say you failed it, Minerva.” Quin came up behind her and lightly placed his hands on her shoulders. “And you may still be right. It’s not as though I’m actually a suitor, after all. Perhaps it was that . . . p’rhaps if you were with someone else, someone you cared about in another way, it would be different.”

“I don’t know. It was . . . it felt real, you know.” She turned to face him. “Do you do that often?”

He looked weary and drawn. “Not often. Almost never. It is difficult, tirin’, and the outcome uncertain; I think it is generally unwise. And probably unwise o’ me in this case, as well.”

Minerva smiled slightly. “Do you have to kiss the other person? That would limit its application, I would think,” she said, trying to make a joke.

“I’ve never done that before, actually.” He looked down at her and shook his head. “And I won’t again. It was a mistake.”

“I don’t think it was,” Minerva said slowly. “It was upsetting, because I didn’t know what you were doing, but I suppose if you told me beforehand, it wouldn’t have worked the same way. I think you were right when you said it was a gift – you did give me something to think about later. I may not want to, but I don’t think I’ll be able to avoid it, now.”

Quin smiled at her, his eyes gentle. “Oh, Minerva,” he said with a sigh, sweeping a stray hair back from her face and tucking it behind her ear, “I can do so little for you, but if you need anythin’ from me, anythin’ at all, just tell me, and if I can, it’s yours. I mean that.”

“Why? Why do you care?” she asked softly, touched by his words, but curious how this man could make such an offer after knowing her only a few days.

“Why would I not?” He seemed puzzled by her reaction. “You said yourself that you felt you’ve known me a long time. We get along. I like you, Minerva McGonagall. You’re sweet and funny and honest.” He grinned at her. “And stubborn and temperamental and feisty – would you like me to go on?”

“Well, you did leave out ‘brilliant’ and ‘talented,’ but I suppose we have to leave something for later.” She returned his smile.

“I do believe I may have mentioned those on earlier occasions, however. Are we all right with each other, then?” he asked.

“We’re fine, Quin. I’m just a little touchy when it comes to that particular topic. Thank you for being so understanding.”

“I don’t often meet someone new whom I like so well, t’ be honest, and after the divination, I just couldn’t help but care about you even more.” He shrugged. “Listen, d’you want to walk some before you leave? I flustered you a bit. You shouldn’t Apparate if you haven’t got a clear head.”

“Yes, that would be nice, actually. Although it’s an easy Apparition. It’s not far and I’ve done it many times.”

“Not _far_? But then, I forget I’m talkin’ to the witch who works with the great Albus Dumbledore – from the Pyrenees to the Pennines in one jump.” They started to stroll around toward the west side of the hill fort.

Minerva chuckled. She hadn’t heard that one in years. “Well, I can’t claim to be able to Apparate as far as Albus can, but he would be the first to tell you that it wasn’t from the Pyrenees to the Pennines. It was from Nice to London. But that doesn’t sound as catchy.”

Quin laughed loudly and shook his head. “It must be just as far as doesn’t matter, though. An’ you just take it for granted from him, just as Gertie does. No other wizard can compete with him around, that’s for sure. No wonder Valerianna still holds a grudge after all this time.”

Minerva grimaced internally. Even when they had changed the subject, it came back to Albus. She wondered whether somehow Quin had a sense that it was Albus, even if he didn’t know it consciously. Although it would be natural to mention the extraordinary Hogwarts Headmaster when both she and Gertrude worked there.

The two walked around the western side of the hill fort, and Quin pointed out where the ditches and walls had eroded over time. They circled the ruined tower and by the time they arrived back at their picnic site, Minerva was feeling much better.

“I ought to be going now, Quin. I had a very nice time with you this week. Thank you for spending so much time with me.”

“I should be thankin’ you, Minerva. ’Twas me own pleasure, truly.” He handed her her carpet bag. “Please don’t be tellin’ me we won’t be seein’ each other again.”

“No, I would like to keep in touch. And Alroy will be starting Hogwarts in September. I promised you a tour beforehand, remember?”

“So you did.” He smiled. “I’ll be holdin’ you to it, then. I’ll be in London most o’ the summer, though I have a few short business trips t’ the Continent planned, and I may go home for a week or so later in the summer, if everythin’ works out well. Still, an owl should find me.”

“And I’ll likely be either at Hogwarts or at my family’s home not far from there, so any time that you are available for your tour of the castle, I’m sure I can make the time.”

“Good, then. I look forward to hearin’ from you, Minerva McGonagall.” He took her hand. “You are a marvel, Minerva. Do not underestimate your worth, nor be so sure that your wizard cannot appreciate you or accept your love.” He looked into her eyes, and Minerva felt a sudden shiver pass over her. “If he does not, he is not worthy of you. And I cannot believe you would love such a wizard so deeply and for so long. He must care for you. I can’t imagine he wouldn’t.”

Minerva didn’t respond, but only thought of Albus, and how much he cared for her, and how it would hurt him to know that she had feelings for him that he couldn’t return. It could only sadden him and drive a wedge into their newly repaired friendship.

Quin leaned toward her and kissed her forehead. “Take care of yourself, Minerva. And think about what I have said. I may be wrong, but I do not believe I am. Have some hope, love.”

“I will think about it. Thank you.” She gave him a quick, one-armed embrace, before stepping away, smiling. “Good bye, Quin.” And with a sharp crack, she was gone from the hill, to reappear outside the gates to the Hogwarts grounds.


	55. Return to Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva returns to Hogwarts, and Albus has a surprise for her.
> 
> **Beginning of Part Nine.**
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore.

**PART NINE**  
 **LV: Return to Hogwarts**

Albus had slept well, eaten a big breakfast of eggs, fried bread, and grilled tomatoes, and was now searching one of Hogwarts many store rooms for just the right thing. He had noticed the lack of adornment in her bedroom and had an idea for a present that would be both decorative and practical. And it would give him an opportunity to offer her another gift without it seeming too awkward. Albus now had pulled out five different landscapes. Perhaps he should let her choose . . . he could tell her there were others, if she’d prefer something different. In the end, he chose one that showed a scene resembling the wild landscape near her childhood home, with a ruined castle in the background.

Humming, Albus let himself into Minerva’s quarters, knocking on her bedroom door before entering, in case she’d returned early. He used a sticking charm to affix the landscape to the wall opposite her bed. If she liked it, he could connect it to the portrait network and place wards on it so that only her own portrait could enter it. Or perhaps just the dog. A witch probably wouldn’t want to have a male portrait walking in on her, even though it’s just some charmed paint and canvas. Albus smiled. The Silent Knight and his dog had been a good choice, then, since the dog could come and go. Of course, he could have chosen a female portrait. In fact, he’d been about to pick a rather nice portrait of Scáthach when the Silent Knight broke his silence and said, “I will serve the lady,” and tried to offer Albus his sword. Since Albus had never heard the Silent Knight speak before, neither as a student nor later as a teacher, he took this as a sign that the Knight would be a reliable door warden for Minerva. Of course, the Knight hadn’t spoken to Albus since then, but apparently he spoke to Minerva occasionally. But not for anything as mundane as announcing a visitor. He would ask Minerva if she would prefer a different portrait for her door, as well.

Albus wondered if he should wait here for Minerva. No, that would seem strange to her, and certainly a violation of her privacy to make himself at home in her rooms. He also didn’t know when she would return, either. He could, however, just happen to be taking a walk on the grounds, and if she happened to return and walk up from the gates while he was getting some fresh air, well, that would be a convenient coincidence.

Forty-five minutes later, Albus was walking from the lake to the castle for the third time when he felt a slight shift in the wards. He looked toward the gates and saw Minerva as she turned and closed the gate behind her. He met her halfway between the gates and the castle.

“Good-morning, Professor McGonagall! Welcome back!” He smiled broadly at her.

“Good-morning, Albus. Were you waiting for me?” she said, smiling in greeting.

“No, not at all. Just taking a walk. Here, let me take that bag from you.”

Minerva let go of her carpet bag, which she had carried in her right hand while Apparating, and Albus simultaneously waved his own hand, and the bag floated obediently behind them as they walked up to the castle.

“Did you have a pleasant week? How was the party last night?” Albus asked.

“It was an interesting week, and the party was also very interesting.”

“Interesting? That sounds less than pleasant.”

“Oh, it was fine, Albus. I’m rather tired, that’s all. There were some pleasant moments interspersed by some less-than-pleasant ones.” Minerva certainly didn’t want to discuss the lovely Valerianna on their walk back up to the castle. She wanted to enjoy being back with Albus before she did that.

“You are all right, though?” he asked, with some concern in his voice.

“I’m fine, Albus.” She stopped and smiled at him. “Especially now that I’m home.”

Albus returned her smile and said, “Well, I have a small surprise for you, Minerva. Something to help make your rooms more homey. At least I hope it does.”

“Really? Thank you, but you didn’t need to do anything . . .”

“I wanted to, Minerva. And it’s nothing special, really.”

“I’m sure it is, Albus.” She smiled happily. “Anything you would do is special, just because you’re the one doing it.” It was so good to be back at Hogwarts, back with Albus. It was all she could do to keep from throwing her arms around him in a big hug, she was so happy to see him.

“Well, wait until you see it, Minerva, and if you don’t like it, you must tell me. Don’t be afraid to be honest with me, all right?”

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” she said, then added, “but I’ll tell you if I don’t. I promise.” She smiled again. 

They reached Minerva’s room, and the Silent Knight bowed before opening the door to them.

“Your surprise is in your bedroom. I hope you don’t mind I took the liberty.” He opened the door to the bedroom for her.

“Not at all, Albus. Not when it’s you!” She thought her cheeks would burst, she was smiling so much.

Minerva walked in, looked around, and didn’t see anything different about the room, then she started to turn to ask Albus where the surprise was and saw the painting hanging on the wall opposite her bed.

“Oh, Albus, it’s lovely! It really is. Thank you!” She had to restrain herself from bouncing on her toes like Blampa.

“You’re welcome. I thought that, if you approved of it, I could connect it to your portrait and allow the dog to access it. That way, the Knight can send the dog in to announce your visitors. If you like.”

“That’s a brilliant idea, Albus, thank you.” Minerva was so happy; she was home and Albus was here, sweet and generous Albus. She turned to him, smiling. “It is so wonderful to be home!”

She couldn’t contain herself as her happiness bubbled up in her, and seeing his pleased expression, she put her arms around him in a brief embrace, but when Albus’s arms came up around her, she didn’t pull away; instead, she leaned against him and closed her eyes. He felt wonderful. 

“I’m glad you’re happy to be back, Minerva.” Albus patted her back, then let go of her and stepped away, smiling. “You’ll have to tell me about the party. How is Robert?”

Minerva took a breath. “He’s fine. We talked quite a bit yesterday. And I danced with him at the party last night. He seems very nice.”

“He is. So is his wife. Did he say how Thea is?”

“She’s on bed-rest, and I guess she’s not happy about it, but she’s doing well otherwise.”

“Good, good.” Albus looked around. “I can connect the landscape to your door portrait later today, if you like. It won’t take long, but I thought we could have tea now and you could tell me about your holiday.”

Minerva nodded. “That would be fine. Oh, before I completely forget, Gertie gave me a letter for you.”

She opened her carpet bag, which had settled on her bed. “Her personal courier,” she said, handing the letter to Albus. “She said that if you wanted to talk about it, most of the guests will be gone by the weekend, if you’d like to go down and see her.” 

Minerva was curious about the contents of the letter, but Albus just nodded and pocketed the letter. 

“I see you have some family pictures here.” He walked over to the vanity and picked up the photograph of Melina and her father. “The one of Melina and Murdoch is nice – taken in the park near the apothecary, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was,” Minerva responded nervously, hoping he hadn’t seen the small picture of himself. “What about that tea now? Albus?” Her stomach sunk to her toes. He had picked up the pathetic little newspaper photograph she’d framed a dozen years before.

“And one of me. Not my best side,” he said with a grin. 

“Yes, well, I’ve had it a while. It just . . . it seemed . . . I thought, with my other family photos . . . I thought it was a nice picture of you when I saw it. And then I just kept it . . .” Now she was babbling.

“Would you like a better one? I’m sure I could find one; in fact, I think that somewhere I may even have a photograph of us both . . . if you’d like it, of course. I don’t normally go about handing out my photograph.”

Minerva laughed nervously. “No, I wouldn’t expect you would. But yes, that would be nice . . . I just, well, that would be nice. But how do you have a photograph of both of us?” she asked, wondering if it was the picture that Robert had told her about.

“Oh, something taken after your Challenge. I happened to speak with the photographer . . .” He shrugged. “I still have it somewhere, I’m sure.”

“Yes, I would like that, Albus. Thank you.”

Albus replaced the small framed picture of himself and said, “It’s nothing, my dear, nothing at all. Now, what about that tea?” He rubbed his hands together. “Here? Or my office? Or yours?”

“Here would be fine, Albus. I am tired, as I said, and I promised Poppy that I would Floo over for tea this afternoon, so I may take a nap first.”

“If you’re too tired, my dear, we can do this some other time – tomorrow, or even next week, if you like. Please don’t feel you must entertain an old man.”

“I don’t. And you’re hardly old, Albus. Well, you are, I suppose,” she said uncomfortably, realising how disingenuous she might sound to him, “but after seeing some of the guests at the Gamps, you seem quite youthful in comparison. And I never think of you as old.”

“Very kind of you to say. But if you’re tired . . .”

“Not too tired for a cup of tea with you.” She smiled at him again, and as her happiness and relief at being back at Hogwarts with him washed over her, she forgot her discomfort with his discovery of the tiny picture of himself that she’d kept for so many years.

Back in the sitting room, Minerva called Blampa and requested tea for her and the Headmaster. It arrived, complete with a plate of ginger newts, within moments. Blampa, trying to be a good house-elf, appeared to have anticipated her request.

“Do you mind if I take a moment to freshen up, Albus?” she asked. “I Apparated straight here after breakfast.”

“Take all the time you need, my dear!” he said, sitting at the small table by the window. “I’ll be fine.”

As Minerva washed her hands, she looked into the mirror. The Glamour she had cast earlier that morning had disappeared, but she didn’t need to cast another one. The walk and breakfast that morning had cleared away the cobwebs in her head and the puffiness around her eyes; her happiness at being back at Hogwarts had added more colour to her cheeks. Her face relaxed into a smile. It was so nice of Albus to fix the surprise for her return to the castle, even if it had been embarrassing when he’d noticed her pathetic little photograph of him. Well, it wasn’t as though she’d made a shrine to him, after all. She may have kept all of his letters, but they were sensibly stored in a wooden box at the bottom of her wardrobe, not out where he would have noticed them.

Minerva reentered the sitting room to find Albus smiling over his letter from Gertrude. He looked up at her and re-rolled the parchment, putting it back in his pocket.

“Nice letter?” Minerva asked. “She said she hadn’t had much time to write you this week . . . something she’d said earlier made me think that she wouldn’t write you until the weekend.”

“Yes, quite, quite. She wrote it this morning,” Albus said, reaching for the teapot. “Shall I be mother?”

Minerva nodded and sat down across from him. “Anything of note happen here while I was away?”

“No, although we have received a few responses to the first advertisement for a Care of Magical Creatures teacher. But tell me about your holiday, Minerva.”

“Well, Gertrude was correct; the landscape is beautiful, and she was also correct in that not all of her relatives are particularly pleasant.”

“You seemed to get to know Quin MacAirt, though, and he always struck me as a good wizard, if somewhat unconventional – which I do not think is a bad thing!”

“Yes, I did. I got to know him fairly well, if only out of a desire not to get to know some of the others any better than I had to,” she said with a grin. “But he is nice, as you say, and it would be unfair to him to pretend that I didn’t also enjoy his company. I think he could become a good friend, eventually.”

“That’s lovely, Minerva! I’m glad you went down, then. I’ve felt Hogwarts might keep you from potential beaus, so I’m happy you met someone so agreeable. You must take every opportunity to get away from the castle when you are able to, especially during the summer holidays. There is no requirement to stay here, after all. Get out, enjoy yourself!”

“It was nice to go away, but nicer to return, Albus. And Quin isn’t a potential beau. He’s a friend, that’s all.”

“Don’t be so quick to dismiss the possibility, Minerva. He’s successful, decent, clearly quite a catch.”

“I doubt he would like to be thought of as a ‘catch,’ Albus,” responded Minerva, not liking the turn the conversation had taken. “Besides, he has no intention of becoming involved with any witch right now. That was part of what made his company congenial; I didn’t need to worry about his intentions toward me.”

“Well, when the right witch comes along, he’ll change his mind, I’m sure. He’s young, yet –”

“Albus! However true that may be, Quin is _not_ looking for a romantic relationship, and I have no desire to become one of the witches who annoys him with unwanted attentions, even if I were interested in him, which I am _not_. We were allies this weekend, and we enjoyed each other’s company, but that is all.”

Albus smiled at her. “All right, my dear, but perhaps he has a friend, and over the summer –”

“Perhaps he has many friends, Albus. That is neither here nor there. I am not interested in leaving Hogwarts in search of a beau. It almost sounds as though you want to be rid of me. If it is a problem for me to spend time at the castle over the summer, just say so. I can go to my parents’. I plan to visit them at some point, anyway.” Her pleasure at returning to Hogwarts was evaporating.

“No, not at all. You are welcome to spend as much time here as you wish, of course. It’s just that most of the staff look forward to the freedom they have during the summer.”

“Well, I am sure I will enjoy coming and going, but . . . well, I’d looked forward to spending time here, that’s all.” A sudden thought struck her. “Are _you_ going away, Albus?”

“I will make a few short trips, I am sure, but I have responsibilities here, which is why I was unable to attend the party yesterday, as I explained to Gertie. I had made no provisions for my absence.”

“I see . . . so you don’t mind if I stay? I won’t be in the way?”

“My word, no, Minerva, I hadn’t meant to give that impression at all. You couldn’t be ‘in the way’ – it’s a large castle, after all! You’d hardly be underfoot.”

What remained of Minerva’s joy at her return to the castle seemed to evaporate completely. “I see.” She took a sip of her tea and tried to swallow her disappointment with it. She had hoped that she would be far from “underfoot,” that she might actually be a welcome presence in the castle. They had such a nice time in the days before she’d left for Cornwall, but, after all, that was only a few days, a few days out of several months of living side-by-side in the castle with Albus and hardly seeing him at all. Why should that have changed?

Albus sensed Minerva’s change in mood. “Besides, Minerva, we had planned on spending more time together this summer, perhaps attend a concert or two. We could do that even if you went to your parents, I suppose, but it would be nice if you were here.”

Minerva looked up at him. “Are you sure, Albus?”

“Of course! I missed you these last few days, Minerva. But I don’t want to be selfish, keep you here in the castle, to myself.”

“That’s not selfish!” Minerva let out a sigh of relief. “I missed you, too. I was busy, of course, but I kept wishing you were there. And it’s nice to be back home – well, at Hogwarts.”

“I’m glad.” Albus smiled. “You were going to tell me about your holiday before I changed the topic.”

“Yes, well, Gertie showed me the hill fort the first morning I was there, and I found that quite impressive. And Quin gave me a partial tour of the gardens. His wife had been an Herbologist, so he knew a surprising amount about them.”

“Ah, yes, poor Aileen. How are the children? I haven’t seen them in a few years.”

“They seem fine, like very nice children. Aine is a little shy, I think, but she may be overshadowed by her older brother.” Minerva laughed. “Would you believe that Alroy had the courage to ask me to dance last night?”

Albus grinned. “Did he, now? Well, perhaps _he’s_ your future beau – in a dozen years or so!”

They both laughed. “He is quite the little charmer, Albus. We will all have to be careful to make sure that he doesn’t use that charm to wriggle his way out of trouble.”

“I’m sure that we will manage. I’m more concerned that he will find it difficult to adapt to his lessons. I remember how difficult it was to discipline myself to use my wand when it would have been so much simpler to just flick my fingers at something.”

“Flick your fingers? You mean you did wandless magic as a child, too?”

“Oh, yes, indeed. It was much more common when I was a child. Particularly in certain families and in certain regions. It’s still considered quite normal in Ireland, although the Irish Ministry is becoming stronger and issuing more regulations, under pressure from our Ministry. And as more Irish children accept their places at Hogwarts, the more the traditional ways will fade.”

“When I saw Alroy using wandless magic, I rather upset Quin by taking him to task for it, I’m afraid.”

“Yes, well, Quin has encountered some prejudice because of his unconventional training – unconventional by modern British standards, at any rate. He has overcome it, for the most part, but he was likely afraid that, as Alroy’s teacher, you would hold it against his son, as well.”

“I wouldn’t have done that, though Quin had no way of knowing that, of course. And we straightened out the misunderstanding. However, Albus, there is one rather . . . unusual talent that Alroy has, and of which Quin was ignorant. Not ignorant, disbelieving. We will need to take that into consideration in his education.”

Albus raised his eyebrows. “And what talent would that be?”

Minerva took a sip of tea. “He can understand animals. He talks to them and they answer. I actually believe he only vocalises because he thinks he must, but there is no question that he can communicate with them.”

“Really? What sorts of animals? Is he . . . a Parselmouth?”

“I don’t know. He did say that he can only communicate with certain animals, not all, and I discovered this after I demonstrated my Animagus form for him, and he heard my thoughts in the same way as I’ve found other animals are able to.”

“That is an interesting bit of news. We will have to make sure that someone works with him on that talent. Perhaps you could be in charge of that?”

“That would be fine, Albus. I’ll work with Wilhelmina and the new Care of Magical Creatures teacher.”

“And, other than your dance with Alroy, which I assume was amusing, did you have a nice time at the party?”

“I suppose so, for the most part.” Minerva hesitated only a moment. “I must say that if I never see Valerianna Yaxley again in my life, I will not be unhappy.”

Albus’s face didn’t alter its expression one whit, and he said nothing.

“She has a peculiar notion of appropriate behaviour,” Minerva continued, watching for any reaction from Albus. “She took a dislike to me from the moment she met me on Monday, although I hadn’t heard of her until that day. But she seemed only . . . unpleasant, until the party.” Albus still made no comment and gazed calmly at Minerva. “While Gropius was congratulating Walburga and Orion, Valerianna interrupted to announce her own engagement to Francis Flint. It was not well-received.”

“No, I imagine it would not have been.” Albus broke his silence, but reacted in no other way.

“I understand you know her. Was she the witch you referred to in your letter?”

“Yes. She is the widow of a friend, a wizard I worked with during the war. She was also briefly on the Hogwarts Board of Governors.”

“So you know her well?” Minerva fished. 

“I thought I did. I knew her husband better. And what of the rest of the party?”

“It was fine . . .” Minerva hesitated. No point in telling Albus about Valerianna’s nastiness on the balcony. Not when he was so clearly unwilling to discuss her. “I danced with a few other wizards, including Minister Tapper.”

“How is Alfred? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“He seemed fine. I don’t really know him well. His granddaughter danced with Alroy, who was quite a polite little gentleman.” Minerva smiled. “He reminded me of Carson. Alroy, not Minister Tapper.”

“Yes, that’s right. Carson is related to the MacAirts. Was, I should say.” Albus looked uncomfortable. 

“Yes, I hadn’t known that, myself. Alroy was Seeker yesterday morning during a pick-up game of Quidditch. I don’t know if he will have the talent that Carson did, but he showed promise, for his age.” Minerva shook her head. “It was an awful game, Albus.”

“Your team lost?” Albus asked with a slight smile.

“No,” she answered with a chuckle. “We won, surprisingly enough, but only because Alroy caught the Snitch. Gertie played Beater, and she was dreadful at it. She’d just fly between the Bludger and its intended target, and the few times her bat made contact with it, she had no ability to aim it. She was a danger to herself and everyone else, but she wouldn’t hear of relinquishing her position.” Minerva shook her head.

“She’s all right, isn’t she? She mentioned nothing of that in her letter.” Albus looked worried.

“She’s fine, now, no thanks to Druella, who played with more zeal than appropriate in a friendly game. Gertie broke her arm, and I don’t doubt she was bruised all over, but she rested all afternoon and I’m sure that Columbine took care of her and gave her the appropriate potions. Gertie seemed to enjoy herself at the party, so she must have been feeling well.”

“Good, good.” He smiled. “She dances well, so I am glad she was not so injured that she was unable to attend and enjoy herself.”

“Quin mentioned that he enjoys dancing with her. She looked lovely, as well.”

“Were you able to spend much time with her over the last few days?”

“Some – far more than I had over the previous six months, certainly. She is . . . an interesting witch.” Minerva thought of their conversation in the garden, when she felt that Gertrude had been lecturing her about loyalty and Gryffindor backbone. “I don’t know as I understand her very well, but I do feel as though I know her somewhat better.” Minerva looked at Albus. “She’s very loyal to you, from what I have been able to discern.”

“Yes, as I told you, much to your disbelief,” Albus said with a smile.

“Well, she doesn’t say much, does she? Here at school, anyway.”

“She is reserved, and she is careful whom she chooses to talk to.”

“I suppose so . . . I’m not particularly out-going, myself, so I suppose that didn’t help us become better acquainted earlier. Gertie is very protective of you . . .”

“Yes, she is,” Albus said softly. He smiled gently at Minerva. “You are warming to her, then?” He echoed words that Quin had uttered not long ago. 

“Why would you say that?” Minerva asked.

“Other than the fact that you have admitted that she is loyal and protective, you have called her ‘Gertie’ several times, something that was rare before now.”

“Oh! I suppose I have done.” Minerva shrugged. “I do feel better acquainted with her.”

“Good! I’m very glad, Minerva. Now I suppose you would like your nap. Will you be taking lunch here?”

“I’m not sure – I may sleep through it. Last night went quite late, then I got up early for breakfast. I’m sure Poppy will have something for me this afternoon.”

Albus stood. “Very well, then. I won’t worry if I don’t see you at lunch, and with your permission, I will connect the landscape with your door portrait this afternoon whilst you are visiting Poppy.”

Minerva smiled. “Good, thank you again, Albus. It’s not only lovely, but it will be nice to have it connected with the portrait.”

“Speaking of your portrait, if you are unhappy with the Silent Knight, I could find another one for you. You could pick out something for yourself, if you wish.”

“Oh, no, he irritates me a little, I suppose, but I’ve become used to him and Fidelio – that’s the dog.”

“All right, my dear, but if you should change your mind –”

“Thank you, Albus. I’ll remember that.”

Albus took his leave with a smile and a wave, telling her it was good to have her back at the castle, and Minerva closed the door behind him. Once he was gone, Minerva felt suddenly very tired. The last few days had been stressful, and she’d not really had time to process everything. What she’d learned about Albus, about Valerianna, even about Gertie. It was all rather much all at once.

Minerva quickly stripped off her robes and underwear and pulled a clean batiste nightgown on, then cast a _Tempus_ alarm to wake her in an hour and a half. She would wait to unpack. She was exhausted. As she lay there, though, she was unable to fall asleep. Of all that she and Albus had spoken of that morning, she could only think of his apparent desire to have her away from Hogwarts for the summer. He had said, of course, that he only didn’t want to keep her in the castle to himself. But she still felt hurt by his use of the word “underfoot.” Minerva reminded herself that Albus had later said he wanted to spend time with her, perhaps attend a concert together. She lifted her head and looked at the landscape. And he had given her a gift to welcome her home, and was going to give her a picture of the two of them. If he remembered. She hoped he would.

Minerva sighed, thinking of how it had been only a week ago that she had lain on this bed and wept desperately, believing that she had utterly ruined her friendship with Albus with her foolish and ill-chosen words in Poppy’s office. She wouldn’t endanger their friendship again by making demands on him or expecting more from him than he could give her. And he was going to such efforts to demonstrate his friendship for her, she couldn’t let herself take offence if he thought she should be off entertaining herself somewhere other than Hogwarts. She wouldn’t let herself become a nuisance, but she would appreciate everything he did for her . . . although she did hope that she saw him more than she had during term-time. 

Minerva had come to feel that she would have seen more of him if she had stayed in London. Not literally, of course, but at least when she was working for the Ministry, they had occasionally had lunch or dinner together, just the two of them, yet from the night of the party Poppy had held for her up until last Thursday evening, she’d scarcely spent more than ten or fifteen minutes alone with him that wasn’t consumed entirely by Hogwarts business. She really had begun to wonder whether he regretted hiring her, he seemed so distant and businesslike all of the time. But then their dinner in his sitting room had been so lovely, and he had been so kind, and then the next few days they had spent so much time together, that she had almost forgotten the way he had held her at a distance for so long, until he said what he did about the castle being large and her not being underfoot. It reminded Minerva uncomfortably of the nightmare she’d woken up from in the early hours of the morning, in which she had been searching a deserted Hogwarts for Albus and been unable to find him, then seen her reflection as a wretched old hag.

Dwelling on such gloomy thoughts was no good, Minerva realised. Instead, she should think of all the nice things Albus had done for her lately, and of how very sweet of him it had been to take the time and effort to hang the landscape in her room for her. Minerva rolled over and closed her eyes. As she tried to relax, she remembered how good it had been to see him when she walked up the path to the castle. Smiling at the memory, Minerva wondered if perhaps he hadn’t really been out waiting for her to return, despite his declaration that he just happened to be taking a walk. It sounded like something she would do in order to keep him from thinking she had gone out of her way for him. But, of course, it was different for Albus. Nonetheless, the memory of his warm greeting helped her to relax, and she drifted to sleep.


	56. A Conspiracy of Witches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva visits Poppy, who informs her of a secret conspiracy. Back at Hogwarts, Albus connects up Minerva's new landscape to the Silent Knight's portrait and reflects on his relationship with Valerianna.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey, Albus Dumbledore, Wilspy, and the Silent Knight and Fidelio.

**LVI: A Conspiracy of Witches**

Minerva woke to the gentle chiming of her _Tempus_ alarm a little more than an hour later. Feeling somewhat better for her nap, she called Blampa and asked her to bring a cold drink, then she unpacked her carpet bag, tossing most of its contents in the dirty laundry, but carefully placing her tea things on her vanity, Albus’s letters with them, and her tartan afghan at the foot of the bed. She stowed the empty bag in the bottom of her wardrobe and selected a fresh set of pale green robes. When Blampa returned with a tall glass of strawberry lemonade, Minerva asked her to take care of the laundry for her, but to touch nothing else.

Dressed, Minerva went out to her sitting room and reshelved the books that she’d barely glanced at during her visit to Cornwall. She sat on the settee and finished her lemonade. Now that she’d had her nap, she didn’t feel quite as bothered by Albus’s apparent desire to get her out of the castle. He’d clearly only been trying to encourage her to socialise with others and at the same time to reassure her that it would not be problematic if she were to stay at the castle if she wished. He had given her a lovely present, spent time having tea with her, promised her a copy of his photograph, and was going to return that afternoon to connect the landscape to her door portrait. And he had returned her embrace briefly. Minerva rose, sighing. Perhaps that had been a mistake. It was so much simpler to be at ease with Quin, whose touch meant so little to her, aside from imparting the warmth of friendship. But with Albus . . . between the somewhat peculiar history of their friendship and her own overly strong feelings for him, which she feared betraying, each touch and each embrace seemed dangerous to her, and each seemed to create a new vulnerability in her. 

Minerva had not failed to notice the rather casual manner with which Albus took his leave, quite unlike his manner in the days before she had left for Cornwall, when he had invariably taken her hand, at least, in parting; he had even kissed her cheek the morning she had Portkeyed to the Gamps. But she had clearly placed too much value in those gestures, and she had to stop that. He was the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and she was one of his teachers. She certainly couldn’t expect him to shower her with gestures of affection; it would be inappropriate, even if they were friends.

Now she had to be off for Poppy’s sister’s. Minerva almost wished she had not agreed to the idea – or that she had put it off until Friday. It would have been nice to spend the afternoon at home after the last few rather hectic days. She put her small purse in one pocket and her wand in the other and set off for Hogsmeade and the Three Broomsticks.

She walked briskly and was soon entering the nearly empty pub. After dropping a few Knuts in the box on the mantle meant for that purpose, Minerva took a pinch of Floo-Powder from the jar next to it, tossed it into the low fire, then stepped in and said clearly, “The Hag’s Hump.” She hoped, somewhat belatedly, that there was only one Hag’s Hump on the Floo-Network and that she hadn’t had to say anything more specific to reach her destination.

It was a long Floo-trip, and Minerva closed her eyes against the dizzying flashes as other fireplaces whizzed by her. She stumbled a bit on arriving and held onto the side of the fireplace as she stepped out. Looking around her, Minerva decided that she was at the correct destination. 

“You Minerva McGonagall?” came a deep voice from behind her.

She turned to see a short, dark-haired man wearing a striped apron over his grey and white robes.

“Yes, I am.”

“Violet said you’d be around this afternoon. When you leave here, go right, then take the first left into the narrow way. She’s the blue one at the end.”

“Thank you, Mister – ?”

“Billy, just call me Billy.”

“Thank you, Billy.”

Minerva easily found Violet’s small house in the little wizarding cul-de-sac and lifted the knocker to rap sharply on the front door. She smiled when Poppy opened the door to her.

“Minerva! So good you could come! Come in, come in!” Poppy opened the door more widely. “Violet brought the children to visit some friends, so we have the house to ourselves for the afternoon.”

She led her friend into a small, bright parlour. “Just give me a minute, and I’ll have some tea for us. I have some nice sandwiches and some little cakes, too. Have a seat, make yourself comfortable!”

“Can’t I help, Poppy?”

“Oh, no, everything’s set. I’ll just be a minute, Min!”

Minerva bit back her usual response to being called “Min” and sat down in a comfortable overstuffed chair. Poppy was back a few minutes later with a large tray holding sandwiches and the tea things.

“It needs to steep a few more minutes. Are you hungry? Would you like a sandwich? There’s fresh cheese and olive, and salmon with dill.”

“Yes, thanks. I took a nap instead of going to lunch.” Minerva helped herself to a sandwich of soft cheese on crusty bread. “Mmm, very good.”

Poppy poured them both tea, and after Minerva had eaten several bites of her sandwich, she said, “All right, Poppy. I believe you have some explaining to do.”

“Yes,” Poppy replied uncomfortably. “I suppose so.”

“That letter you sent me. You obviously know who Valerianna Yaxley is. And you warned me to stay away from her. I will tell you why that was probably good advice, although I didn’t succeed in following it, if you tell me why you gave me that advice.”

“Oh, dear. She said something to you.”

“Yes, she did, but I think I’ll make better sense of it after you tell me why you warned me about her.”

“You said that Gertrude had told you something about her, so before I tell you about Valerianna, and what I know, I need to tell you that I wrote Gertie to find out what she’d told you already and to, well, to tell her that, if you asked me, I was going to tell you whatever she hadn’t. She thought that was a good idea.”

“You discussed this with Gertie?” Minerva was slightly put out.

“You need to know the whole story before you start getting upset with me, Minerva. There’s a very good reason I never mentioned Yaxley to you, and not only because I never dreamed you would meet her. You’ll understand that. For all I knew before I got your letter, you may have even known something about her from Albus.”

“All right, go ahead. I’m listening, Poppy.” Minerva settled back with her cup of tea.

“Well, Minerva, it’s complicated. I know that you are aware that Albus had been seeing Valerianna on a social basis. She was on the Hogwarts Board of Governors at the time, probably only because she wanted a reason to be able to see him more frequently. I wasn’t there at the time they started seeing each other, but I understand that it started simply enough – there were functions they both were attending, so they’d go together, then she began to have him escort her to parties. Eventually, they were . . . seen as a couple, I suppose one could say, and, well, you can imagine how it proceeded from there.

“I’d just come on staff a couple weeks before, so I didn’t know much more than that Albus was apparently seeing some witch. Gertrude came to me one morning. It was about this time of year, actually. She asked me if I were loyal to the Deputy Headmaster. It was an odd question, and I was confused, but of course I said I was. She just nodded and told me to come to her rooms for a meeting that evening.

“To make a long story short, I arrived to find Gertie, Wilhelmina, Professor MacAirt, and Madam Perlecta all there. They were . . . conspiring. On behalf of Albus, or for his benefit, I suppose you could say. Gertie filled me in. She said that Albus had been seeing a witch named Valerianna Yaxley and that she was bad news. She had tried to warn Albus about the witch, but for some reason, Albus didn’t listen to her – in fact, Gertie seemed to think it had just made him more determined to give the witch a chance, so she stopped trying to tell him anything. I was hesitant to get involved at first. I didn’t know Valerianna, after all, except by name, and Albus – he’s Albus Dumbledore. Surely he should be able to see whomever he wanted. But then Gertrude said that Valerianna had been seeing other wizards, all the while telling Albus that he was the only one. Gertrude was convinced that Valerianna was going to try to get Albus to marry her; she said that even if he didn’t, that eventually he would be hurt by this witch, and that it was better that he learn the truth about her sooner rather than later.”

Poppy sighed. “Of course, I asked whether she couldn’t just tell Albus about the other wizards, but Gertie convinced me that Albus would not listen to her, and that he had to learn about the witch’s duplicity first-hand in order to believe it.” She shook her head. “Gertie had spent two months learning about what that woman was up to. She was convinced that Valerianna would invite a wizard to spend the afternoon with her just before she was to see Albus. It fit a pattern.

“Albus had taken over some of the Headmaster’s duties, since Dippet was ill again, and there was a final staff meeting set for the next afternoon. Albus had a . . . _date_ scheduled with Valerianna for that evening. They were meeting at a cottage of his. It was a Friday. Gertie was concerned because Albus was planning on being away for the whole weekend. She was worried that Valerianna was going to use the opportunity to get Albus to propose. I thought it seemed unlikely, and rather fast, but the other witches supported Gertie’s interpretation.

“What really convinced me to help them, though, was that Gertie was sure that Valerianna was going to bring another wizard with her to the cottage that afternoon and then just get rid of him before Albus arrived. Gertrude wanted to arrange for Albus to get there early and find them together. She said that if Valerianna wasn’t up to anything, it wouldn’t hurt for him to arrive early, and if she was, well, Albus would have his eyes opened.”

Minerva interrupted. “Why didn’t she just tell him about Valerianna? I don’t understand that – they’re good friends. They have been for years. Why would she want to expose him to such a thing?”

“She had tried, and he’d become angry with her. I know he doesn’t tend to get angry often, but I believed Gertie, and there was some reason he wouldn’t listen to her. I don’t know what it was, but he probably would have just told Gertie that she was slandering Valerianna. You had to be there, Minerva. Anyway, she asked for my help as the Hogwarts matron. She wanted to have the afternoon staff meeting cancelled so that Albus would leave early for his date. But it had to be for a very good reason. Minerva, you must never repeat what I’m about to tell you, please. I could lose my position. Not just this one, but any work as a mediwitch anywhere ever again. Albus knows, or he must know, although he’s not said anything to me about it directly.”

“What? What did you do?”

“I made about half the staff sick. Very sick. We decided on the illness – something acute and nasty that I could induce and then treat easily. I pointed out that it would appear odd if only female staff members became ill, so Gertrude persuaded Slughorn to participate, without telling him why, but she called in every favour he owed her. Hagrid was easily convinced. Wilhelmina only had to tell him that it would help Albus, and he was willing. Our third male victim was Johannes, who disliked Valerianna intensely, and he knew why we were doing it without even being told. He’s a sharp one.

“I made everyone sick, even myself, mildly, and had us all have various degrees of the illness. Poor Sluggy was the worst off, and he was clueless about why he was submitting to it at the time, although he must have figured it out later. Anyway, with everyone so ill, Albus, as predicted, cancelled the staff meeting and left early for his cottage. He was back in less than an hour, looking like a thundercloud. He barely exchanged two words with anyone for days. Finally a little over a week later, he came to see me. He asked me if I’d had any trouble treating the staff who had all so coincidentally become ill at the same time. What could I say? He said he wished to thank me for the good care I had taken of them. He never mentioned it again. Gertie told me that he had apologised to her and told her that he had walked in on Valerianna and another wizard . . . in his _own_ cottage. She never said what he’d walked in on, but it must not have been pleasant.”

Minerva just sat there in shock. She opened her mouth, but she didn’t know what to say, what to ask. 

“That wasn’t the end of it, though, Minerva. I wasn’t present, but apparently Valerianna arrived at Hogwarts an hour early for the next Board of Governors meeting. I don’t know what happened, precisely, but someone told me that Valerianna tried to see Albus, and when he wouldn’t meet with her alone, she left the castle, shouting some nastiness, and then she resigned from the Board of Governors.”

“Poor Albus.” Minerva finally found her voice.

“Yes, but he was lucky, I think. From what Gertie said, Valerianna had turned on all her charm and wit. I don’t know how well Albus actually liked the witch, but she was gradually worming her way into his life. I think he would have eventually clued into her true character, but who knows how much more he would have invested in her before that happened, or how much more he may have been hurt. As it was, it must have been very embarrassing for him, particularly being aware that almost half the staff must have known something about it.”

“That must be why Gertie didn’t tell me more . . . it must be an uncomfortable thing to know, let alone to tell someone,” Minerva said.

“Probably. I also think it was better if you heard the whole thing from me. We have been friends a long time. She probably also didn’t want to mention my part in the plot, either. It was something none of us mentioned again once it was over. We never made a promise of secrecy, but it was just understood that it was something we didn’t talk about. This was Albus, after all.”

After a few moments of silence, Poppy said, “Let me get you some fresh tea, Min.”

She returned with a fresh pot and fixed Minerva another cup.

Minerva mechanically took a sip of the steaming liquid, then put the cup down, waiting for the tea to cool. It was even more of a puzzle to her now what Albus had been doing with the Yaxley witch, and Gertie’s motives were murky, as well. And why hadn’t Albus listened to Gertie? It would have saved him a good deal of pain and embarrassment. 

“Why do you suppose Gertie did what she did? I understand that Albus wouldn’t listen to her, but there must have been some other way – as you said, he would have eventually discovered her true nature. . . .”

“If Gertie was correct and Valerianna was going to use this weekend to try to get him to propose, it would have been a turning point. Anything after that would have been worse. He was only learning what he would have eventually, and if Valerianna were lucky, it may have been too late – or even if it weren’t, can you imagine his embarrassment if they announced the engagement and then he found out and called it off? This way, only a few people really know what happened – I don’t even know all the details. We avoided a public embarrassment for Albus. The _Prophet_ would have been all over it.”

“But what was Gertie’s motivation? If it didn’t turn out as she had thought it would, she could have alienated Albus.”

Poppy shook her head at Minerva. “She’s his friend, Minerva. She cares about him. I’ve always had the impression you don’t really like her, but she has been a good friend to Albus; surely, you can appreciate that! She got nothing out of it but the satisfaction of keeping Albus out of that nasty woman’s clutches. And, of course, his apology for not listening to her earlier.”

“Hmmpf. I suppose.” Minerva remembered Gertie’s foolish, stubborn insistence on playing Beater even after being knocked from her broom. She supposed it was possible she only wanted to keep him from getting himself in deeper with Valerianna. He had saved her son’s life, after all, and he was close enough to the family to have Robert call him “Uncle Albus.”

She drank some tea, then said, “That witch is really dreadful, Poppy. She was merely rude and catty at first, but then she made a scene at Walburga and Orion’s engagement party by announcing her own engagement to Francis Flint.”

“She didn’t!” Poppy exclaimed.

“She did. I actually felt sorry for Flint, and I don’t even like him.”

“Wasn’t he at Hogwarts with us? Kind of skinny Slytherin? Your year, I think?”

“No, he was two years ahead of me. I actually still can’t remember him, even after he reminded me who he was.”

“He was pretty unremarkable. But isn’t he . . . a bit _young_ for her? She’s got to be in her early seventies, at least.”

“ _You’re_ the one who was encouraging Melina to continue seeing Brennan,” Minerva said.

“Yes, but this is a bigger age difference, and, well, Valerianna might still be able to have children for a few more years, but if Francis wants any, they’ll have to move fast. If she’s even still fertile.”

“I _really_ don’t want to speculate about the state of that woman’s fertility,” Minerva said, making a face, “although I admit that the same thought did occur to me, actually.”

Poppy let Minerva drink some more tea, then said, “So you were going to tell me about why my advice to avoid her was good – and I hope you have a good reason for not following it!”

“She really was awful, Poppy. After she announced the engagement – staring at me the whole time, as though I would care – I thought that was the last I’d seen of her. But then she sent Flint over to ask me to dance.”

“She didn’t!”

“She did.”

“You didn’t, did you?”

“I did. I felt sorry for him, a little, and I was curious as to why she’d have him ask me to dance. I wanted to see what would happen.”

“Oh, Minerva!” Poppy groaned.

“It wasn’t so bad, except for his sweaty hands. He told me that Valerianna wanted an excuse to have Quin dance with her.”

“I don’t know Quin, but I feel sorry for him already.”

“I decided he was a big boy and could take care of himself.”

“So what was she up to?”

“A little while later, Quin went to get me something to drink. I stepped out onto the balcony for some fresh air. Valerianna followed me out. She was nasty and vicious, Poppy. I still don’t really understand what she was going on about, although now I understand better why she was so vituperative.”

“What did she say?”

“Oh, after telling me that Quin was off looking for a willing witch and implying that I’m a repressed old maid, she spewed a lot of rubbish about Albus. And about me. As though somehow Albus requires sycophantic followers and I was one of them. And she went on about how old Albus is, and how she had been ‘too much witch’ for him. Things like that. They sounded nastier coming out of her mouth.”

“It sounds nasty enough now. But why did she want you to dance with Flint – or, more to the point, why did she want to dance with Quin?”

Minerva laughed. “Would you believe she propositioned Quin?”

“What? But hadn’t she just announced her engagement? Or was that before the announcement?”

“Oh, no, she had already announced it. Quin said that she seemed to think he’d be more enticed by the fact that she was engaged. ‘Titillated’ was the word he used. Obviously, he didn’t take her up on it.”

“Is she attractive?”

“She’s all right. She has a nice figure, I suppose.” Minerva shrugged.

“I suppose if she is witty and amusing, the nice figure is icing on the cake for a wizard,” Poppy pondered.

“I would guess so.” Minerva was tired of thinking about Valerianna. She certainly didn’t want to talk about her anymore. She let out a groan. No wonder Albus had just sat there while she fished around, asking him if he knew Valerianna well. “Oh, Poppy, poor Albus.”

“I know. It could have been worse, though.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean that I brought Valerianna up in conversation this morning after I returned to the castle. We were having tea in my sitting room. I asked about her. It must have made him very uncomfortable.”

“No doubt it did, but you couldn’t have known.”

“I knew enough, Poppy. I knew that he’d dumped her, that she’s a nasty piece of work, that he didn’t want to talk about her . . . but I just kept going on about her, asking him if he knew her well, telling him about the engagement announcement – which, no doubt, was precisely what Valerianna wanted me to do – and just basically making him uncomfortable.”

“Well, it _has_ been a few years. He should be over it. And you _are_ friends, after all. On the other hand, I don’t suppose he could very well have said, ‘Oh, yes, Minerva, I dated the lovely witch for several months, after which I stopped seeing her because I caught her entertaining another wizard in my own cottage. How interesting you should mention her!’”

“That’s just what I mean, Poppy. I should have left the subject alone when it was clear he didn’t want to talk about it. He must find it embarrassing still. I don’t like talking about Jean-Paul, after all, and that was only embarrassing because he was dull and . . . dull. And a dreadful lover.”

“And why don’t you ever talk about Rudolf? He wasn’t dull, from what you said, and you never said what kind of lover he was, but when I met him when I visited you – he seems to possess a great deal of energy, anyway. Not that that necessarily means anything, of course. But you don’t ever mention him, and you were together for at least a year.”

“That’s different, Poppy. I’m not embarrassed about having been with him . . . not exactly. It’s just because he _did_ mean something to me, and I hurt him. I’m sure that Albus is the injured party here – and I never did anything to Rudolf to compare with what Valerianna did to Albus. I just couldn’t stay with him. There’s a big difference.”

“I know, but you’d survive if Albus brought up one of their names, that’s all I mean. You may not want to discuss them with him, but you’d just change the topic and then get over it.”

“I suppose you’re right. It just irks me that I played right into her hands, telling him about her engagement announcement as I did.”

“I’m sure it’s in the _Prophet_ , though. It would have to be. I haven’t looked at it yet today, but Violet must have a copy somewhere.” She got up and crossed the room to a small table by the door. “Yes, here it is.” She flipped through to the society pages. “Yes, here, ‘At the engagement party for Walburga Black and Orion Black at the Gamp Estate, yet another engagement was announced, much to the surprise of the assembled guests,’” Poppy read. “It goes on to describe the general tastelessness of the gesture, but ends by congratulating both couples and wishing them well!”

She held out the paper. “You want to read it?”

“No, seeing it in person was sufficient. And I’m not surprised that the _Prophet_ points out the tastelessness of the announcement only to follow it by congratulations. Trying not to alienate anyone and probably still managing to displease everyone involved, particularly Walburga and Orion, whose engagement party was once again upstaged by Valerianna’s announcement.”

“My point is that Albus would have heard the news, anyway, whether from the newspaper or from someone else.”

“Perhaps,” Minerva said. “But somehow I think she believed it would be worse for him coming from me. She certainly was obsessed by me. And she seemed to think I’m something special to him.”

“You are, Minerva. We had this conversation last week, if you remember.”

“Yes . . . .” Minerva sighed. “Would you mind giving my greetings to Violet, Poppy? I think I’d like to get back now. It’s been a long week.”

“Of course, but aren’t you going to tell me about Quin? He sounded rather nice.” Poppy grinned.

“Oh. Quin. He is nice. Yes. His son is going to be a first-year in September.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. We’re friends, he’s nice, his son is going to be a student. There’s nothing more to say. Well, his son has an interesting talent, but until I’ve talked more to Albus and to his father about it, I shouldn’t say any more than that.”

“Lovely! Do you always tease people by telling them only half the story?”

Minerva quirked half a grin. “Must be the company I’ve been keeping recently. I’ll stay in touch. And you, too. I’m just tired – it’s been a long week.”

“All right, Minerva.” Poppy stood, smiling. “I’ll walk you to the Hag’s Hump – or are you going to Apparate?”

“I’m a bit tired. I think I’ll just Floo to the Three Broomsticks.”

The two women walked together to the Hag’s Hump, Poppy telling Minerva about how much her niece and nephew had grown since she’d seen them last. When they got to the pub, Poppy said, “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for a drink?”

“No, I want to get back. Thanks for tea, Poppy. And for the information.” Minerva gave Poppy a hug. “You’re a good friend.”

“Of course, Minerva. Anything for you. I’m glad you could come.”

“Are you doing anything for your birthday next week? I thought we might be able to get together, if you like.”

“I’ll be at my grandmother’s, and I think they are planning on having a family gathering for lunch at her house – ”

“Well, when you know what they’re doing, let me know. If it’s lunch, I’ll take you to dinner, if it’s dinner, I’ll take you to lunch – or we could celebrate the next day.”

“That would be lovely, Minerva. I’d like that a lot. Are you going to do the same for Albus on his birthday?”

“What? Is his birthday coming up, too?”

“On the first. I don’t think he usually celebrates it, but I’m not usually at Hogwarts during August.”

“And you know because – ?”

“Because I’m the Hogwarts matron, of course. You didn’t know when his birthday is? Of course, I may be wrong, but I don’t think many people do. So, are you going to bring him to lunch?”

“I don’t know, Poppy. I didn’t even know when it was until today. I’m sure he has better things planned than lunch with his Transfiguration teacher.”

“Mmm, I wouldn’t say that, Minerva. You’re friends; this would be another opportunity to get closer to Albus.”

There was that word again. Why did Poppy keep insisting that she and Albus were becoming closer? Minerva shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it. If I’m at Hogwarts at the time, maybe I will do something.”

Minerva deposited two Knuts in the Floo-Powder box and Flooed away to Hogsmeade and the Three Broomsticks.

Before returning to the castle, Minerva stopped into Scrivenshaft’s and purchased some royal purple ink in an ornate, reusable inkpot, and a fancy autorefilling quill with a very plumy purple feather. She had the shopkeeper wrap them in a gift box for her. It wasn’t very personal, but she knew Albus liked that particular ink colour, and he’d been so generous to her recently, she didn’t want to wait until she found exactly the right gift before getting him something. She might find something special for his birthday. Hopefully, he would take this as the gesture she meant it to be – one of friendship and gratitude. Minerva felt especially bad after learning what she had about his relationship with Valerianna. Albus was by no means frail, nor was he prideful, but he still must have found it a blow to his ego to have that witch playing him for a fool. And she had unintentionally brought it all back up for him. She hoped that Albus would trust her enough to talk to her about it, but she understood why it could be uncomfortable for him. 

Minerva walked through the village and started up to the castle gates, carefully carrying her package. She hoped Albus would like her little present. It would be dinnertime soon, and she could give it to him afterward, she thought with a smile. 

As she walked the long path up to Hogwarts, Minerva thought about what she’d learned from Poppy that afternoon. It sounded to her as though Albus had been somewhat willfully blind to Valerianna’s faults, perhaps in reaction to Gertie’s attempts to warn him about them. Minerva knew that men could be foolish like that, but she hadn’t thought that Albus would be in that category. But perhaps it hadn’t been the warnings he had been ignoring, but Gertie herself. He had always asserted that Gertie was a good friend, and scarcely a visit to Minerva had gone by when he hadn’t mentioned her in one context or another, but perhaps Albus had some reason not to trust what she had to say on the subject of Valerianna. Minerva felt uneasy. Could it have been that she had been warning Albus against Valerianna not simply because she was a nasty, duplicitous wizard-eater, but because she wanted Albus to herself? Even if they were only friends, it was possible that Gertie had been jealous of the other witch. But if that were the case, why weren’t they together now? Although she had no proof one way or the other – it was possible she and Albus were together – after all, they spent a lot of time together as Headmaster and Deputy, and no one would necessarily know whether they were meeting on business or for some personal reason. Whatever gratitude Minerva felt toward Gertie for saving him from Valerianna was tempered with doubts about the older witch’s motivations in doing so.

Minerva walked through the gates, determined not to speculate any further on the matter. The Headmaster’s relationship with Gertrude was none of her business. She would look forward to giving Albus her little thank-you gift and spending some time with him over the next few days. She picked up her pace at the cheerful thought that she had rest of the summer to spend time with Albus and establish a solid friendship with him. That was certainly something to look forward to.

* * *

Albus was distracted at lunch, barely paying any attention to the peculiar three-way conversation between Wilhelmina, Johannes, and Hagrid. He had a feeling there was something going on with Hagrid, as Minerva had observed, but Albus was more concerned with something else at the moment. 

Minerva had certainly seemed pleased to see him, and happy with her surprise, as well, but he had sensed a change in her as they were talking over their tea. She had brought up Valerianna’s name, and after she had mentioned Valerianna’s engagement, she continued to ask about her, whether he knew her. And his answer . . . was true as far as it went. He should have told her something more. He wouldn’t have had to go into great detail, but if she had heard something about how he had been courting Valerianna, his evasion would certainly seem odd to her. And who knew what Valerianna had told her. Albus didn’t know why he should be so reluctant to tell Minerva of the embarrassing incident. She would certainly be understanding and sympathetic. But somehow telling Minerva seemed impossible; he knew that he would never have a romantic relationship with her, but he still couldn’t bear having her look at him as a pathetic old man who’d been played for a fool.

Albus stood and left the table, his meal only half-eaten. He started up to his office, but changed his mind and turned around and went out the main doors. He hadn’t been out for a walk in the forest for a while. He wanted to check on Aragog and his many offspring. Hagrid kept an eye on him, “paid him visits,” as he put it, but Albus had cast a ward designed to keep Aragog confined to one section of the forest, and it needed refreshing occasionally. 

An hour later, feeling refreshed himself after his walk, resetting Aragog’s ward, and a brief, yet civil, visit with Magorian, Albus returned to the castle. He went directly to Minerva’s rooms and was just about to give the password when the Silent Knight bowed to him.

“Good sir, my lady is not within.”

Peculiar. The Knight hadn’t spoken to him on any previous visit, even on other occasions when Minerva wasn’t present.

“I am aware of that. _Alvarium album_ ,” Albus said, giving the password. The door clicked and Albus pulled it open. “I will be connecting a new painting to your portrait. Your dog, Fidelio, will have access to it. You are to ensure that no other portraits attempt to gain access to the new landscape, with the exception of any headmaster or headmistress portraits, of course,” he added. 

The Silent Knight bowed again and drew his sword. “I will defend the lady with my very life, sir.”

“I doubt that will be necessary,” Albus said, amused. “But your loyalty is appreciated.”

Albus first prepared the painting in the bedroom, then returned to the portrait and cast a few more charms before completing his work on the landscape. He spent a couple more minutes connecting the painting in the sitting room to the one in the bedroom so that the dog could move freely between them, as well.

Stepping back through the door for a moment, Albus asked the Knight to send Fidelio through to the bedroom, then he reentered the bedroom himself and was pleased to be greeted by the cheerfully barking dog sitting in the foreground of the painting, his tail thumping enthusiastically. Albus clapped his hands. “Good boy! Good dog! You can go back to your master now!”

He hadn’t been sure how quickly the dog could find the new painting, since he was not a conventional portrait of a person. Animals could be tricky to work with. Minerva would be pleased. Now he had to make a copy of the photograph he had promised her; he could do that over the weekend. Albus looked over at the vanity and Minerva’s collection of photographs. He thought she had been pleased by the offer, but perhaps she was only being polite. But then, looking at the carefully framed picture of him, clipped from a newspaper so many years ago, he decided that Minerva had been genuinely pleased. Her mug and what was left of the tea and honey were sitting on the vanity, as well, and it looked as though the letters he had written her were tucked beneath them. She must have unpacked before leaving for Wales. Just as he left the room, Albus turned and looked back. The tartan afghan he had given Minerva when she moved into the castle was neatly folded at the foot of her bed. He was fairly sure it hadn’t been there earlier, when he’d hung the landscape that morning. Had she brought that with her to Cornwall? Brought a little piece of home with her? He smiled. How sweet that the afghan he had given her gave her some comfort. 

Albus returned to his office to finish some work before dinner. When he saw Minerva at dinner, he would tell her that he had connected the landscape to her portrait. The thought of seeing her again made him uncomfortable. What if she brought up Valerianna’s name again? When he had finally had the time to read the _Prophet_ just before lunch, he had seen that Valerianna’s performance the night before had not gone unnoticed by the press. 

Albus set down his quill with a deep sigh. He would thank Gertie again for having forced him to confront the true Valerianna Yaxley, except he didn’t want to bring it up again. It was bad enough to have heard her name from Minerva’s lips that morning. It made him wonder what Valerianna had said to Minerva, what she knew about the affair, and whether she knew what had happened between them at the end, and if she had lost her respect for him as a result. Just when their friendship had begun to warm up, Minerva had to learn about his foolishness. Although it _was_ possible that she had heard about it before; it was conceivable that one of her friends on the staff had already told her about it, or that she had learned of it even before she had joined the staff.

He and Gertie hadn’t spoken of it in almost three years. Albus held his head in his hands. He had behaved dreadfully to Gertie when she had tried to warn him about her late husband’s cousin. The final attempt she’d made to speak to him about it, when she had tried to tell him gently that Valerianna had an agenda and wasn’t interested in him as a wizard, but only wanted something from him, had resulted in him turning on her angrily and telling her that she had no right to tell him with whom he could and could not socialise, that it was not her place. And, angry as he was, the sudden tears in his normally stoic friend’s eyes had done nothing to soften him toward her. Gertie had just gritted her teeth, nodded, and left his quarters without another word. The next day, she behaved as though nothing had happened between them, though she was quieter than usual with him. Their relationship had been strained, but he found that Gertie had not held his harsh words against him, and when she hadn’t raised Valerianna’s name again, Albus thought Gertie had let the entire matter go. But she hadn’t. And Albus was very glad she hadn’t. Who knew what the _Daily Prophet_ would have printed if he had discovered this in some more public way. As it was, Albus was still astounded that the press hadn’t caught wind of it and published some little blurb in the column devoted to such things – to public humiliation, in particular. 

When Albus had finally gone to see Gertrude, two days after finding Valerianna as he had, she had been the first to speak. He had gone to apologise to her, but she had taken his hands in hers and said, “I’m so sorry, Albus. So sorry. I wish I had been wrong.”

Oddly, he _hadn’t_ wished Gertie had been wrong – not that he wouldn’t have preferred to have been spared that final scene, of course. For all that he had enjoyed spending time with Valerianna, at least initially, he still hadn’t truly been able to warm up to her. He actually had believed that that weekend would provide him the opportunity to warm up to her and to warm her up to him. Instead, their relationship had gone from tepid to icy in seconds. With, of course, the intervening heat of his blazing anger.

“Wilspy!”

“I serve!” Wilspy said as she popped into his office.

“Wilspy, I have a headache.”

“Hot tea and Headache Potion, Professor Dumbledore, sir?”

Albus smiled. “Let’s start with the hot tea and see if that fixes all my ills, first. Thank you, Wilspy.”

Wilspy frowned. “You is ill, Professor Dumbledore?”

“No, no, it was just a figure of speech, Wilspy. You may fetch the tea now.”

A few minutes later, Wilspy reappeared with a pot of tea, a small pitcher of milk, and a container of honey. There was also a small vial of Headache Potion.

“Thank you, Wilspy.”

“Professor Dumbledore, can I serve Professor more? You is sad.”

“No, not sad, Wilspy. Just old and tired,” Albus said patiently.

“You is not old, Professor,” Wilspy said, shaking her head at him, sounding as though she were scolding a small boy. “You drink good tea, then see Professor’s nice Professor Minerva, and you feel all better.”

“Hmm? Minerva has gone to visit a friend for the afternoon, Wilspy.”

“She is coming back now, Professor. You feel better after tea and seeing your Professor Minerva.”

“I will see her at dinner, no doubt. Thank you for the tea, Wilspy. That will be all.”

“Okey-dokey, Professor! You see your Professor Minerva, you feel all better!” Then the little elf popped away.

Albus shook his head. Foolish little house-elf. He sipped his tea, then finally gave in and downed the Headache Potion. He would see Minerva – briefly – at dinner. He would not monopolise her time. He would see her, “feel better,” as Wilspy had put it, then retire early. Maybe read the book he had borrowed from her. That would be a pleasant way to end the day.


	57. Hot, Cold, and Tepid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva returns to Hogwarts and gives Albus his gift.
> 
> Characters: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, Johannes Birnbaum, Rubeus Hagrid, and Blampa.

**LVII: Hot, Cold, and Tepid**

Minerva walked more briskly as she approached the castle’s large front doors, looking forward to seeing Albus and giving him his present. Dinner would be served in the staff room in less than a half hour. She would wait for him there; as much as she was looking forward to seeing whether Albus had found the time to connect the new landscape painting to her door portrait. Unless he’d been interrupted by something of vital importance, Minerva thought he would have done it as he had promised. And if he hadn’t been able to, she wouldn’t pout like a child.

Picking up a two-month-old copy of _Spellcrafter’s Digest_ , Minerva settled down in one of the large armchairs in the far corner of the room, putting her feet up on a small stool. She held Albus’s present in her lap. Albus was usually on time for dinner because he didn’t like keeping everyone waiting for him to arrive. Minerva hoped he would be early that evening; she might be able to give him his little gift before dinner, if he were, although she didn’t want an audience. Ten minutes later, that hope disappeared as Johannes and Wilhelmina came in together. They both greeted her and asked her where she’d been the last few days. When Minerva told them she had been at the Gamps, they immediately wanted to know about Valerianna and her announcement, Johannes throwing a glance toward the door.

Minerva described Valerianna’s performance, how she had dragged a reluctant Francis Flint out in front of everyone, including a baffled Gropius, and how the guests had been shocked and Flint embarrassed. 

“I hope she was embarrassed, as well,” said Wilhelmina. “She’s one foul character.”

“I got the impression she was more angry than embarrassed, although I didn’t talk with her about it, of course. But that was what Flint implied.”

“You talked to Francis?” Wilhelmina shook her head. “He was never particularly independent when he was a student, but I wouldn’t have thought him to be the type to be pulled into Valerianna’s orbit, either.”

“It sounded to me as though he hadn’t been sure they were even going to be engaged, actually, and she just declared it by fiat, and it was so,” Minerva responded. She remembered that Wilhelmina and Johannes had both been involved in the conspiracy to help Albus, and thought they were probably more interested in the subject because of that. She considered telling them about Valerianna’s failed attempt to seduce Quin right after announcing the engagement, but decided that such gossip was beneath her. If Albus asked her about it, though, she would tell him whatever he wanted to know. 

“That sounds like Valerianna,” Johannes remarked. 

“I’d say I hope she is miserable in her marriage, but that would mean wishing the same on Francis,” Wilhelmina added.

“Yes, well, I had my fill of the witch over the last few days, so why don’t we discuss something more pleasant? How are your plans proceeding, Wilhelmina? Have you made arrangements with the sanctuary yet?” Minerva asked, not wanting Albus to walk in and find them all discussing one of his least favourite people.

Wilhelmina updated Minerva on her current plans; she had arranged with the dragon sanctuary to begin work on the twentieth of December. “It’s a bit late in the year, but that way I can get through the entire semester, finish all my grading, and hopefully even spend some time with the new teacher to help make the transition smoother.”

“I will keep that in mind when we interview candidates,” Minerva said.

“You’re helping with that?” Wilhelmina asked.

“Yes, the Headmaster asked me to lend a hand with it. Gertie’s in Cornwall, and he’s very busy, so I was happy to help with it. Of course, it won’t be my decision, but I can weed out the obviously unsuitable candidates.”

They talked for a few minutes about the changes the upcoming year would bring to Hogwarts, then Hagrid arrived, mumbled a greeting, and sat down at the table waiting for dinner to be served. Minerva got up and moved to sit next to him, hoping that the chair on her other side would remain empty for Albus. Wilhelmina sat across from Hagrid and Johannes sat next to her, across from Minerva. A few moments later, Albus bustled into the staff room. 

“I’m sorry if I am late!” he said, taking a seat next to Wilhelmina. Their dinner appeared promptly.

“You’re not late, Albus,” Johannes answered. “You’re a little early, in fact. And I do not complain about that, if they feed us early, too!”

Minerva wanted to talk to Albus, but it was awkward with the others sitting between them, so she just joined the general conversation flowing around her, adding a word or two at appropriate moments, but not paying very much attention to it. Beside her, Hagrid was even more monosyllabic. It appeared that whatever had been bothering him before she’d left for the Gamps had not improved much in the meantime. She suspected that Wilhelmina’s early morning visit to him was connected to his persistently melancholy mood; perhaps she had noticed, too, and had gone down to try to get him to talk to her about it. But, just as Hagrid had insisted to her that there was nothing wrong, it appeared he wouldn’t talk to Wilhelmina about it, either. Minerva took some pudding even though she didn’t really want it, since she wanted to catch Albus before he headed back to his tower.

Albus pushed away from the table and said good-night to everyone, then turned to Minerva and said, “I finished up with your door portrait this afternoon, Professor McGonagall.”

Minerva stood. “Thank you. May I speak with you a minute?”

“Of course, my dear. Are you free in the morning? We could meet for a few minutes then.”

“Oh, it’s not that sort of thing,” she answered, reaching for the bag she’d put under her chair. “I just wanted a minute this evening, if you could.”

“Certainly. I will walk you to your rooms, then, and we can talk on the way – we can even test the portrait,” he said with a smile.

Minerva followed him out of the staff room and started up the stairs next to him. 

“Can you come in for a few minutes, Albus? We could test the portrait and we can talk for a while.”

“Oh, my dear, you certainly don’t want to entertain me twice in one day. After your long day yesterday, and your outing today, I’m sure you would like a quiet evening.”

“Albus, if you would rather not, please just tell me. I will be disappointed, but I’ll live.”

“No, no, I would like to, Minerva. Of course . . . I was just thinking of you.”

“If I didn’t want to invite you in, I would not have. I know that we spent a good deal of time together before my holiday, and I will understand if we aren’t able to do the same in the future because you are busy – or because you are tired or just want to be alone – but I hope that you will tell me that. I don’t want you to feel obligated to spend time with me if you don’t want to, but I’d rather you just told me.” Minerva was surprised by her own frankness, but after all the events of the last week, particularly the conversation in which she’d told Albus that she would express herself to him before she became as distressed as she had in Poppy’s office, she saw no point in mincing words. She would certainly be disappointed if he didn’t want to come in, whatever the reason, but she’d rather he were honest about it than make excuses.

“I can come in for a few minutes, Minerva. But you must shoo me out if you become tired!” He smiled at her, eyes twinkling.

They reached her door, and Albus suggested, “You go on in to your bedroom, and I’ll knock.”

Minerva let herself in and went into her bedroom. A moment later, Fidelio was standing in the landscape, barking cheerfully. Minerva laughed. “Good boy, Fidelio!”

She let Albus into the sitting room. “He came through, looking quite pleased with himself, Albus. Thank you!”

“Oh, it was nothing, just a few minutes and a little wand-waving,” he said, but he looked pleased that Minerva appreciated his gift.

“I have a little something for you, Albus. A little ‘thank-you’ for everything you’ve done for me lately.”

“That was hardly necessary, Minerva.”

“Well, as you said when you gave me that lovely gift before I left for the Gamps, that’s why it’s a surprise. I hope you like it.”

“Thank you, my dear. Shall I open it now?”

“Yes – go ahead. It’s nothing special . . . but I hoped you might like it.”

“As _you_ told me earlier, if it is from you, it is special,” he said, smiling.

Albus put the package on the table and carefully unwrapped the brown paper to reveal a purple cardboard box with “Scrivenshaft’s” written in ornate white letters. Smiling, he took the top off the box. 

“Lovely, my dear! This is my favourite ink. And a lovely new matching quill to go with it.” He turned to face her. “Thank you. It is most thoughtful of you.”

“I thought it was something you might use and enjoy.” Minerva smiled. “I hope you do enjoy it.”

“I am sure I will, my dear. I will try it tonight.”

“Would you like something to drink, Albus?”

“No, thank you. I really should be going, Minerva.”

“Oh, all right.” Minerva was disappointed, but she had said that he must simply be honest with her, after all. “Perhaps tomorrow?”

“Perhaps. We will see. We did get a few applications for Wilhelmina’s position; you could come by and take a look at them, if you like.”

“Of course. Good night, Albus.”

“Good night, my dear. I hope you sleep well.”

Minerva nodded and opened the door for him. He left with a smile and another “good night.” Minerva closed the door behind him. She felt inexplicably disappointed. It wasn’t as though she’d had any plans for the evening, but she had hoped they could sit and talk for a while. Now she felt at loose ends. She looked at her bookshelves, but saw nothing that caught her interest.

With a casual wave of her wand, Minerva cleared away the brown paper Albus’s gift had been wrapped in, then looked out the window, which gave her a thin slice of a view of the lawns leading out to the Quidditch pitch. Hagrid was walking in the direction of the gates, Brutus, his old boarhound, at his side. Perhaps he was just checking the gates, but more likely, he was going into the Hog’s Head for a drink. Minerva felt guilty. She should have paid more attention to him during dinner. And given the way Albus had come and gone so quickly, she could have just handed him his present in the front hall and waited for Hagrid to leave dinner. They could have had a drink together in her rooms, and she might even have discovered what was bothering him.

She had no desire to go to the Hog’s Head that evening, which she understood was Hagrid’s preferred pub, but she could go see Wilhelmina. She might know what was troubling Hagrid. Besides, Minerva hadn’t seen the Head of Gryffindor recently. And if she was going to consider becoming the next Head of House, she should pay the current Head a visit.

Minerva walked up the stairs to the seventh-floor rooms of the Gryffindor Head of House. They were not the same quarters that Albus had had when Minerva was a student. He had apparently been given those quarters because of the sensitive work he was doing on the wards and, later, for the war against Grindelwald. Minerva thought the current House Head’s quarters, which she remembered Albus’s predecessor had used during her first year at Hogwarts, were much more suitable, since they were closer to the Gryffindor common room. It enabled the Head of House to reach the Gryffindor dormitories much more quickly – _and_ it would be easier for the Gryffindor prefects to find her, if necessary.

Her visit with Wilhelmina was pleasant, but she didn’t stay long. Other than saying that she, too, had noticed that Hagrid seemed unhappy recently, Wilhelmina had nothing enlightening to say about what may have been bothering him. She did, however, encourage Minerva to take the Head of House position and told her that the two of them should to get together and talk about it once she had made a decision. Wilhelmina also thought it would be a good idea for Minerva to become Head of House right from the first of September, rather than waiting for Wilhelmina to leave in December. 

“We could work out the living arrangements with Albus, I’m sure,” Wilhelmina said. “I wouldn’t mind moving to another set of rooms at the end of August. Or, if you prefer and it’s all right with the Headmaster, you could keep your current rooms and move up here in December.”

Before Minerva left, she told Wilhelmina that she was still not sure she would take the position, but that she would let her know as soon as she had made a decision and had informed the Headmaster. They could talk about the Head of House quarters if she decided to accept it. 

Minerva had not yet reached the stairs when she saw a familiar figure walking toward her.

“Albus?”

“Good evening, Minerva!”

“I hadn’t expected to see you again this evening.” She smiled.

“I decided to try the excellent ink you gave me, my dear. It is wonderfully brilliant, and the quill is quite nice – it has a variable width charm on it. I had fun with that!” he said with a grin. “But then I decided to do something more practical than doodle, so I wrote a letter – I was just off to the Owlery to post it.”

Minerva smiled. “I’m glad you like it, Albus.”

“And you, my dear?”

“Just paid a brief visit to Wilhelmina. I thought I might take a walk before retiring. Would you like to join me?”

“Thank you, but no. I think I’ll just post my letter then toddle off to bed.”

“All right, then. Perhaps breakfast in the morning?”

“I don’t know . . .” Albus hesitated. “You could come by later in the morning, if you wish, and look at the responses we have received to the advertisements. There aren’t many yet, but if you want to get a start on them . . . .”

“Are you feeling well, Albus?”

“Fine, just fine! Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that it’s a bit early for bed yet, and you seem . . . preoccupied.”

“I am fine. I am a little tired, but I also thought I’d have a quiet night, read the novel I borrowed from you, and then get up early tomorrow and take care of some parchments that arrived by late Post Owl from the Wizengamot. But I am well.” He smiled. “And you might consider an early night, as well, my dear, after your tiring day yesterday.”

“You are right, Albus. It has been a tiring few days. Good night.” Minerva turned and hurried down the stairs, barely noticing the Headmaster calling good-night behind her.

She was upset. It wasn’t that Albus was tired and wanted to retire early – she could understand and accept that – but that he had expressed no regret that he didn’t feel up to a walk with her, and then he hadn’t accepted breakfast in the morning, nor even offered any alternative but for her to stop by the office to look at the applications. He hadn’t even made it sound like an excuse to spend time with her. How could he blow hot and cold like that? His letters, particularly the first one, enclosed with the tea he’d given her, had been so sweet. How could he claim to have missed her and then seem so ambivalent about spending time with her? Was it something she’d said or done that morning? She could think of nothing else that could explain this behaviour. But right then, she didn’t care what it was she may have said. He wasn’t telling her; he was simply avoiding her. And she wasn’t going to sit in her rooms and pout all weekend.

Minerva went to her bedroom and pulled her carpet bag from her wardrobe. She grabbed a handful of underwear and dropped it into the bag, then stuffed a few random robes in on top. She looked around and saw the tea that Albus had given her. No point in taking that. The afghan . . . but she wasn’t a child who needed a security blanket or a stuffed Puffskein in order to fall asleep in the dark, after all. She did pull _Pnin_ from her bookshelf and add that to her bag. She would need nothing else.

Minerva had one more thing to do before she left; she stood at her small desk and wrote a quick note, then rolled the parchment and sealed it with emerald green wax. 

“Blampa! Blampa! Come here, please.”

Minerva hadn’t finished calling the house-elf and she appeared. 

“Yes, Professor Minerva ma’am? Can I, Blampa, serve?”

“Yes. Please see that the Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, receives this in the morning. I believe he has retired for the night, so don’t bother him with it now. You may either owl it to him or have Wilspy, his house-elf, deliver it. Just see to it he receives it first thing in the morning, all right?”

Blampa quivered with the excitement of being entrusted with a new task. “Yes, Professor Minerva! I, Blampa, see that the Professor Headmaster gets letter in the morning! Yes, yes!”

“Good. See that you do. I will be gone for a few days, Blampa, so do not expect to be called by me during that time. But if I learn that you have not sent the letter to Professor Dumbledore as I requested, I will be most displeased.”

“Oh, Professor Minerva! Professor Minerva not be displeased with I, Blampa! I, Blampa, please the good Professor Minerva.”

“That will be all, Blampa,” she said wearily, dismissing the house-elf.

When the house-elf had Apparated away, Minerva left her rooms. She hesitated, wondering whether she should change her password, as she hadn’t done so since she’d originally set it, but then decided against it. It was unlikely that Albus would need to enter her rooms again while she was gone, but if he were to try, she might appear childish if she had changed the password without telling him.

Minerva hastened to the Hogwarts gates. As soon as she passed through them, she Apparated away with barely a thought to her destination.


	58. The Comforts of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus wakes up to find Minerva has left him a brief note. Minerva has a restful night and a lovely morning.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Merwyn McGonagall, Egeria Egidius, and Wilspy.

**LVIII: The Comforts of Home**

Albus woke early Friday morning, shoved his sheet aside, rolled over, and sat up. Blinking sleepily, he waved his hand to open the heavy curtains covering the south- and east-facing windows of his bedroom. He sat there a moment, legs dangling over the side of his bed and wiggling his toes, before standing and looking out to the south, where mist was rising so thickly off the water that the lake was hidden beneath the fog. It had rained overnight, but it looked as though the sun was beginning to break through the clouds.

Wilspy popped into the bedroom with his first cup of tea of the day.

Albus took the cup from the house-elf. “Thank you, Wilspy.”

Wilspy held out a rolled parchment sealed with green wax. “Letter for you, Professor Dumbledore. From your Professor Minerva.”

“Put it on the night stand for now, Wilspy.”

Albus shuffled off to the bathroom, bringing his tea with him. After taking care of his morning routine and finishing his cup of tea, he returned to the bedroom, feeling more awake. He perched on the edge of the bed and put on his glasses. Perhaps the note from Minerva was another invitation to breakfast; it was difficult to conceive what else might require letter delivery so early in the morning. He was not sure he was ready to face her yet, knowing that Valerianna could very well have said things to Minerva that were calculated to cause him embarrassment. He didn’t know if he were prepared to talk about Valerianna with Minerva – well, he _did_ know, and he _wasn’t_ ready – nor whether he was prepared to spend time with her alone in such an intimately domestic activity as having breakfast. He had decided to spare both himself and Minerva any danger of him betraying his feelings. Or to have those feelings grow beyond what they already were. He had to maintain a simple friendship, he told himself. Simple friendship, uncomplicated by his inappropriate feelings.

He broke the seal on the parchment, and, despite himself, his heart sunk as he read its contents.

_“Thursday, 11 July_

_“Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_“I am going to my parents’ for a few days. As you suggested, I am taking the opportunity to spend some time away from the castle._

_“I hope you have a pleasant weekend._

_“Minerva M. McGonagall”_

Brief and to the point. And very cool. A note from an employee to her employer. He sighed and put the letter back on the night stand. She apparently had no desire to spend more time in the castle with him, despite her words the previous morning. It had seemed to him that she had wanted to stay at Hogwarts for much of the summer, and, despite his hope that Minerva would take the opportunity to get out and socialise with a suitable wizard, and his unease with what she had no doubt learned about his relationship with Valerianna, Albus had hoped she would be around the castle during the daytime, when he could see her and spend a little time with her, himself.

Albus shook his head. He should have done that yesterday. Minerva had been there and available. And she had invited him to spend time with her. Too late now.

Not putting much thought into his choice of apparel, Albus dressed, putting on lightweight robes of lilac and indigo. Odd, that Minerva hadn’t mentioned anything to him about visiting her parents the night before, when they had met as he’d been on his way to post his letter to Gertie. Perhaps that was why Minerva had invited him to take a walk with her, she was going to tell him then. But she could have told him just as easily as they were standing there in the hall. Instead, she had simply hurried off. He looked at the letter again. She must have left immediately after they had talked. It was peculiar. Minerva had seemed so eager to stay yesterday. Something must have changed that. Her visit to Poppy – had they talked about Valerianna? Had the two of them had quite a giggle about the old wizard who had made a fool of himself? But Minerva seemed to think Valerianna was quite unlikeable . . . they probably had speculated about what he had seen in her, what had caused him to be with a witch of her ilk. He had wondered that, himself, at the time.

Albus spent the morning trying to work, but was unsuccessful at getting very much accomplished. Lunch was a quiet affair with only Wilhelmina taking lunch in the staff room with him. Johannes was visiting friends for the day, and Hagrid apparently had had a rather late night and wasn’t up yet. Albus thought he should speak with Hagrid if he didn’t snap out of his mood soon. He would give him another few days before interfering, though. But Minerva . . . he couldn’t give that situation another few days. He had to learn what was on her mind, and if her opinion of him had been lowered now that she knew of his brief relationship with Valerianna. Albus didn’t care terribly what others might think about his ill-advised entanglement with the witch, even if he did prefer not to have his private life the subject of public speculation, but he didn’t want Minerva to think less of him. Her opinion was the only one that mattered to him, as foolish as that was.

It shouldn’t matter to him, of course. He should simply concern himself with her happiness, and her happiness certainly didn’t rely on her opinion of him. No, he should see to it that she had the opportunity to get out and meet a nice wizard. Quin, despite Minerva’s protestations, sounded perfect for her. He was attractive, successful, a good father; they would complement one another well. 

Nonetheless, Albus didn’t think that he could wait to find out what was bothering Minerva. Telling Wilhelmina that he would be gone, possibly for the rest of the day, and asking her to watch the castle, he returned to his office and picked up the applications for the Care of Magical Creatures Position. There were only four, including one that had arrived that morning, but it would provide him an excuse to visit her. She might ask why he didn’t simply owl them, but he could talk to her about what criteria he wanted her to look for when reviewing the applications.

Albus walked down to the gates and Apparated to the McGonagalls, just as Minerva had the night before.

* * *

“Minerva! What a wonderful surprise!” Egeria exclaimed when Minerva walked into the library looking for her parents.

“Hello, Mother.” Minerva kissed her cheek. “Where’s Dad?”

“His study, I think – he got up muttering something about Saxon phonemes a few minutes ago, and you know how he is when he gets like that. He could be two minutes or two hours. But what about you? How long are you here for?”

“Oh, just a few days”

“We thought that you wouldn’t be visiting for another couple of weeks – not that I’m not happy to see you, of course, dear, but what are you doing here?”

“I just needed a few more days away from Hogwarts, Mother. I don’t know if you’ve heard from Melina, but I was invited to the Gamps for a few days, and –”

“Oh! Were you there when the Yaxley woman announced her engagement?”

“Yes, Mother. But there wasn’t much more to it than the _Prophet_ reported, I’m sure.”

“What a pity. I was wondering what Florence Flint’s daughter had been doing since her husband died.”

“You know her? She’s a Flint?”

“I knew her mother; she was four years ahead of me in Slytherin. Beautiful girl. She left school after her OWLs and married Benjamin Crouch two weeks later. Valerianna was born nine months after that. They were quick about it!”

“But if her mother was a Flint . . . she must be related to Francis. She must be an older relative of his.” Minerva’s face was a picture of revulsion.

“We all intermarry, dear, some families more than others, of course.”

“Yes, but . . .”

“I was Francis’s mother’s midwife. She was a Longbottom. His father was Valerianna’s cousin on her mother’s side. I don’t think he was a first cousin, though. Perhaps a first cousin once removed? No . . .” Egeria knit her brow, trying to remember how Francis’s father was related to Valerianna.

“Still . . .” Minerva shuddered.

“But tell me, what brings you home?”

“Yes, Min! What brings you home?” asked her father from behind her.

“Dad!” Minerva turned and smiled at her father.

Merwyn gave his youngest child a hug. “What’s my Minnie-girl doing home?”

“I just needed some time away from the school, that’s all.”

“A long first term, then?” he asked sympathetically.

She grinned wryly. “You could say that, Dad. And the last week has been particularly long, despite the students’ having left more than two weeks ago.”

Merwyn gave her another hug, then said, “The comforts of home will have you feeling like yourself in no time, then, Min, won’t they, Egeria?”

“They certainly will,” she said as she stood. “Sweetness, why don’t you go on up and get ready for bed, and I’ll come in and say good-night in a bit, hmm?”

“All right, Mother,” Minerva said with a slight smile. Sometimes it was nice to come home and be treated like a little girl again. She hugged her mother tightly and felt tears well up in her eyes; she blinked them away and swallowed before letting go. “Good night, Dad.”

“’Night, Minnie-girl.” He gave her another kiss before she left, then turned to his wife.

“Ah, Egeria.” Merwyn took his wife in his arms, and she laid her head on his shoulder.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, love?” she asked.

“Probably. I had wondered how long it would take . . .”

“Do you think her heart is broken, then?”

“I don’t know . . . I hope not. Not yet, I don’t think. If her heart were broken, I think she would appear more distressed, and I don’t think this is where she would go.”

“Where, then, if not home?”

“A friend . . . Melina, perhaps.”

Egeria nodded and sighed. “I’ll go up and see her. Maybe she’ll talk to me about it.”

“You can try, but you know our Min. Don’t be disappointed if she behaves as if nothing were wrong at all.”

“It’s not inevitable, is it, Merwyn? That our baby’s heart will be broken?”

“I don’t know. It needn’t be, but she is not the only one involved, after all.” Merwyn gave his wife a light kiss, then followed it by another, and for a moment, the two forgot what they had been talking about. “Mmm. That was nice. I look forward to more of the same later.”

Egeria laughed. “If you are still awake when I come to bed, I will most certainly look forward to more!”

After Egeria left, Merwyn poured himself a whisky and sat in his favourite wingchair, feet up in front of him. _Had_ this been inevitable? He was flooded with memories from years ago. Minerva’s Animagus training, meeting Albus in the Three Broomsticks, teasing Minerva about unrequited love, and then Albus’s letter requesting Minerva’s early return to Hogwarts.

Merwyn smiled, remembering Minerva’s excitement and nervousness about returning to Hogwarts a few days before the term began. And then Albus arrived to Apparate her back to the school . . .

Minerva had always been very bad at Side-Along-Apparition, almost invariably becoming sick to her stomach. But Albus performed some type of diagnostic spell on Merwyn, because Apparating with him wasn’t as hard on Minerva as Apparating with others was, then Albus repeated the spell on her. Minerva later told them that she hadn’t become sick at all. But that was not what had been so remarkable about the Apparition. Merwyn remembered how Albus told Minerva to step closer to him and listen to his heart; without hesitation, Merwyn’s normally reticent daughter stepped in and laid her head against the wizard’s chest, closing her eyes trustingly, a look of contentment on her face as she listened for Albus’s heartbeat, and a slight smile on Albus’s own. There was something right, natural, and timeless in their embrace.

After the two vanished in the only silent Apparition Merwyn ever witnessed, Egeria said, “I thought you were just teasing about the unrequited love.”

“So did I.”

“Do you think either of them knows?”

“Not a clue, either of them.”

“What should we do, Merwyn?”

“Nothing. There’s nothing to be done . . . but don’t worry, love, I believe Albus to be an honourable wizard.” 

They stood there for a while longer, pondering their youngest child, their only daughter, then turned to go back into the house.

“So, on which side do you think it is unrequited?” Egeria asked.

Merwyn just shook his head and said, “We may never know. It may pass. She is young yet, and I am sure that Albus has no intentions toward her at the moment. Certainly none that he recognises, anyway, other than those of a mentor and teacher. It may all pass quite peacefully and unremarkably.”

“But you don’t believe that,” Egeria said.

“If she takes after you, no, I don’t.”

“Or after you, Merwyn.”

And then, three and a half years later, Minerva showed up on their doorstep, telling them only that she was taking time off from her job at the Ministry. She went to her friend’s funeral, and a couple days later, Albus arrived on their doorstep asking to speak with Minerva. Whatever transpired between them upset them both, but didn’t destroy whatever tie there was between them. Merwyn and Egeria watched their daughter as she continued in her career at the Ministry, then gone on to her apprenticeships, and returned to work for the Ministry after she achieved her Transfiguration mastery. In all that time, Minerva occasionally had boyfriends, and at one point, her parents believed that she might marry an Apothecary she met during her apprenticeship in Heidelberg, but she returned from the apprenticeship and rarely mentioned him again. And then she took the job at Hogwarts, and her mother began to worry about her only daughter, to worry that she was destined for unhappiness at the school, that whatever Minerva sought there, she would never find. But Minerva was an adult witch, and she had never spoken to them of Albus as anything other than as a teacher and mentor, so Egeria did not raise her worries with her daughter.

* * *

Minerva woke the next morning, slightly confused at first about where she was, then she recognised her childhood bedroom. Egeria had redecorated it in the intervening years, but it still held the same mahogany furniture she had grown up with, and the same pictures hung on the walls. They were Muggle pictures, one painting and one etching, very old ones inherited from her father’s grandparents. When she was small, Minerva used to be fascinated by the small, frozen characters in the etching, wondering what they might say or do next. It was far more fun to imagine it than to watch them in a magical painting, she thought.

Minerva dressed in robes with a subtle green, gold, and sienna pattern of leaves and branches woven through the fabric, then went down to breakfast. To her surprise, she felt well-rested, and she didn’t remember any of her dreams. She barely even remembered going to bed the night before. She smiled. Her mother had been so sweet, coming upstairs, practically tucking her into bed. Of course, she had tried to find a more specific reason for Minerva’s unexpected visit home, and Minerva told her part of the truth. The party at the Gamps had been interesting, and parts of it had been enjoyable, but dealing with all of those strangers, many of them unpleasant, for three days had been tiring, and she wanted to be somewhere she felt comfortable and at ease, and where she didn’t have to constantly either second-guess what someone was telling her or watch every word she said. When her mother asked her if she weren’t comfortable at Hogwarts, Minerva had simply shrugged and said that it wasn’t the same as home, and most of the staff were on holiday, Poppy included. She then mentioned her visit with Poppy that afternoon and their tentative plans to get together the next week to celebrate the mediwitch’s thirtieth birthday. 

During breakfast, Minerva asked her mother about her work, then told her about Thea, Robert’s wife. “I don’t know how much time you have, but I told Robert and Gertrude that I would see if you could check Thea over and see if there was anything you could recommend. She’s been on bed-rest since they learned she was pregnant again, and Robert said she’d seen a few different Healers, but he would really appreciate your opinion, given your experience and expertise. He said that he was sure he could arrange Portkeys for both you and Dad.”

Egeria smiled. “It’s been a long time since your father and I were in Amsterdam. Before you were born, actually. We could take a few days and make a holiday of it. The two of us have become a little set in our ways – Edinburgh, Aberdeen, and Inverness, with the occasional outing to Hogsmeade. We only visited London because you and Melina were there. Now that you’re both in Scotland again – this would be a good opportunity for us to do something different. I think Merwyn has an old friend in Ghent we could look up, too. It sounds like an excellent exchange – they provide the Portkeys, and we get a holiday out of it.”

“I’m sure they anticipate a fee . . .”

“Pish! As though I need any fees. Most of the work I do now, you know, is for families that don’t have the advantages that we’ve taken for granted. Good families. I don’t insult them by waiving my fees entirely, of course, but we work out exchanges. I’m more than happy to do this for your friend. I knew his father, Reginald, after all – your father did, too – though I only know his mother by sight, or I used to, fifty years ago. And early in his career, Merwyn had quite a correspondence with Agyfen Gamp, Gertrude’s grandfather. Merwyn credits him with helping him become established and accepted as a scholar, despite his unorthodox ideas. So I’m happy to do a favour for Robert and his wife.”

“All right, Mother. I’ll fetch their contact information for you after breakfast. Where is Dad?”

“Having a lie-in. We were up late last night. I can’t sleep late if I try, but I’ll probably catch a nap later today.”

“You know, Mother, your mention of Aberdeen and Inverness reminded me that I haven’t seen either Morgan or Malcolm in months, nor Uncle Perseus and Aunt Helen. I wonder if they’d be up for a visit today. I wouldn’t want to impose . . .”

“The last time I visited Uncle Perseus and Aunt Helen, they both said they would love to see you again soon. Just send them an owl now – find out if it’s convenient for you to pop around today. You could drop in on Malcolm, as well. I worry about him – at least it appears he’s settled down in one place for a while.”

Minerva grinned, thinking of her peripatetic oldest brother. “All right, Mother, I’ll check on Malcolm for you, make sure he’s wearing clean socks and eating his veg.”

She got up from the breakfast table to write a note to her Great-uncle Perseus and Helen, his wife, and find the funny little owl of her father’s to carry it. Minerva met her father on the stairs and just smiled at him, knowing he wouldn’t be up to speaking until he’d had his tea.

Two hours later, the little owl was back with an enthusiastic invitation from Aunt Helen to pop around for lunch and stay for the afternoon so they could catch up on everything Minerva had been doing since last they saw her. She asked Minerva to stop off and fetch Malcolm for lunch, as well. 

Minerva gathered two bunches of flowers from her mother’s gardens, one for Malcolm and one for Aunt Helen and Uncle Perseus. She gave Egeria and Merwyn each a kiss, and Apparated off to Aberdeen, feeling more normal and ordinary than she had in weeks.

Egeria and Merwyn were just finishing their lunch when there was a rapping on their front door. A moment later, Fwisky popped in to tell them that Headmaster Albus Dumbledore had arrived to see Miss Minerva, should she send him away since Minerva was not there?

“No, no, Fwisky. I’ll just go see him, myself.” Merwyn turned to Egeria. “Should I invite him to stay for the afternoon and take tea with us, love?”

“Excellent idea, Merwyn. Excellent.”

Merwyn found Albus standing awkwardly in the front hall, examining a portrait as though it were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

“Albus, so good to see you! Sorry that Fwisky left you here. She was at a bit of a loss of what to do, as Minerva isn’t here, you see.”

“She isn’t? But she left a note –” Albus said, puzzled.

“Oh, she _was_ here, and she will return. She’s just popped around to visit a few relatives this afternoon. But why don’t you stay! Egeria asked that I invite you to stay this afternoon and take tea with us later. You and I could catch up; it’s been so long. Do you play chess at all?”

“Yes, I do, but I couldn’t impose on you –”

“No imposition at all, Albus, none whatsoever,” Merwyn said, putting a friendly hand on Albus’s shoulder. “And I know that Minerva would be disappointed to learn she’d missed you. Besides, I rarely have a decent game of chess anymore. Minerva’s quite good, my favourite opponent, in fact, but we hardly play anymore, as you can imagine.”

Merwyn had guided Albus into the library. 

“I don’t know. I only came by to leave these for Minerva,” Albus said, holding out a file of parchments. “I thought she might like to get a jump on reviewing them. But, of course, I don’t want to interrupt her holiday. I should just be going. Don’t bother telling her I was here – she deserves a holiday, after all. It was inconsiderate of me to bring her work.”

“She’s very devoted to Hogwarts, though. I’m sure she won’t mind. And I know she would be disappointed that she missed you. And I will be disappointed if you leave now, as well. Not to mention that Egeria will have my head if I tell her I couldn’t get you to stay for tea,” Merwyn said jokingly. “Of course, I know you are a busy wizard, if you need to get back to Hogwarts . . .”

“No, I could stay a little while, I suppose.” Albus smiled. “And a game of chess would be agreeable.”

“Good, very good! I’ll just go and let Egeria know I’ve prevailed upon you to stay for tea. Have a seat, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be only a minute.”

Albus settled into a wingchair by the fireplace. The last time he had been alone in the room had been over a decade ago, when he’d come to give Carson’s letter to Minerva. That had been an unhappy visit. No point in dwelling on it now, however. It was in the past.

Merwyn returned. “We’re all set! Egeria is very pleased you’ll be staying for tea. She has to go out for a little while right now – checking on a patient – but she will be back in a couple hours. Plenty of time for some chess!”

Merwyn walked over to the cabinets behind the long table at one end of the room. “Muggle or regular?”

“Hmm?” Albus looked up questioningly.

“Muggle chessmen or regular ones?”

“You have your father’s set?” Albus asked. “Why don’t we play with that one, then – chessmen can be so temperamental sometimes.”

Merwyn grinned. “I feel the same way, actually. I like to concentrate on the game, and possibly on conversation, not on appeasing a disgruntled pawn or a grumbling bishop!”

Merwyn Summoned the chess table and set it in front of Albus, then drew up his chair across from him. “Do you prefer white or black?”

“Either – we can switch off, if you like.”

“Very well. Here, you take white to start.”

The two wizards played in silence for a while. Merwyn had called Fwisky, who had brought them some cold lemonade. Albus was contemplating what move he could make that would not result in his king being placed in check the next move when Merwyn spoke.

“Minerva seems to enjoy her teaching,” he said.

“Yes, I think she does. I hope she does, after leaving her career in London to come to Hogwarts.”

“It suits her,” Merwyn responded, his statement sounding almost like a question.

“Yes, she was quite a successful tutor as a student, and, of course, her skills in Transfiguration are among the best I have seen.”

The men were silent for a few minutes until Merwyn said, “Check and mate.”

Albus smiled, sitting back and looking at the board. “Very good. Very good, indeed.” He looked up with a grin. “Best two out of three?”

“Why not? Or three out of five, if we have the time.” Merwyn set up his white pieces. “If, of course, you don’t get tired of being beaten before then!” he said, grinning at Albus. 

“Never . . . and we shall see who beats whom!”

The next game was slower, and when Albus began chasing Merwyn’s king around the board, only a single castle and a knight left to defend it, Merwyn tipped over his king with a flick of his index finger. “You have this one, Albus.”

They set up for a third game, and Albus made his opening gambit, when Merwyn said, “You know, Minerva’s quite good. Do you ever play chess with her? No? A pity. She always enjoys a good game. She can still beat me occasionally, although she doesn’t get in the practice she’d need to do so consistently. Perhaps you could keep her in trim, Albus . . . if you have the time for leisure activities, of course.”

“I’m sure she could find a more congenial chess partner.”

“I doubt it,” Merwyn said, taking a pawn en passant. “She likes a challenge. I am sure you could provide her with a challenge.” He grinned. “Of course, with Minerva, sometimes you have to be a little ruthless and a bit obvious – make sure she understands what you are offering. Then she’ll engage you with everything in her.”

Albus looked up from the chessboard. Merwyn was examining the pieces, trying to decide his next move. 

“She can be determined,” Albus answered, wondering what Merwyn was on about.

“Quite. But sometimes she needs a prod or two to start her in the right direction. Not in chess, of course . . .”

They played in silence for a bit longer, Merwyn winning, though not easily. “You really do present a challenge, Albus. You should play with Minerva. I’m sure she would enjoy it. Best three out of five?”

Albus agreed.

“Drink, Albus? I have some very nice whisky, unless you’d prefer something else – sherry, gilly water?”

Albus hesitated. He’d only had tea for his breakfast and had barely touched his lunch. Alcohol would likely go straight to his head. “I don’t know –”

“Here, I’ll pour you a wee dram. And just so you don’t think I’m merely trying to gain an edge over you, I’ll pour myself a wee bit more!”

“I haven’t really eaten much today –” Albus began.

“Oh, we can fix that. Fwisky!” Merwyn asked Fwisky to bring some hard-boiled eggs, cream crackers, and cheese.

“Egeria will be displeased if I spoil your appetite too much, not to mention that I’m not forcing fruit and vegetables down your throat, but this should keep us going until tea.”

As they played their more leisurely fourth game, Albus nibbled on the crackers and cheese, sipping the second glass of whisky Merwyn poured him after he’d finished the first one.

“Oh, doxiedung!” Merwyn exclaimed as he realised he’d made a foolish move. He grimaced. 

Albus moved in for the kill, mating him in two more moves. He looked up, grinning. “Seems your whisky has a friendlier effect on my game than on yours, Merwyn.”

“Hmmpf. Why don’t we take a break for a bit? Egeria should be back soon – in fact, I think I hear her now,” he said as the crack of someone Apparating into the front hall reached them. 

Sure enough, the door to the library opened and Egeria came in. “Albus! It is so good to see you again. I’m sorry I didn’t greet you earlier, but I was running a bit late.” She sat down in her favourite armchair. “I could use one of those, Merwyn. Just a little, though. Less than you’ve had, judging by the gleam in your eye and the glow to your cheek.”

“How do you know I’m not just particularly happy to see you, love?” Merwyn asked, bending to give his wife a kiss as he handed her a small glass of whisky.

“Mmm, flatterer!” Egeria said to her husband. “So, Albus, tell us all about Hogwarts. How is Minerva doing? Settling in well?”

“Hogwarts is doing just fine, although we are experiencing quite a few staff changes in a very short time. Minerva is assisting me, in fact. We need to find a new Care of Magical Creatures teacher before the end of December.”

“Care of Magical Creatures? Minerva didn’t take a NEWT in that.”

“No, but finding a competent teacher doesn’t necessarily mean she needs to be an expert, herself. She’s just selecting the most likely candidates, weeding out the unsuitable ones.”

“I’m sure she was pleased to be asked to lend you a hand with that,” Egeria said.

“Yes –” Albus hesitated. “I don’t know if Minerva mentioned it to you, but our current Magical Creatures teacher is also Head of Gryffindor House. I have asked her to consider taking it, but she hasn’t come to a decision yet.”

“No, she didn’t mention that, but we haven’t had much time to talk. She arrived very late last night, and this morning we were discussing other things – some of the people she’d met while at the Gamps, actually.” Egeria noticed that Albus stiffened slightly when she said that.

“Oh, yes?” Albus asked politely.

“Yes, Gertrude’s son, Robert, in particular.”

Albus relaxed. “Ah, Robert. A good boy.”

“Yes, I understand that his wife has had certain medical problems. I owled them this morning. I thought I would see if there’s anything I could add to the care she is currently receiving, or at least reassure them, if I am able to.”

Albus smiled. “I am sure they will be very happy to have your opinion. That is very good of you.”

“Selfish of me, as well, Albus.” Egeria looked at Merwyn, who was listening to the conversation with a slight smile. “I can drag my husband away from his books for a few days’ holiday – someplace other than Edinburgh, Aberdeen, and Inverness, as I told Minerva this morning. Well, I need to consult with Fwisky about tea. You two continue doing whatever it is two wizards do when there are no witches around!” 

Egeria kissed the top of her husband’s head on her way past him. “Don’t forget that I need to speak to you about that other business, dear.”

“Of course, love,” Merwyn said, not betraying that he had no clue what his wife was talking about. “I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

After Egeria had left, closing the door behind her, Merwyn asked, “Start another game, Albus?”

“All right – unless you’d prefer to wait until you’ve seen your wife? I hope I’m not disrupting your schedule.”

“I have no schedule. Well, I do, but it’s more of a rut than a schedule, as Egeria would tell you, if she were here. I always disagree with her about that, of course, but your visit has honestly been a delightful diversion.” He started setting up the board again.

They sat in companionable silence and began their fifth game. After a few minutes, Merwyn said, “You can take this opportunity to plan your complete victory over me while I take a minute and see Egeria. Another whisky?”

Albus shook his head. He was glad he was staying for tea. He doubted he’d drunk enough to Splinch if he Apparated, but it was best not to take such a chance. Albus leaned back and considered the board over steepled fingers. His mind soon wandered back to his reason for being here this afternoon – Minerva and whatever had motivated her to leave Hogwarts so unexpectedly and so late at night. Whatever it was, if it did involve him, it didn’t appear that she had told her parents. Or if she had, it was something to do with Valeriana and they had already known what she had told them. It wasn’t precisely a secret that he’d been seeing the witch – he disliked using the term “courting” with regard to Valerianna – and that they had stopped seeing each other very precipitously. It was possible that they – or Egeria, at least – had known something of it.

Merwyn returned quickly. “So, you have planned your entire strategy while I’ve been gone, eh, Albus?”

“Hardly.” He looked at the younger wizard, a rueful grin on his face. “I will be unsurprised regardless which of us wins this game. You are very good, Merwyn.”

“Not a particularly practical talent, however.”

Several moves later, after Merwyn had sacrificed one of his bishops in order to place Albus in check on his next move, Merwyn said casually, “You know, Albus, I have something you might be interested in seeing.”

“Really?” Albus’s brow was knit in concentration, trying to find a way to use Merwyn’s attack against him.

“Yes – in my study, actually.”

“Are you forfeiting?” Albus asked with a smile.

“No, just suggesting a temporary cease-fire and adjournment to my study until tea is ready, which should be in about twenty minutes.”

Albus stood and stretched, anticipating some rare and interesting manuscript that Merwyn had recently acquired. “Very well; I can finish beating you after tea just as easily.”

Merwyn laughed and led Albus up one flight of stairs and then to the back of the house to his study, which was a picture of scholarly disarray. He waved his wand and cleared a place for Albus to sit, settling the books that had been piled on the chair on the top of a large stack in the corner of the room. Albus wondered how Merwyn could find anything in the apparent disorder, but Merwyn opened a drawer in his desk, removed some papers and parchments, then pulled out a single parchment from the bottom of the drawer. 

“Here it is.” He didn’t hand it to Albus immediately. “We received an owl about twelve years ago, I think it was September. The contents took us by surprise, initially. I thought Egeria was going to pass out, in fact. But on closer examination, I realised that it had been written several months before, in early January, and it had probably been posted inadvertently by someone at the Ministry after the change in administrations.”

“What is it?” Albus asked curiously.

“It is a letter that Minerva wrote us. We believe that she wrote it to be sent in case of her death. She is unaware that we received it. It seemed inadvisable at the time, and since then, we simply haven’t had an opportunity to mention it. I think you will find it interesting.”

Albus looked at him sharply. “I do not believe it would be appropriate for me to read a letter that she never intended for me and, indeed, that she did not even intend to be sent at all.”

“There is a portion of it that pertains to you, Albus, and contains a message for you. I think that it is something you should read.” Merwyn held out the letter.

“I don’t know . . .” Albus’s curiosity warred with his sense of propriety. Knowing that Minerva had mentioned him in the letter had heightened his curiosity. She must have written it before leaving for France and her rescue of him. The memory of that recalled once more his visit to Minerva in this very house. He had always regretted the way he had handled the situation, although he could never determine what he might have said or done differently, given his state of mind at the time.


	59. Mistakes and Misunderstandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus remembers bringing Carson's letter to Minerva.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Merwyn McGonagall, and Egeria Egidius.

**LIX: Mistakes and Misunderstandings**

The first mistake Albus had made was obvious. He had refused to speak with Minerva immediately after Carson’s funeral. “Refused” was perhaps too strong a word – he had declined to speak with her. The entire event had been stressful for him. Albus had only been released from St. Mungo’s the day before and hadn’t even been up to Apparating to Ireland, instead relying on a Ministry-issued Portkey. He had to speak with Carson’s parents and give them the letter he had helped the boy write. When Minerva had come up to him, he had told her simply that they would have to talk at some other time, that he would see her soon. Albus hadn’t stayed for the wake, leaving immediately after attending the burial and talking with the Murphys. He should have paid more attention to her then, Albus realised. She had been grieving Carson, and he should have been patient and supportive of her.

But then two days later, when he had Apparated to the McGonagall home from London, after first seeking Minerva at the Ministry, he had attempted to provide that patient support, and he had still said and done all of the wrong things, though he didn’t know what would have been the right things to say, given his own state of mind.

It started badly enough when he remarked, quite innocently, that he had first sought her at the Ministry, not realising that she was on leave. She expressed her great displeasure at having been given an enforced leave. When she had come into work on Monday morning, she was told that her job had been eliminated and that she was being reassigned. Until then, she was being given two weeks leave. They gave her absolutely no explanation.

Albus had uncomfortably explained that that had probably been his fault. He had not intended that she be put on leave for two weeks or that she be told that her current job was eliminated. But given the way the Ministry had interpreted his first request that Minerva not be given a dangerous job, it should have come as no surprise that they had handled her promotion so poorly.

“I’m afraid that’s my doing, Minerva – I don’t mean precisely that I asked them to put you on leave and eliminate your job, of course,” Albus said. As Minerva sat and glared at him, he made matters worse by adding, “Just as I didn’t intend that you be given a desk job back when you started at the Ministry.”

“That was you? You did that to me? Why? Didn’t you have any confidence in my ability, Albus?”

“Of course, I did, my dear. I just intended that you be given a job that would keep you safe, away from danger. I thought they would give you a job using your skills, but one that would keep you at the Ministry and away from any fighting –”

“You shouldn’t have done that, Albus! You never even told me – or _asked_ me. Do you know that I have spent months and months doing almost nothing but routing requisitions for Charmed objects? The most excitement I have had is doing research on charms – _research_ , Albus, not any spell development or testing – and even that was rare. I never complained. I felt I was contributing to the war effort, even if I believed that witches whom I had tutored were getting better jobs than I had.” Angry tears welled in Minerva’s eyes. 

Albus listened patiently as Minerva continued to tell him that he had no business interfering in her life, and that it would have been better if he had simply told the Ministry not to hire her – she could have spent the last year and a half doing something that was more useful and interesting somewhere else.

Albus agreed with her, and when she had finally subsided, he said, “I _should_ have said something to you, Minerva, and if I had had any idea what work they had given you, I would have straightened things out immediately. Which is what I just tried to do. With mixed results, obviously. They should have told you that you were being promoted and your previous work was being redistributed. I am sorry. But remember, these are the same people who sent you to France with a belled collar for a Portkey.” He smiled slightly, hoping that she could find some humour in the situation, though he wouldn’t blame her if she couldn’t.

“And precisely what misunderstanding are you going to use to explain why I couldn’t visit you in St. Mungo’s? They told me no one but family, and then I saw Professor Gamp leaving with Headmaster Dippet. I stopped them, and they told me they had just been to see you. Yet when I tried on Saturday afternoon and again on Sunday morning, I was treated like a garden gnome the Welcome Witch was just itching to toss over a hedge.”

“I don’t know, Minerva,” Albus said wearily. “I wasn’t aware that you were trying to visit me, or I would have told them to let you see me. They were trying to keep the press away, I knew that, and others who had no genuine business with me. I am sorry. I would have been happy to see you, to know that you were well.”

“It wasn’t entirely a lost cause, anyway,” Minerva said. “At least I could see Alastor – and Philip. They hadn’t placed such restrictions on him. It was good to know that he made it back and is going to be all right.”

“Yes, Auror Frankel . . . I saw him before he left St. Mungo’s and thanked him for bringing you to France. And that is one reason I am here today, Minerva. I want to thank you. I am indebted to you. You were remarkable. Absolutely remarkable. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, Albus,” she said softly. “And I’m sorry I was upset about the job . . . I’m sure you meant well, and I appreciate that. I am more angry with the Ministry. They seem able to take anything and make a mess of it. It’s a wonder that we are able to make any progress at all against Grindelwald.”

“You’ve only experienced the most bureaucratic aspects of the Ministry. Most of the front-line Aurors are exceptional, and there are a lot of wizards and witches who are working in parallel with the Ministry, doing whatever they are able to do on their own. There is a great deal more competence than you have seen.”

“I hope so.” Minerva sighed and looked at him appraisingly. “Are you fully recovered, Albus?”

“Yes. I tire a little more easily than usual, but I Apparated to London this morning and then up here – my first Apparitions since I was released from St. Mungo’s.”

Minerva was silent for a moment. “I am glad you are doing well, Albus. I was terribly worried about you. When I saw you at Carson’s funeral, I wanted to know how you were. You still looked so pale . . .”

“I know. And I’m sorry if I seemed rude, but I had to see the Murphys, and I was not looking forward to that.”

“I see. I understand. That must have been difficult.”

Albus said, “It wasn’t just that I wanted to tell them of their son’s last hours.” He swallowed and forced himself to maintain his emotional control. “He had written a letter for them. I had helped him write it. I delivered it and told them what a wonderful young man they had raised.”

Minerva nodded. The thought of young, vital Carson now cold and dead in the ground still caused a lump in her throat.

“And I also have one for you, Minerva,” Albus said softly.

“One what?”

“A letter. From Carson. He was very weak. It was the last thing he did.” Albus took the folded paper from one of his pockets. He had cleaned the blood from it, but hadn’t changed it otherwise. “I had to write it down for him. He would have said more, I think, but he could barely speak. I’m afraid I wasn’t in very good shape, either, so if there’s anything that’s illegible . . .”

Minerva took the letter from his hand and looked at it apprehensively before unfolding it and reading it. 

_“My Fair Minerva,_

_“Thank you for spending time with me, especially in London. It was very nice to see you there._

_“You are a good person, Minerva, and I am thankful I was able to know you. When I was with you, I was more myself than I am with anyone else. Time spent with you always left me feeling warm and good._

_“You are meant for someone special, Minerva. I hope you find him. I will see my Gram soon, and I will ask her._

_“Please take care of Professor Dumbledore for me when you see him. He will feel responsible for what has happened._

_“Thank you, my Fair Minerva,  
“Love always,_

_“Carson.”_

Minerva’s eyes filled with tears and the words swam in front of her. She stood and turned away from Albus, looking out the front window at the cold, hard winter’s day. That was so like Carson, asking her to take care of Professor Dumbledore, thinking of someone other than himself even when on the edge of death. Minerva blinked and took a deep, calming breath, trying to drive her sadness away for the moment. She could cry later and remember how kind and sweet and energetic Carson had been. Now, she had to do as Carson had asked.

“Thank you for bringing this to me, Albus. I’m sure it meant a lot to Carson, and it means a lot to me, as well. It must have been quite difficult for you . . . writing the letters, staying with him as he died, all alone there, and injured yourself.” She sat down across from him.

“It is a war, Minerva. This happens. But you are right. It was not easy to watch a boy I knew and loved die, unable to do anything for him and knowing that his death was my fault.”

“Albus, you said that before, but it was _not_ your fault. You did not kill him. You didn’t blow up the jeep or push him into the explosion. You were injured yourself.”

“I might as well have pushed him into the explosion, though, Minerva.” He shook his head. “I told his parents that he died a hero. And he did. He saved my life, Minerva, but only at the expense of his own. When the jeep exploded, he turned to me, shielding me with his own body and pushing me to the ground, out of the way of the flying shrapnel. If he hadn’t done that, he would likely have walked away with only a few scratches and bruises. A piece of metal went right through his chest, Minerva. It would have hit me. It should have. I brought those boys there, and Alastor lost his leg and Carson lost his life. And it wasn’t even a battle. Do you understand what I am saying? Carson died for nothing.”

“What? How can you say such a thing? You just said he died a hero. And he did. It may not have been a battle, but he died doing something important to him, and if what you say is accurate, then he died saving you. That certainly was _not_ dying for nothing, Albus, and it’s an insult to his memory to say that, or even to think it.” Minerva’s voice was calm but insistent. Clearly Carson had been right; Albus did feel responsible for what happened, and he needed her to take care of him.

“I know that he was important to you, Minerva. It was clear that he loved you. I took him from you,” Albus said hoarsely.

“You are incorrect. He was important to me, a good friend. And he may have loved me. But you did not take him from me. You were with him when he was wounded and when he died. He saved your life, but you did not cause his death. And you seem to think that we were . . . involved. We weren’t, not the way you seem to think. He was a very good friend. And as his friend, I have to tell you that saving you gave his death – and his life – meaning. Do not denigrate that.”

“Minerva, Minerva.” Albus sighed. “You cannot understand. I was responsible for them, and Carson would be alive if it weren’t for me. You and he could be together in London this very day if it weren’t for his foolish actions.”

Minerva stood. “Carson’s death is sad, but it is not tragic, Albus. He saved _you_. He may not be here, but you are. Do not belittle the sacrifice that Carson made – it is unworthy of you both.”

“I am not belittling Carson, my dear. I am simply putting it in perspective.”

“Albus, grieve for Carson and remember him, but don’t say that you caused his death. As long as you continue to believe that, you won’t be able to appreciate his action in saving your life. It was his _choice_ , Albus. He was a good man. Give him his due. Do not call his actions foolish.”

Albus nodded. “Yes, my dear. He was good, brave, and kind.”

“Albus . . . please tell me that you understand that his death was not your fault, and that his action in saving you was his choice, and his choice was noble and worthwhile.”

Albus sat, slouched over, and looked at his hands folded on his knees. Minerva went to him, putting an arm around his shoulders. “Please let me help you, Albus. Stay here a while with us. You don’t need to go back to Hogwarts right away. Mother and Dad like you; they’d be happy to have you stay. I still have a week before I have to return to the Ministry. Or I could come to Hogwarts, stay in Hogsmeade. We could talk whenever you need to. I know you feel responsible, but you need to come to accept what happened out there on that road and what Carson did –”

“I am _fine_ , Minerva. Our views on the events may differ – but you must remember that I was present and you were not and I am the one who survived while Carson died, not you – but I am fine. I have accepted what happened. It is war. People die, the good and the bad, and even the best, like Carson.” He moved back in his chair, out of Minerva’s partial embrace. “I am fine. I have responsibilities. I do not need to talk. If you need to –”

“Obviously, both Carson and I are fools, then, because I am sure that he would agree with me, and it is his life that you are dismissing. And my offer of help –”

“Your offer is appreciated, but unnecessary. I appreciate what you did in France. You were brave, competent, efficient, and clever. And I am proud of you. But I do not need anything from you now,” Albus said softly.

Minerva stood back from him, eyes flashing. “You _appreciate_ it. You are proud of me. But you don’t need me. I want to be a friend to you, Albus. I wish you would let me. But now I see my true value to you. You won’t talk to me, and you don’t see me as anything more than a little girl who needs protecting. No wonder I ended up a parchment-pusher in the Ministry.” 

She turned and left the room hastily, not looking back. A moment later, Albus heard the front door close.

He couldn’t have handled that worse if he had set out to. When Merwyn came in, Albus could barely look up at Minerva’s father. He probably thought that Albus had said or done something terrible to his daughter. And he supposed, from Minerva’s perspective, he had. He had come to offer her comfort for her loss and had only succeeded in upsetting her. Albus was too tired and distracted to Apparate even the short distance to Hogwarts, so he reluctantly accepted Merwyn’s invitation to stay for their afternoon dinner. And when Merwyn asked that he go find Minerva and tell her that dinner would be served shortly, he agreed. It was his fault that Minerva was out in the cold, windy January weather, after all.

He found her, sitting on a rather precarious looking boulder at the top of the cliff, about twenty feet above him, but hundreds of feet above the rocky ground at the base of the cliff. Albus couldn’t imagine climbing up there, and he remembered how Minerva’s grandfather had died falling from these cliffs. Heart in his mouth, he called up to her. She looked down at him and then turned away to face the ocean.

“Minerva, please come down. _Carefully_ ,” he called to her again. “I am sorry, Minerva.”

“Why don’t you come up?” she answered.

Albus looked at the sheer, rocky cliff. He couldn’t climb up there, not on such a windy day in his current condition, anyway.

“I can’t,” he yelled through the wind.

“It’s a short Apparition. There’s room here beside me.” Minerva moved over a little, making more room for him. “If you can Apparate from the Pyrenees to the Pennines, I’m sure you can make this short hop.”

Albus Apparated beside her and automatically closed his eyes. He almost never suffered from vertigo, and this was apparently one of those very rare occasions, possibly a residual side-effect of his head injury. After acclimating to the height, he very gingerly sat down next to Minerva.

“Your father sent me to get you for dinner. It will be served shortly.”

Minerva just nodded.

“So you Apparated up here,” he said, trying to sound conversational.

“No.”

“Oh.” Albus looked down at the hard, rocky ground several hundred feet below them. “You should be very careful, Minerva. These cliffs are dangerous. Collum, your grandfather, died not far from here.”

“I am very aware of that, Professor Dumbledore. I have been walking these cliffs since I was a small child. I suggested Apparition for you because I thought you would find it more convenient.” She fell silent again.

“Minerva, I am sorry. I truly am. I came here to offer you comfort and support, and instead I upset you more than I would have if I’d simply handed you Carson’s letter and left. I just don’t know what to say.”

“Professor, sometimes if you don’t know what to say, it’s best not to say anything at all. Grandmother Siofre used to tell me that. It seems apt at the moment.” Minerva gazed off into the distance, where Albus could just make out the ocean frothing under the hard January wind.

They sat in silence for a while. “Are you coming in for dinner?”

Minerva didn’t answer his question and she didn’t look at him. “You know, Professor, what Carson did, it didn’t end when he pushed you out of the way of the explosion. It didn’t even end when he died. It won’t ever end, not really. Whatever you do for the rest of your life, for good or for ill, will be thanks to Carson. Aside from your friends, colleagues, and students who will benefit from your continued life, companionship, and teaching, the wizarding world is relying on you to help bring this war to an end. I have faith that you can do this, that you _are_ doing this. When you end this war, when you defeat Grindelwald, Carson will be there with you because he made it possible. So never again say, never even _think_ , that Carson’s death was meaningless or his choice foolish. He may not get the recognition that he deserves for it, but he wouldn’t care about that. He would just be happy that he was able to help you to succeed and then go on to live the rest of your life. That was the way Carson was. That’s why you loved him and why his death is painful for you. But clearly I cannot help you with that.” Minerva stood. “We should go in to dinner now, Professor.”

Albus closed his eyes and Apparated to the ground below, then looked up to where Minerva was still standing, her loden cloak whipping about her, her black hair, loosed from its bun by the wind, streaming behind her as she looked out toward the ocean. She was beautiful, strong yet vulnerable, and Albus felt closer to tears than he had that whole day. In a blink of his eye, she transformed into a tabby cat, and seeming even more vulnerable than she had before, she climbed and leapt down the rocky cliff face to stand beside him. She looked up at Albus and returned to her ordinary form.

They went in to dinner and never spoke of it after that day. It was weeks before Albus saw Minerva again. At first, he had been too uncomfortable to even write her a letter, and then he was simply too busy, barely having time to eat or to sleep until that early morning in March when he brought a final end to Grindelwald.


	60. The Magic of Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus reads Minerva's letter and spends the rest of the afternoon with the McGonagalls. Minerva returns from visiting her Great-uncle Perseus. She has learned something interesting about Albus.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Merwyn McGonagall, and Egeria Egidius.

  


**LX: The Magic of Memory**

Albus reached for the letter Merwyn held out to him. He took it, but didn’t look at it.

“I don’t know, Merwyn –”

“Well, you decide. I’m going to go see how Egeria is managing with Fwisky. You know where the dining room is. Come along whenever you’re ready.” Merwyn reached behind him and Summoned a bottle of Scotch whisky from the top shelf of one of the bookcases. A short glass sailed along behind it. “Have another glass, if you like.” He poured a shot into the glass and set it down on the desk in front of Albus.

Merwyn clapped Albus on the back as he passed him on his way out of the study. “Take your time, Albus! Tea will wait.”

Albus looked down at the letter in his hand. The parchment was folded in half. The experience in France had placed a strain on his relationship with Minerva. Not the events themselves so much as his reaction to them, the way he had handled the aftermath. Minerva had been correct, of course. Carson’s death was not for naught. He had even known that at the time, intellectually, but it was difficult to face the fact that he lived while Carson was dead, and he felt responsible for his death and for the loss of Alastor’s leg. And yet it was the first time that he experienced both the pain he came to associate with separation from Minerva and that ache in his heart when he had rejected her generous offer of comfort and support.

Blindly, Albus reached out and picked up the small glass and took a sip of the smooth, warming Muggle whisky. He paused, then drank off the rest of it. He didn’t know why Merwyn would want him to read this letter, sent by accident so many years before, but now he was curious, despite his hesitation to reopen a painful time in his life or to invade Minerva’s privacy.

Albus unfolded the parchment.

_“Dear Mother and Dad,_

_“If you are reading this, then I must apologise for the pain I have caused you. You must know that I wanted to return home to you, and that I would have done what I could in order to see you again. But you also know that I could not refuse the mission that was given me – I do not know if you are aware of its nature, so best not speak of it here – nor could I leave anyone behind if leaving him would mean abandoning him to an evil fate._

_“You have both always given me the greatest encouragement and love that any daughter could receive from any parents. You always allowed me the freedom to find my own path, and, where possible, gave me the tools to do so successfully. I have always known that you were as proud of me as ever you could be, no matter what I chose to do. So please, be proud now. You raised me to find what was right and to pursue it. I am doing that now._

_“Please give my love to Malcolm, Morgan, and Murdoch, and Melina, too. Tell her to study hard when she gets to Hogwarts, and to take advantage of the opportunity to learn everything she can._

_“There is one other thing that I must mention. It may be possible that although I do not return, another will. You will remember this person well, as I did not throw up on his shoes, as you had warned him I might, Mother. It is likely that in this event, he will feel some guilt that he was unable to bring me back with him. You must tell him that I did only what I had to do, and that, as I wished to ‘emulate him in every way,’ could not choose to do otherwise. Remind him, too, that I am a Gryffindor and a McGonagall, and we tend to be a bit headstrong; no one could have prevented me from coming after him and finding him, and no price would be too high to pay in order to accomplish that. I only hope that I was sufficiently successful in my task that he was able to return, even if without me. If I was successful in that regard, please tell him that my gratitude toward him is immeasurable, and that some of my happiest memories include time spent with him._

_“Do know that I love you all, although I may not say it often enough._

_“With apologies,  
“I remain your loving daughter,_

_“Minerva  
“5 January 1945”_

Albus took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. He re-read the paragraph that without doubt referred to him. Minerva would have given her life to see that he escaped. He had witnessed it himself in that moment when she had handed him the Portkey and told him that he had to use it and leave without her, if necessary. Albus didn’t know if he would have been able to do that, and he was grateful he hadn’t had to find out. It would have been the technically correct action, and he had often had to make hard choices, but that was one choice he was very glad he hadn’t been required to make.

Young Minerva’s devotion and concern for him were touching, even now. More so were the final words meant specifically for him. Happy memories of time spent with him – her happiest memories. She had been a beautiful child and had grown to become a beautiful young woman. And when Albus thought back on Minerva’s days as a student, he knew that many of his happiest memories from that time also included her. He shuddered and dropped the letter on the desk. He disgusted himself, thinking of his love for Minerva and reflecting on his memories of her as a student. He was old enough to be her grandfather – her great-grandfather, in fact. Perhaps that was why Merwyn had given him the letter to read, to remind him of his correct place in Minerva’s life, as teacher, mentor, Headmaster.

Merwyn had seemed friendly enough. A man doesn’t generally play chess and share drinks with someone he suspects of having an inappropriate relationship with his daughter. Why had he shown him that letter? What could be the purpose now, so many years after it had been written? 

Hands on the armrests, Albus stood stiffly and blinked. He shouldn’t have had that last drink. One thing was certain, whatever Merwyn’s purpose had been in showing it to him, the effect of the letter was to make him feel worse for not having been a better friend to Minerva after Carson’s death and for having turned away her offer of help. Perhaps that was why Minerva had left the castle with scarcely a word. He had again rejected her gestures of friendship, although that was not what he had intended to do. But it could have seemed that way to her. He simply wished to avoid being alone with her for very long at one time, as well as to encourage her to make time for other friends. Albus didn’t want Minerva to become so accustomed to spending her time with him that she neglected opportunities for happiness in her life, not to mention he wanted to avoid inappropriate gestures of affection on his part. Yet if it made her so unhappy . . . he would simply have to find another way to control his feelings for her.

Albus left Merwyn’s study and headed down the hall toward the dining room to join Egeria and Merwyn for tea, wondering if Minerva had returned yet and what he would say to her if she had. Reading the letter she had written twelve years ago had put him in a peculiar mood, even more so than he had been when he’d Apparated to the McGonagalls’ doorstep with his pathetic excuse for a visit. He was behaving like a teenager with a crush, which, at his age, he thought, meant that he was behaving like an old fool. At the same time, he felt oddly relaxed after his afternoon of chess with Merwyn – probably a side-effect of the Scotch whisky Merwyn had kept pouring him. Albus liked his occasional glass of wine or small snifter of brandy, but it was actually a rare treat for him, since he was very busy and relied heavily on maintaining his wits and his magic, so the whisky was a bit more than he was used to, particularly in the middle of the day.

Tea was lovely, with several different kinds of sandwiches to choose from, little cakes, fresh berries, both clotted cream and heavy cream, and, of course, perfectly brewed tea. Conversation ranged widely, and Albus found himself feeling quite warm, relaxed, and sated by the end.

“You know, Albus, Minerva should be returning soon, but you may have time to finish your game with Merwyn beforehand.”

“I really can’t impose upon your hospitality any longer, Egeria,” Albus replied.

“Nonsense! It would be foolish to leave now, when your entire purpose in coming here today was to see Minerva. Merwyn,” she said, turning to her husband, “you take Albus back into the library. I’ll send Minerva along when she returns.”

Albus acquiesced and allowed Merwyn to lead him back into the library. 

“I don’t know about you, Albus, but that heavy tea has made me a bit sleepy. I don’t know if I’m up to continuing our game just yet. Why don’t we sit and have a chat instead? And if we doze off, well, Egeria is very good at waking one just as one is in the midst of a lovely dream!”

Albus laughed and settled down in one of the armchairs across from the old horsehair settee. “You awaken from one lovely dream to another, I would say, Merwyn.”

Merwyn smiled and took his pipe from its place on the mantle. “That I do, Albus, that I do. Egeria is a remarkable woman – intelligent, efficient, energetic, a very talented midwife, but also one of the warmest, most loving women to walk this earth – at least, I think she is. Not that we haven’t had our ups and downs, but they have been minor ones. It was hardest once all of the children were gone, of course, but then Melina was born, and she had her first grandchild to dote on.” Merwyn laughed. “Not that I haven’t done my share of doting, naturally. But Egeria, my wonderful and most constant companion through life, she adds more to my days than I can properly express . . . You know, Minerva takes after her mother in many ways. And once she has decided to settle down with her wizard, I am sure they will both be very happy.”

“So Minerva is seeing someone?”

“Hmm?” Merwyn puffed a few times to get the tobacco glowing. “No, not really. You know Minerva, after all . . . by the way, did you read the letter she wrote?”

Albus, wishing he had his pipe to occupy himself with, said, “Yes, I did. It was . . . remarkable.”

“Yes, we thought so at the time, once we got over the shock of receiving it.” Merwyn puffed a few more times. “She is quite devoted to you, you know, Albus,” he said, looking down at the bowl of his pipe.

It took almost all of Albus’s concentration not to blush. “Yes, and she has become a good friend over the years. She is doing very well at Hogwarts, too. I should tell her that more frequently, I believe. 

“It is easy to take friendship and loyalty for granted, of course, and to make assumptions about it. And easiest, I think, to take for granted those whom we love most. I have learned that, and I don’t take my dear Egeria for granted, not when life is short and every moment precious.”

“You are a very lucky wizard, Merwyn.”

“Partly lucky, partly astute – I recognised what I could have with Egeria and grasped it with both hands, never to let go . . .”

“Yes, one must take advantage of opportunities that arise, in life as in war.” Reading Minerva’s letter had carried Albus back to the years of Grindelwald.

“But life is not all war, Albus, do not forget that.” Merwyn grinned. “Look at me! Here I am, lecturing you on how to live life, you, whose life is so full.”

Albus just laughed. He could envy Merwyn, in some ways, if that were an emotion he were prone too. But envy and regret, he had learned long ago, are enemies of the present, enemies of life; they become your friends only when they are useful in impelling you to take some positive action, then leave them behind in the process.

“Up to finishing our game?” Merwyn asked, looking at Albus appraisingly. “Egeria’s cream cakes can make you a little sleepy.”

“They were very good – I was surprised that she made them herself, since you have house-elves.”

“There are a great many things that Egeria prefers to do herself. That independence and quirkiness appealed to me when we met. And her cream cakes, too.” He grinned.

The two men got up and resumed their game. Merwyn cleaned his pipe and sent it sailing back to take its place on the mantle, then he cleared the room of the tobacco smoke. “Egeria allows me a few vices, as long as they are occasional and I clean up after myself.”

Albus smiled. “I like an occasional pipe, myself. I find it relaxing . . . the ritual as much as the smoking itself.”

Merwyn nodded knowingly, then moved his knight, simultaneously endangering Albus’s remaining castle and his queen. If he moved his queen out of danger, he would lose his castle and his bishop would be placed in danger, and he couldn’t subsequently move the bishop without opening his king to check. But he was not going to allow Merwyn to decide which piece he would move next. Instead, he counterattacked, placing Merwyn’s bishop and second knight both in danger, and creating a defence for his own bishop so that Merwyn wouldn’t be able to take it without losing his knight in the process. Merwyn would have to decide to defend or attack. Either way, they’d both be down a couple men. 

Merwyn laughed. “You don’t scare easily, do you, Albus?”

Albus just chuckled. In the end, Albus won the game, but only after Merwyn had put up quite a fight.

“A drink to celebrate?”

“You know, Merwyn, I would think you’re trying to get me drunk,” Albus joked.

“I don’t have company as often as I would like.” Merwyn shrugged.

“I won’t be able to Apparate to Hogwarts if you continue pouring the whisky.”

“We’re on the Floo-Network now – just were hooked up a few weeks ago, so I still forget. You could always Floo back to Hogsmeade. Or just stay the night. I know Egeria and Minerva would both be pleased to have you stay.”

“I have to get back. I didn’t make arrangements to be gone overnight. I should be leaving soon,” Albus said, shaking his head.

“Stay, Albus. Minerva will be here soon.”

Albus stood. “I don’t know –”

The crack of Apparition outside the window interrupted his thought. Merwyn smiled. 

“She still Apparates to the front of the house even though we altered the family wards several years ago to include her. It took us a while to get around to it, she was gone so much.” He grinned triumphantly at Albus. “There goes your excuse to leave!”

Sure enough, a moment later, the door opened and Minerva stepped in, looking fresh and lovely.

“Mother said I have a visi – Albus?” Minerva stopped partway into the room.

Merwyn got up. “I’ll just leave you two to your business, then. Thank you for the games, Albus. We’ll have to have a rematch sometime.”

“What are you doing here?” Minerva asked after her father had left the room. “I don’t mean to be rude, but this is a surprise.”

“I, um, brought you these. If you wanted them. I don’t want to disrupt your holiday. I’m sorry. It was inconsiderate of me . . . but your father asked for a game or two of chess, so I stayed a while. I was just thinking of leaving.” Albus stood.

“Oh. What are those?” Minerva asked, pointing to the file of parchments Albus had picked up.

“Just the applications I had mentioned. Another one arrived this morning, and I thought of you, and I just thought I’d pop around and deliver them myself.” His excuse sounded even weaker to his own ears than it had before.

“You didn’t need to do that, Albus. If it was important that I get them, you could have sent an owl; otherwise, I will be back at Hogwarts in a day or two.”

“I know . . . it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I’m sorry; I’ll be on my way. You can fetch them when you return.”

“Did you want me to look at them, Albus? You can leave them, if you like. And you don’t need to leave right away – unless you want to.”

“All right.” He held out the file. “I also thought it would be nice to see you. I . . . wanted to be sure you were well.”

Minerva took the file and put it back down on the low coffee table. “Why wouldn’t I be well?” she asked quizzically.

“Your departure was somewhat abrupt, and I worried that –”

The library door opened and Egeria came in. “I thought so,” she said, shaking her head. “Merwyn just left the two of you in the library.” She turned to her daughter. “Take him for a walk. Show him the gardens. Your father’s had him locked away in here all day playing chess and doing God knows what. Plying him with drink, too. It’s a beautiful evening. You both need some fresh air.”

Before Albus knew what was happening, he was standing outside with Minerva, who was smiling. 

“Mother certainly can be forceful, can’t she?” Minerva said, observing Albus’s puzzled expression. “Let’s take that walk, shall we? And I can reassure you that I am quite well. I just wanted a couple days of rest. Although I was a bit concerned that I had offended you in some way.” She took his arm and led him around behind the house toward her mother’s kitchen gardens, which she believed would interest Albus more than the flower gardens.

“No, no, not at all, my dear, not at all. I really do like the quill and the ink very much. And it was nice to have you back in the castle.” Albus hesitated. “I was disappointed, to be honest, to learn you were gone again so soon, although of course you should certainly feel free to visit your family whenever you like.”

“I didn’t want to sit idle in my rooms at Hogwarts today, and I hadn’t been home in a while . . . I had a very nice visit with my Uncle Perseus and Aunt Helen this afternoon – I hadn’t seen them in an age – and Malcolm was around for lunch, too.”

“That’s nice. I haven’t seen Perseus in years – I don’t think I’ve seen him since . . . well, for a long time, anyway,” Albus said, not wanting to say that he didn’t think he’d seen him since before he’d begun teaching at Hogwarts. It was foolish of him; it wasn’t as though he could hide his age from Minerva, after all, not that there’d be any point to it.

“Yes, he’d mentioned the same thing. He said you’d been fairly close at one time – you, Collum, Perseus, a few others.”

Albus nodded.

“I hadn’t known that you’d been married, Albus,” Minerva said softly.

“It was a very long time ago, my dear.” Albus sighed. He was as old as he was, and there was no escaping it. “You may find it difficult to understand how it could be so, but I rarely even think of it anymore. No disrespect meant to Dervilia. But it has been a very long time.”

“He told me what happened, Albus. It sounded very sad.”

Albus stopped and fingered some mint, plucking it and crushing it a bit between his fingers. “It was sad. Beyond sad, Minerva. I blamed myself for quite a long time. And rightly so.” He looked over at Minerva. “I assume he told you how she died.”

“Yes. I can see now why it might be difficult for you to visit Robert and Thea.”

“What? Did Robert say something?” He appeared surprised.

“Not very much, and I misinterpreted it at the time. Just that he understood why you hadn’t visited. I assumed it was because Robert knew how busy you’ve been. But now I see that it might recall unpleasant memories.”

“I hadn’t thought of that . . . but perhaps . . .” Albus looked over toward the calendula. “Perhaps that was part of it. I don’t want him to go through what I did.”

“Did you love her very much, Albus?” Minerva asked quietly.

“Not enough, as you would know if Perseus told you the whole story. My mother had tried to convince me to take one of the house-elves. I told her it was unnecessary until the baby had actually come. But I spent days at a time away from home. Dervilia was alone. The cottage was isolated. She’d been dead a day when I Apparated home and found her. It was a very expensive lesson to me, Minerva, and I was not the only one to pay the price.” He looked sombre.

“I’m sorry, Albus, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Albus turned toward her and smiled slightly. “It was a very long time ago, Minerva. I was married for a blink of an eye, it seems now. Less than two years after we married, Dervilia was gone. The dreadful thing of it is, that before it happened, I would have been happier to be free. I married because I thought it was the thing to do. And I loved Dervilia – as a boy loves a girl. I saw no reason I couldn’t proceed with all of my plans, just as I would have if we hadn’t married. It was fine at first, but then she became pregnant. As I say, I was very young. I had not wanted children so soon – later, of course. But I didn’t change my habits. I left her in the cottage in Ireland and spent days at a time at my Potions apprenticeship in England. Apprentices weren’t supposed to be married back then, and my Master was making a great exception in taking me on. So I behaved as though I weren’t married. It was very wrong of me. But I had a narrow view of the world at the time, being so young.” He shrugged. “But you know, it was close to one hundred years ago, my dear, and one lives and one learns.”

Minerva nodded and gestured to Albus to follow her over to the wooden bench sheltered under a pergola covered by vines filled with heavenly-scented purple blossoms, taking his arm as they walked. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the bees and enjoying the light breeze.

Minerva finally said, “We all make mistakes. It’s just that some of them have graver consequences than we could have ever dreamed of. But, as you say, it was a long time ago.”

“Did Perseus also tell you about my other ‘youthful mistake,’ then? Why I left?”

“Not really. He did say that there was an incident, after which you travelled and studied, and didn’t return for years.”

“Yes . . . well, as long as we’re discussing my foolish youth, I will tell you of it.” He sighed and looked off into the distance before turning to her. “It was not the same sort of mistake. The first was a sin of omission; this was a sin of commission. 

“I had a friend who was engaged to be married. I had arranged to meet them both at her flat in London. We were going to go out to dinner in Diagon Alley after he was done for the day at the Ministry. I arrived at the flat, my friend wasn’t there yet, but his fiancée was. She wasn’t alone; there was another wizard there. He was attacking her, Minerva, in the worst way. Apparently he was a former beau, someone who was upset about what he couldn’t have and so he decided to try and take it. I saw him and I lost my temper. Badly. I don’t know what I did to him, but I didn’t even draw my wand. He remained a patient at St. Mungo’s until he died about a dozen years later. 

“I destroyed his mind, Minerva. I didn’t intend to, but I was so angry, I lost control. No one else held me responsible for it, given the circumstances, but _I_ did. I needed to learn more than I had at Hogwarts, more than I could in any apprenticeship, so I travelled. I travelled and I learned.”

“What about your apprenticeship? Had you finished it?”

“No. This incident, so close on the heels of Dervilia’s death . . . I felt a murderer twice over. I talked to my uncle. He recommended I take some time and travel. So I did. Longer than I thought I would. But, as I say, I learned a lot. I did attain my mastery in both Transfiguration and Potions, eventually, and I met Nicholas Flammel and his wife, Perenelle, and I worked with him for a time. Then I returned to Britain, did research, and,” he said with a shrug, “attempted to lead a normal life.”

“I’d say you have led a superior life, Albus, not just a normal one.”

Albus chuckled. “I suppose that is my notion of ‘normal.’ One thing I learned, quite painfully, Minerva, is that with great gifts comes great responsibility. I have attempted to live up to that responsibility. I hope that I do so most of the time.” He looked over at Minerva, who was observing him with an inscrutable expression. “Today, I was reminded very strongly of that cold January day when I Apparated here to deliver Carson’s letter to you. I . . . I don’t think I did the right thing that day. For you. What you needed from me.”

Minerva took his hand. “You tried, Albus. I know you did. But you were still suffering, yourself. And, of course, you felt responsible. I knew that then, but I didn’t know how to get through to you, to get you to see that you did all you could, just as Carson did all he could. I was not particularly understanding, I’m afraid, but I was upset, too.”

“You were very understanding, Minerva, and perceptive.”

“That short letter you wrote, after Grindelwald, it meant a lot to me.”

Albus smiled mildly. “It was about all I could manage at the time, but I thought it was important that you knew . . . what you said was true,” he said, remembering the note he wrote her, whose contents read simply, _“We did it, Carson and I, together.”_

Minerva smiled, herself, at the memory. She had gone to St. Mungo’s to see Albus the day after receiving his owl. The _Prophet_ had gone into several special editions, covering the final defeat of Grindelwald, and Minerva fully expected to be turned away just as she had been after the incident in France, but she felt the need to go, nonetheless. She was on a short list of approved visitors, however, and she had been allowed up to see Albus. It had been a relief; Minerva hadn’t known what to expect, but he was sitting up in bed, eating beef stew with potatoes and carrots. He had grinned broadly when he saw Minerva. He explained that he was more tired than anything else and would be released the next morning. When Minerva asked him what had happened, how he had defeated Grindelwald, a look of pain crossed his face. 

“Not without loss, Minerva, great loss.” He set down his knife and fork, and a bleakness entered his eyes that caused Minerva’s own heart to clench in sympathy. Knowing that he had probably already been inundated by questions from the Ministry, Minerva asked nothing more. Whatever she needed to know, she had learned from the brief letter he had sent her the day before.

Now, beneath the vine-covered arbour, Minerva squeezed Albus’s hand. “Stay for supper?”

Albus opened his mouth to decline the invitation, as he sensibly should, given the feelings rising in him as Minerva held his hand, but instead he heard himself saying, “I’d like that.”

Minerva relaxed, unaware she had even been tense. “Good. Would you like to see the rest of the garden? And perhaps take a leisurely walk along the cliffs?”

Albus grinned. “As long as you don’t have me Apparating to the top of any precipices.”

“Not today. Maybe next time!”

“Yes, maybe next time,” he said wryly.

“I’ll hold you to that, then, Albus.” Minerva chuckled.

As they walked, Minerva’s hand resting lightly in the crook of his arm, Albus asked, “Have you given any more thought to the Head of House position, my dear? Gertie mentioned in her letter that she’d discussed it with you.”

“Did she tell you that I was unsuitable?” Minerva asked, remembering the way they had left the conversation and Gertie’s last remark, which still stung.

“No, quite the contrary, in fact. She told me that she thought you would be _very_ suitable,” he replied, puzzled by the tone of Minerva’s question. 

“Oh. I thought . . . our conversation on the topic did not end on a positive note, that’s all.”

Albus smiled wryly. “You probably were talking at cross-purposes. I could see that potential quite clearly during staff meetings this year. You tend to focus on the way in which Gertie says something and respond to that rather than to what she is saying.” At Minerva’s frown, he added, “Which is perfectly understandable, of course, as you don’t know her well and she tends to be somewhat terse.”

“I am a great fan of brevity and succinctness, myself, Albus. I simply don’t always understand what her point is, I suppose.”

“So, have you given it more thought?”

“Yes, but, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to wait to make any decision,” she answered.

Albus nodded. “That’s fine. But I’d like your answer before the end of the month. I need to be able to make plans for the school year. Waiting much longer than that would make it more difficult.”

“Of course, Albus. I understand that.”

“I don’t want to pressure you, Minerva, but I really do hope that you take the job. I think you would be very good, and as a Head of House, you would have an opportunity to exercise more authority within the school, more leadership. I believe that both you and the school could only benefit from that.”

“Thank you, Albus. It means a lot to me that you have confidence in me,” Minerva said softly.

“More than just confidence, Minerva, but complete faith.”

The two fell silent as they walked, now on the rocky path along the cliff’s edge. 

“How long had you planned to stay with your parents?” Albus asked after a while.

“I hadn’t really decided. Just a couple of days, I suppose.”

“When you come back, we might be able to go through the applications together, the first few . . .”

“That might be a good idea – that way I’ll know what kind of things you think important to consider. Would you like to do that tomorrow?”

Albus smiled and nodded. “That would work well. I have time tomorrow. Just come up when you are ready.”

“All right, then, I’ll return to Hogwarts in the morning and join you after I’ve dropped my things in my room.” Minerva felt like singing. Albus wanted to see her. Only to go over applications, but after his letter in which he said he’d always seek an excuse to spend time with her, and the fact that he’d come to see her at her parents about it when there were only a few applications to look at so far, she had no doubt that he _did_ want an excuse to spend time with her now. The question was, what had been wrong the day before? Why had he seemed so distant? She was hesitant to ask him; if she had offended him somehow, she would like to know. On the other hand, bringing it up might cause him to withdraw again. She wished things were simpler.

“You know, Albus, last week when we talked, we said we’d try to resolve misunderstandings before they took on greater proportions than they deserved. I was wondering if I said or did anything yesterday that bothered you. You seemed so reserved after dinner . . .”

“I was tired, to be honest, and I had a headache in the afternoon. I wasn’t at my best . . . also, the mention of Gordon’s widow brought back unpleasant memories, which I was unprepared to discuss.”

Gordon’s widow? He must be speaking of Valerianna. Well, if he could scarcely bring himself to speak her name, Minerva wasn’t going to force him to. 

“I’m sorry, Albus. I didn’t realise –”

“Don’t give it another thought, my dear. Truly.” He patted the hand that rested on his elbow. “It did sound as though you had a nice time with Quin, though.”

Not that again. Minerva hoped Albus wasn’t going to mention that Quin was a “catch” again. “Yes, he is very entertaining. Quin mentioned that he knows you slightly.”

“He and his children have often been there when I’ve visited Gertie, and I’ve seen him at other social events, as well, but we haven’t spent much time together. I should rectify that. Perhaps you could invite him to visit Hogwarts soon, Minerva. You did promise him a tour, after all.”

“Yes, I did. Do you suppose I could show him the different House common rooms? Since he wasn’t a student here, he’s quite curious. I’m certain that Wilhelmina would agree to have him take a peek into Gryffindor Tower, and Johannes would probably enjoy showing him Ravenclaw Tower, himself, but I am unsure about Slytherin and Hufflepuff. Professor Dustern is still Head of Hufflepuff, but she’s left the school, and Slytherin tends to be quite secretive – not to mention that Slughorn is gone for the summer.”

“They will all be back for the ward renewal. It is the last of Professor Dustern’s responsibilities, after which she will be free to leave Hogwarts and never return. However, if you’d like to give him the tour before that, I can contact Horace for you. I think he’d agree. As for Hufflepuff . . . you might have Poppy ask her, as a favour to her, since she used to be Poppy’s Head of House.”

“That’s a good idea. I’m sure Poppy would be happy to do it – I’ll write to her tonight and have her ask her permission. I don’t know when Quin will be able to visit, perhaps in the next week or two. Which reminds me, while I was visiting Malcolm and my aunt and uncle, Melina’s little owl found me. She agreed on the twentieth to meet with us. Brennan will meet us at her friend’s flat – the one he thinks she shares with her. She suggested two o’clock. Brennan will have shut up his chemist’s shop for the day by then, and she’ll have lunch with him before she brings him up.”

Albus nodded seriously. “Yes, that would work well. We will have a few hours so that once the initial spells are cast, we can answer his questions.” He looked sharply at Minerva. “I do hope I will not have to _Obliviate_ him, Minerva. I dislike doing that for any reason other than to avert a major crisis.”

“I shouldn’t think so . . . after all, after the spells are cast and the ritual is performed, it’s not as though he’ll be able to talk about it with other Muggles, and he will only be able to discuss it with witches and wizards whom Melina introduces to him as such.”

“I know, but if he finds it too difficult to deal with – a completely new reality – I don’t want the boy to live in a state of psychological torment.”

“I have only met him once, but I found him to be a bright man, quite steady,” Minerva said. “I think he will be resilient. Most important of all, he really seems to love Melina. I think that will help a lot. Love is a great motivator.”

“Yes, indeed, it is,” Albus answered with a smile. “But back to Quin. Let me know when he will be coming, and I will try to be available to meet with him. When will you see him next?”

“I really don’t know, Albus. I told him I would owl him about the tour of Hogwarts; other than that, I have no plans to see him.”

“Oh, what a pity! It sounded as though you got along quite well.”

“Yes, we did. And having no plans to see him again doesn’t mean that I won’t, just that I have no specific plans to do so.” Minerva looked over at him with a frown. “I do hope you aren’t going to suggest again that he is a ‘catch,’ Albus. He does not want a relationship with any witch right now, and I am not interested in him in that way, in any case.”

“No, no, just trying to be supportive of your friendships, my dear,” Albus said with a smile. “After all, although it is fortunate that Poppy is also working at Hogwarts, and you have other congenial colleagues, it is always nice to maintain relationships outside the school, and that can be difficult, given the amount of time you spend there.”

“Thank you, Albus, but I think I can manage my friendships, both in and out of Hogwarts. And what of you? You mentioned Poppy, but we are friends, as well, aren’t we, Albus?”

“Of course, my dear, although I can’t help but think that you could find more congenial company than this old codger.”

“Albus, the only time I don’t find your company congenial is when you make statements like that,” Minerva retorted sharply.

Albus’s eyebrows raised at that, but he didn’t respond.

“Come, Mother will have supper for us – you _are_ still staying for supper, aren’t you, Albus, despite being such uncongenial company?” Minerva asked sarcastically.

“Yes. I’m sorry, Minerva. I was only thinking of you,” he said softly.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Minerva sighed, “but I don’t understand why you persist in thinking I wouldn’t enjoy your company. We are friends, we have a good time together, and you _seem_ to enjoy yourself, as well. Unless you say these things because you _don’t_ find my company as congenial as I do yours, and you are trying to let me down gently?”

“No, no, not at all! Truly! Never believe that, Minerva. I _do_ enjoy your company, very much. So much that I am afraid I am in danger of monopolising your time, that’s all.”

Minerva laughed. “We are both so busy, there’s hardly any danger of that. And I doubt very much I would mind being monopolised by you, in any case. And if I have other things to do, I will always tell you, and you must do the same, of course.” Then, thinking of her hurt feelings the night before, she added, “Although I might be a little sensitive if I begin to think you are avoiding me, as you seemed to last night.”

“As I said, I was tired and had a headache. I probably –”

Minerva interrupted him. “I understand that now, Albus, and it’s all right, you needn’t explain again.” She laughed. “We may need to communicate better sometimes, but that doesn’t mean we have to repeat ourselves. Although I will not hesitate to do so myself if it means I must tell you again not to say I must find your company dull.”

“I don’t believe I ever said my company was _dull_ , my dear!” Albus replied with a twinkle. 

“Hmmpf. I will tell you if you are ever in danger of becoming dull and you tell me if I begin to bore you, all right?” Minerva asked with a grin.

“That is a deal, Professor McGonagall!” Albus said, smiling.

The two went in to supper, their eyes sparkling. Merwyn and Egeria looked at one another and smiled.


	61. An Owl from St. Mungo's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva returns to Hogwarts and Albus; an emergency owl arrives from St. Mungo's.
> 
> **Beginning of Part Ten.**
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Gertrude Gamp, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, Rubeus Hagrid, and Johannes Birnbaum.

**Part Ten**  
 **LXI: An Owl from St. Mungo’s**

Minerva kissed her mother and father good-bye the next morning and, for the sake of the novelty of it, Flooed to the Three Broomsticks, and then Apparated from Hogsmeade to the school gates. She walked briskly up to the castle and hurried inside and up the stairs to her rooms. Minerva dropped her carpet bag on the floor just inside the door, then set off for the second-floor entrance of the Headmaster’s office. The first few weeks that Minerva taught, she had difficulty remembering that the entrance was on the second floor, since when she was a student, it had been on the ground floor near the staff room. Minerva wondered why Albus had moved the entrance to the second floor when his classroom was on the first, but then after realising that Professor Gamp’s office, classroom, and living quarters were on the second floor, it occurred to her he may have done it in order to make it easier for his Deputy to access his office. Minerva then deliberately avoided thinking about the fact that the reverse was true, as well.

This morning, however, she simply skipped down the stairs, gave the password to the gargoyle, and rode the stairs up to the Headmaster’s office.

Albus, his eyes smiling, rose from behind his desk when Minerva came into the room. “Good morning, Minerva! You are an early bird!”

“Oh! Am I too early? I can leave and come back –”

“No, no, not at all, my dear! If you did that, I would simply have to sit here and await your return. I assume you’ve had breakfast, but would you like a cup of tea? I have a nice, bracing Assam I enjoy in the morning,” he offered as he came around the desk.

“That would be very nice, indeed. I couldn’t eat anything more, though. Mother stuffed me with a good Scottish breakfast before I left.” She sat in the armchair Albus indicated – thankfully, no longer clad in tartan velvet – and smiled up at him. “Mother and Dad insisted I use the Floo this morning, too. You’d think they believe that it’ll stop working if it isn’t used regularly!”

Albus chuckled. “Yes, I didn’t mind Flooing to the Broomsticks last night, but I was rather taken aback by Egeria’s suggestion that in her medical opinion, I wasn’t fit for Apparition after the whisky I’d drunk – hours before.” He smiled, not genuinely offended.

“Yes, well, how else was she going to convince the greatest Apparater in Britain to use the Floo-Network instead of Apparating? From the Pyrenees to the Pennines, after all,” Minerva said teasingly.

Albus opened his mouth. “It wasn’t –”

“I know, I know, it wasn’t literally from the Pyrenees to the Pennines, but that does have rather nice alliteration, don’t you think? So, are these the applications?” Minerva asked, picking up the slim folder.

While Albus called Wilspy and requested a small pot of tea for the two of them, Minerva picked up the file and began scanning the applications. Albus sat down in the chair next to hers and watched her expression with growing amusement.

“Are these people serious?” Minerva finally asked. “This one, I don’t think he can write in complete sentences, so I wonder how he would set any written work for the students – or even read the textbooks, himself. I thought that perhaps he was not a native English-speaker, but that doesn’t appear to be the problem. Did he actually go through seven years at Hogwarts, Albus?” she said as she handed him the wizard’s semi-literate letter. “And these others, they’re hardly any better – as applicants, anyway, even if they are able to compose a coherent application.”

“Ah, David Fairchild. Nice child, but slid through school. Took only three NEWTs, I believe. Two ‘Acceptables’ and one ‘Outstanding’ – in Care of Magical Creatures, obviously. He was an unusual boy. Quite good with beasts of all sorts, but not particularly talented, otherwise.”

“Hmmpf. Well, I suppose we won’t reject him out-of-hand, then. But this one, Clarissa Quaffenbush. I can’t imagine why she thinks that degnoming her gardens for fifty years qualifies her for a position at Hogwarts!”

Albus laughed. “May I see that one? I didn’t read them, just put them aside for you.” He chuckled as he read it. “I imagine it’s yet another attempt to escape Wilberforce, her husband. Every few years, she takes off on some mad scheme and returns to him a few months later.”

“Poor woman!” Minerva exclaimed.

“If you knew her, you would be saying, ‘Poor Wilberforce!’” Albus said with a smile.

“Well, that’s one that’s a clear ‘no, thank you,’” Minerva said, setting it aside. “Even if she had any other qualifications, we can’t simply be another of her mad schemes!”

The two of them were perusing the fourth application when an imposing Eagle Owl flew into the window and banged against it urgently. Albus rose to let it in, frowning when he saw the green and blue band on its leg. 

“From St. Mungo’s,” he said. “Minerva, would you mind taking care of the owl – there are some phoenix treats in my middle drawer.”

Minerva rose to give the owl some treats as Albus opened the parchment sealed with bright blue wax. She was just holding the clustered seeds out to the large bird when Albus sat down heavily.

“Oh, dear God.”

Minerva froze, seeing Albus’s face, entirely drained of colour, and his eyes glazed.

“Albus? What is it?”

Albus swallowed hard and looked up at her. “I will need your help today, Minerva. Robert. It’s Robert Pretnick, Minerva. He was attacked by a werewolf last night. Bitten. I must get to St. Mungo’s immediately.”

“Of course, Albus. What can I do?” Minerva had gone over goose-bumps – a werewolf. She shuddered at the thought.

“First, please notify Gertrude – can you Apparate there, my dear? Good. Then please notify all of the staff – including Poppy, Hagrid, Ogg, and Madam Perlecta – that there will be an emergency staff meeting tomorrow morning at eight-thirty. Be sure to contact both Professor Dustern and Filius Flitwick. Filius is in Provence – use an Eagle Owl and send his letter first. But ask Horace to return to the school as quick as he can – I want to see him this evening, at the latest. Ask Gertrude to meet me at St. Mungo’s right away. You may inform Gertie of the contents of the letter, but do not tell the others. Simply inform them that there is an emergency and that the Headmaster requires their attendance at the meeting.”

“I will take care of it all, Albus. Don’t worry. But how will they believe the letter is from you, and that it isn’t some hoax or that I’m exaggerating?”

“Use the Headmaster’s seal.” Albus waved his wand. “There – you have access to it now; it’s in the bottom drawer of the desk. And, if you like, sign it with your name and then write mine beneath yours.”

“Very well, Albus. You get going now. Don’t worry about a thing here,” Minerva said, taking the letter he held out to her.

Albus tapped the fireplace with his wand, then tossed in some Floo-Powder, stepped in, and called out, “St. Mungo’s Hospital!”

Minerva read the letter that had so shocked Albus.

_“Healer Crispin Fastnott  
“St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries  
“Creature-Induced Injuries and Ailments_

_“13 July 1957_

_“Dear Headmaster Dumbledore:_

_“It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that Robert Pretnick was admitted to my ward in the early hours of the morning. He told me that, as his employer and in lieu of next-of-kin, you were to be informed that he was injured last night. Witnesses who brought him to St. Mungo’s said that he was admirably brave in protecting four others, including two small children, and that, as a result of his courage, he was the only victim of the attack. Sadly, however, Mr Pretnick was bitten; the perpetrator of the attack was a fully-transformed werewolf._

_“He has stated that he wants no visitors. This is typical in the aftermath of such an attack; however, I believe he could benefit from your presence._

_“Sincerely,_

_“Crispin Fastnott, Healer-in-Charge  
“Creature-Induced Injuries and Ailments”_

Minerva blinked away tears. She had scarcely known the quiet Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, but he had seemed like a good man, and this letter bore that out, if he had sacrificed himself for the sake of others. No time to think about that now, however. Wishing she could activate the Headmaster’s Floo and Floo into Hogsmeade, she rode the stairs down to the second floor, then transformed into her tabby form and ran down to the front doors, returning to her ordinary form only to open the doors before racing as a tabby down to the front gates, jumping through the bars. With barely a pop, she transformed to her ordinary form, caught her breath, and Apparated.

Minerva arrived at the edge of the Gamp gardens and walked as quickly as she could up to the front doors of the great house. Krantzy opened the door to her hard rapping.

Without allowing Krantzy to waste time with elaborate greetings, Minerva said, “I must see Gertrude Gamp. It is very urgent that I see her immediately.”

Krantzy bowed deeply and popped away. Minerva stepped into the cool foyer, hoping she wouldn’t have to wait long.

“Minerva?” Gertrude’s voice floated down from the first floor. She started down the stairs. “Krantzy said you had come to see me –”

“Yes, I am here on Professor Dumbledore’s behalf. There is an emergency.”

The witch’s normally unreadable expression changed to one of worry as she hurried down the stairs. “Albus? What happened? Is he all right?”

“He is fine, but he wants you to meet him at St. Mungo’s immediately.” Not knowing an easier way to break the news, Minerva said, “Professor Pretnick was bitten by a werewolf last night.”

While Gertrude’s reaction was not as strong as Albus’s had been, she went pale and stopped on the second step from the bottom. “A werewolf . . .” she whispered.

“Yes, I have the letter here.” Minerva fished the letter from her pocket and handed it to Gertrude, who unfolded it and read it slowly before giving it back to Minerva.

“The staff will need to be notified . . .”

“The Headmaster has asked me to do that. Right now, he needs you at St. Mungo’s. He’s calling a full staff meeting for tomorrow morning at eight-thirty. I am to tell no one but you the reason for the meeting,” Minerva said.

“Good – I can Apparate from here, but I’m afraid you’ll have to walk out past the wards.”

“I didn’t know where your wards ended, so I Apparated to the edge of the gardens.”

“The wards extend only about halfway across, so no need to walk all that way,” Gertrude replied. “Gluffy! Gluffy!”

“May Gluffy serve?”

“Gluffy, please inform my parents I am leaving the house on Hogwarts business. I don’t know whether I’ll be able to return today or not, so they aren’t to expect me.”

“Yes, ma’am, Madam Gamp.” The squat purplish-grey elf popped away.

“Come, Minerva, I’ll see you out and Apparate from the front step.”

The two witches walked outside. 

“I will see you in the morning, then, if not before.” Gertie nodded to Minerva and Disapparated.

Minerva made her way across the gardens, trying to feel where the wards ended, but unsuccessfully, so when she judged she’d gone a little more than halfway, she Apparated and arrived at the Hogwarts gates a bare moment later. Letting herself in, she walked quickly up to the castle, then made her way back to the Headmaster’s office.

Minerva sat at the Headmaster’s desk and composed the first letter.

_“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
“Headmaster’s Office_

_“13 July 1957_

_“Dear Professor Flitwick:_

_“Headmaster Dumbledore is calling an emergency meeting of the full Hogwarts staff tomorrow, 14 July, at 8.30._

_“It is no doubt an inconvenience to interrupt your holiday, for which the Headmaster and I both apologise, but it is urgent that you attend this meeting._

_“I look forward to meeting you tomorrow morning._

_“Sincerely,_

_“Minerva M. McGonagall,  
“Mistress of Transfiguration_

_“A. Dumbledore,  
Headmaster”_

Minerva composed the next letters based on this one, varying them depending on the individual to whom she was writing, making sure to tell Slughorn that the Headmaster wanted to see him at the castle that night, then made copies of them all for Albus’s files. When she was finished, she opened the bottom drawer of Albus’s desk and took out the Headmaster’s seal and violet sealing wax, then began rolling and sealing the parchments. She had never used a Charmed seal before, so she tried it out on Poppy’s letter first – if she made a mess of it, Poppy wouldn’t mind. Minerva smiled at the result. She only had to wave the seal over the wax, and the wax spread, hardened, and a perfect representation of the Hogwarts Headmaster’s crest embossed itself in the wax. Well, that was easy. 

Minerva finished sealing all of the letters, even those she wasn’t sending by owl. She would hand-deliver the ones to Wilhelmina, Johannes, and Hagrid, who were the only members of staff still in residence. She hoped none of them asked any awkward questions. Albus obviously wanted to tell everyone at once. Minerva thought that the Owlery wasn’t being kept up very well over the summer – she would speak to Albus about that. He may not have noticed the other night, since it was dark. She wondered to whom he’d sent his letter – to Gertrude, probably.

The strongest young Eagle Owl winged away bearing Flitwick’s letter, and Minerva tried to choose owls for the other letters depending on where she believed the staff member was on holiday. When she wasn’t sure where someone was, she picked strong ones. If Slughorn was in Finland, or some such place, she didn’t think that a Scops Owl would be up to such a trip.

Since the entrance to the Owlery tower was on the seventh floor, Minerva thought she would stop and see if Wilhelmina was in her quarters first. The portrait guarding the Gryffindor Head’s door, however, informed her that Wilhelmina had left for lunch already. Minerva had been so busy, she hadn’t realised how late it had become, so she walked down the seven flights of stairs to the staff room, where she found Johannes, Hagrid, and Wilhelmina eating lunch in an apparently awkward silence. 

“Good afternoon!” Minerva said as she walked up to the table. 

Johannes, whose back had been to the door, looked up at her with a relieved smile. “It is good to see you, Minerva,” he said, saying her name as he always did, making it sound more like “Minerfa” than “Minerva.” “You are back in the castle again, yes?”

“Yes, for the time being. I have letters here for each of you, from the Headmaster,” she said, handing them each their letters. “Well, from me, actually, but on behalf of the Headmaster. There will be an emergency meeting of the entire staff tomorrow morning at eight-thirty.”

“An emergency meeting? Of the entire staff?” asked Wilhelmina. “Whatever for?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say. Professor Dumbledore simply asked that I request your presence.” Minerva hesitated. She was only a fellow staff member, after all. “Attendance isn’t optional, but that shouldn’t be a problem for any of us, since we are already all here.”

“Bu’ wha’ happened, M’nerva?” Hagrid asked, looking worried. “Professor Dumbledore, he’s not leavin’ us, is ’e?”

“No, no, of course not. It’s nothing like that. He will tell you all everything tomorrow morning.”

“But you know, Minerva? What this is, this emergency?” asked Johannes.

“Yes. I was with the Headmaster earlier, which is why he asked me to inform everyone of the meeting.” Minerva was uncomfortable not being able to tell her colleagues about Pretnick’s injury, but she would follow Albus’s instructions to the letter.

“What of Gertrude?” asked the German wizard.

“She is with the Headmaster now, I assume. Now,” Minerva said, ready to change the topic, “I am quite hungry. What’s for lunch?”

Despite her words, Minerva found it difficult to eat. At least her presence – and the letters, which each of the others opened and read – had done something to alleviate the uncomfortable silence she’d walked in on. She couldn’t help but notice that Hagrid looked something the worse for wear. His eyes were bloodshot, and it didn’t seem he’d bothered to change his clothes recently. Hagrid, as unkempt as he might appear to some, with his bushy dark beard and somewhat worn clothing, always bathed and changed his clothes after working outdoors. It looked as though he’d slept in the clothes he’d worn the day before, then not changed before coming up to the castle for lunch.

“Hagrid, since we should be expecting staff to trickle back to the school throughout the day, and possibly even overnight, I think it would be good for you to remain on the grounds, make sure that no one has any difficulty entering. Professor Flitwick, the new Charms teacher, will be coming to the meeting, but I don’t know when he will arrive,” Minerva said, hoping that Flitwick wouldn’t arrive until quite late, or even the next morning. The other staff could easily enter the grounds without Hagrid opening the gates for them, and she didn’t want him deciding to visit the Hog’s Head for “a quick pint,” then staying out for hours and ending up in a state worse than his current one. 

“Aye, Minerva,” Hagrid said before taking a large swallow of cider. 

“And it might be wise if we all abstained from anything alcoholic until after the meeting,” Minerva added, with a pointed look at Hagrid’s large mug of dry cider.

Hagrid sighed and reached for the pitcher of pumpkin juice. “Ah’ll need a glass, then.”

“Wilhelmina, could you pass Hagrid a glass, please,” Johannes said.

Wilhelmina passed a glass to Hagrid, who took it without looking at her or acknowledging her in any way.

Minerva shook her head slightly at this peculiar exchange. She had no idea what was going on, but now she thought that the problem was something between Wilhelmina and Hagrid, despite the fact that when Minerva had visited her the other evening and asked about Hagrid, Wilhelmina hadn’t had anything more specific to say than that she had noticed Hagrid seemed upset about something.

Perhaps Johannes knew what the problem was. He had been here for years and knew both Wilhelmina and Hagrid well, and he clearly had become used to relaying messages from Hagrid to Wilhelmina. She wondered if he did it in reverse, as well. How very awkward for him. And how very childish of Hagrid and Wilhelmina. Or, at least, of Hagrid. Wilhelmina had tried to talk to him several days ago, after all, and Hagrid had turned her away. She would have to get to the bottom of this. It couldn’t continue, whatever it was; Albus had enough to deal with without having two feuding staff members on his hands, or even one depressed half-giant. But it would have to wait until tomorrow after the staff meeting. She would take care of it then. In the meantime, she would return to the Headmaster’s office and see if there was anything else she could do there; at the very least, she could see if there had been any owl deliveries.

Minerva excused herself from the table and returned to Albus’s office. She opened the west-facing window and checked the Charmed owl box. There were two letters in it, both addressed to Albus specifically at Hogwarts, rather than with his name alone. Minerva hoped that all of his correspondents were considerate enough to do that. With all of the letters that Albus received, any that were addressed to him without indicating a specific destination would arrive wherever he was at the time. On his particularly busy days, this could result in very exhausted owls, as well as a very harried Headmaster.

One of the letters was from the Wizengamot, judging by the seal, and Minerva put that in the centre of the desk. The other one, which was possibly either personal or Hogwarts business, was enclosed in an envelope, and Minerva put that one above the one from the Wizengamot. She then went back over to where she and Albus had been working that morning and finished reading the last of the applicants’ letters. This was also going to receive a “thank-you-for-your-interest” letter. The wizard was a shopkeeper, owned an owl shop in Manchester, but also, as he had put it, sold creatures that would “appeal to the most discerning witch or wizard,” including Kneazles, Crups, Bowtruckles, and Puffskeins. From what Minerva could tell, that was the extent of his experience with creatures. Hadn’t these people read the advert? What part of XXXX-rated beasts did they not understand? They were supposed to be able to have experience with XXXXX-rated creatures and be able to handle XXXX-rated ones for demonstration purposes; they also had to be experienced enough to supervise a class of adolescents in handling creatures rated at XXX, at the very least. The only applicant who had come close was David Fairchild, and Minerva certainly hoped that the advertisements coming out in the next week would field a better array of candidates.

Minerva decided to send responses to the applicants now, or at least write them for Albus’s later approval. She wrote three polite letters to the three completely ineligible candidates, gently explaining that their interest was appreciated, but that the position was unsuited to their particular qualifications. Minerva snorted to herself. Next time they had an opening for a gnome-thrower, they could call on Clarissa Quaffenbush. She then wrote a brief note to David Fairchild, telling him that they had received his application and they would contact him again later in the summer. That seemed nice and noncommital, she thought.

Now what should she do? Minerva felt reluctant to leave Albus’s office, although it didn’t appear there was much reason for her to stay. She wished she knew how Pretnick was. Perhaps they had only believed he’d been bitten. Deep gashes from an animal’s claws might be mistaken for a bite wound. But that sounded unlikely. St. Mungo’s was not prone to making those sorts of mistakes, and if Pretnick was brought in soon after the attack, the Healers had had plenty of time for a diagnosis. But perhaps it hadn’t been a werewolf that bit him. There had been a full moon the night before, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t have been a true wolf that had attacked them. But how many wolves still lived in Britain? Minerva didn’t know much about mundane animals, but she’d never heard of wolves anywhere in Britain but in Muggle animal museums – zoological gardens, she thought they were called. Perhaps Pretnick had been somewhere on the Continent and been transported to England after he was wounded . . . but even if that were so, Minerva had to admit it was unlikely that it was anything but a werewolf. Pretnick had to have been conscious to have asked that Albus be informed; as a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, he would recognise a werewolf. And he would know very well the consequences of such a bite, both practically and socially.

Minerva swallowed past the lump in her throat. This would mean finding a new Defence teacher, too. Pretnick . . . she hoped he had family, brothers or sisters, perhaps, who could take him in. If not, she had no idea how he could support himself. And without someone to make sure that he was locked up for the duration of a the full moon, he would be a danger to everyone. Maybe Albus knew of someone who could help him, at least someone who could cage him during those three days a month when he would lose his humanity with the rise of the full moon. Minerva shuddered at the thought. And Robert seemed so mild-mannered . . . it would have been better if he had died, in some ways. 

Minerva was disturbed from her reverie by the knocking of an owl at the window. She opened it and let in the little bird, took the letter that had been tied to its leg, and gave it a few treats from Albus’s drawer. The letter was addressed to her. She unsealed it and quickly read the contents. Slughorn would be arriving at eight o’clock that evening. He hoped this was sufficiently early, but he’d had plans that he would prefer not to alter.

“Don’t go just yet,” Minerva said to the little owl. 

She scratched out a quick note to Slughorn, telling him to come as soon as he was able to get away, but that she would tell the Headmaster to expect him no later than eight o’clock. She wished she could give him the same instructions she had given Hagrid about avoiding alcoholic drink – the Slytherin Head of House was fond of his liquor, from what Minerva had observed – but she didn’t feel she had the authority to say that to a senior faculty member and Head of House. It was different at lunch; Johannes and Wilhelmina had likely understood that she was really speaking to Hagrid. It simply wouldn’t do to have Hagrid hung-over in the morning. Minerva wished she could think of a subtle way to ask him to bathe and change his clothes.

Sighing, she attached the letter to the owl’s leg. 

“Take this to Horace Slughorn, quick as you can, like a good owl.” Minerva stroked its little head gently then carried it to the window, where it flew off. 

Minerva had just sat down in the armchair near the fireplace when there was a flapping and hooting at the window, which she had left open. Another letter, again for her. This one was from Poppy. Minerva groaned as she read it. Of course, Poppy thought that Minerva could give her some information about the reason for the unexpectedly-called staff meeting. Minerva quickly jotted her friend a note, telling her that the Headmaster would explain the reason for the meeting in the morning, and she looked forward to seeing her then. She sent the note off with the owl that had brought Poppy’s letter.

Minerva decided that she had done all she could and it would be inappropriate to hang about in Albus’s office for the rest of the afternoon. She left Slughorn’s letter on Albus’s desk with a copy of her reply, but took Poppy’s letter and put it in her pocket. Just as she was heading for the door to the spiral stairs, however, the small fire in the fireplace glowed green.

“Minerva? Are you there yet?”

Minerva hurried over and knelt next to the fireplace. “Yes, Albus! I’m here!”

Albus’s head floated in the green fire. “Oh, good, just thought I’d take a chance that you might still be there. Gertrude and I will be returning in time for dinner. Were you able to reach everyone?”

“I presume so, although I have only heard back from Professor Slughorn and Poppy. And, of course, I saw Johannes, Wilhelmina, and Hagrid myself. Professor Slughorn said he would be here at eight o’clock. I wrote back asking him to get here earlier, if possible, but no later than eight.”

“Very good, my dear. It is a relief to know I could leave everything in your capable hands. Thank you for fetching Gertrude for me.”

“Of course, Albus. Is there anything else I can do?”

“No, nothing at the moment . . . although, if it isn’t an imposition, could you wait in my office in case there are other owls from staff? It’s possible they might be addressed to me, rather than you.”

“Yes, but –”

“Very good – just open anything that isn’t clearly unrelated to the current situation. I trust your discretion. If you wouldn’t mind responding to any other owls on this matter that might require it, and just set everything else aside?” he said questioningly.

“Of course. I will be happy to do that,” Minerva responded. She could hear someone speaking on Albus’s side of the Floo, and Albus turned his head briefly and nodded, then turned back to her.

“I must go now, my dear. We will be back at the castle sometime before dinner. Thank you so much for your help today!”

“You’re welcome, Albus. I will see you and Gertrude later.”

“Bye-bye, Minerva!” Albus’s head disappeared from the fireplace and the green glow faded away.

Minerva stood, crossed over to the desk, and picked up the envelope that had arrived earlier by owl. Using her wand, she neatly unsealed the envelope and pulled out the letter. After looking at the greeting and the signature, Minerva realised it was a personal letter, not anything to do with Hogwarts business, so she put it back in the envelope and replaced it on the desk. Just as she did that, the late afternoon owls started coming in through the window she’d left open. It was rather chaotic, each owl apparently believing its delivery to be more important than any other. In the end, she managed to bring some order to the situation by saying very loudly that there would be no treats for any of them if they didn’t settle down. She was quite surprised when it worked, but she took advantage of the calm to take the letters from the owls, a few of which were carrying more than one. After she had given them their treats, Minerva settled down to sort through the post.

“You did very well, dear,” came a voice from above her.

Minerva looked up to see Dilys Derwent smiling at her.

“Thank you, ma’am. I don’t know how the Headmaster deals with so many owls every day.”

“Today must be a Saturday, because it’s usually much worse on a weekday,” the portrait replied. “But I was referring to more than just your skill with the owls. You have provided the Headmaster with most excellent assistance.”

“I hope so, ma’am.” Minerva wanted to get on with looking at the post, but didn’t want to be rude to the headmistress’s portrait.

“The Headmaster is fortunate to have you at his side,” the portrait continued.

Minerva blushed at the unexpected turn of phrase. “I am just helping out while his Deputy Headmistress is on holiday, that’s all.”

“Yes, dear, of course.” Dilys nodded and turned back to the work sitting in her lap.

Minerva couldn’t restrain herself from asking, “What is that you’re doing, ma’am?”

“This? Just a bit of tatting, dear. I thought I’d make a nice lace collar. It’s that or another nap, and napping can become dull after a time.”

Minerva raised an eyebrow at that. She had no idea how a portrait could create anything. Very peculiar things, these portraits. The ones in Hogwarts seemed even more imbued with personality than the ordinary wizarding portrait. But tatting? Minerva shook her head. At least that was better than claiming to be under a geas, as her own door warden had done.

Sorting through the letters, she found only three that were clearly unrelated to the current situation, and she put those aside with the earlier letter bearing the Wizengamot seal. She quickly opened and organised the rest of the post, placing his personal correspondence in one pile, letters from apparent strangers in a second one, Hogwarts business in a third, and Ministry-related correspondence in a fourth pile. When she was finished, she had two letters from staff members saying they were on their way to Hogwarts and would be there for the meeting in the morning. One of the letters was from Professor Dustern, and could be called “chilly,” the other one was from James, explaining that he was in Norway, but was arranging for a Portkey to Hogsmeade for the next morning, so Albus should not be alarmed if he weren’t there earlier than the meeting itself. Neither letter seemed to require a response. Just as Minerva was preparing to relax and perhaps call Wilspy for some tea and biscuits, there was another flurry of wings at the window, and a beautiful Tawny Owl landed on the sill and hooted. 

Minerva stood and, bringing a treat with her, went over and retrieved the letter tied to the Tawny’s leg. The bird flew off, and Minerva spied a few more owls flying toward the castle. Looking at the letter that had just arrived, Minerva saw that it was addressed to her. Opening it, she smiled. This one was from the new Charms teacher.

_“Aix-en-Provence  
“13 July 1957_

_“Dear Professor McGonagall,_

_“While it was a surprise to receive a call to a staff meeting before even being on the staff, I am more than happy to attend. I have arranged a Portkey which will bring me to Hogsmeade at 11:00 tonight. I understand that is quite late and will be happy to stay at the Three Broomsticks and wander up to the castle after breakfast._

_“I am very much looking forward to meeting you! I have heard a great deal about you, and I am excited that we will soon be colleagues._

_“Please extend my greetings to Albus. I do hope that he is well!_

_“Very sincerely yours,_

_“Filius X. Flitwick”_

What a sweet and very enthusiastic letter – no wonder Albus had hoped to have him join the staff. He sounded much nicer than Professor Dustern, that was certain. She quickly pulled out a parchment and wrote him a reply, telling him that he was very welcome to stay at the castle, and she would see to it that he was met at the gates when he arrived that night, if she couldn’t meet him herself; however, if he would prefer to stay at the Broomsticks, he should simply send her an owl to let her know. She made a copy for herself, then sealed the letter using Albus’s violet wax, but charming the wax seal with three intertwined M’s, rather than using the Headmaster’s official seal.

Wishing that she had kept the Tawny to return to Flitwick with her letter, she saw that there were, indeed, two more owls flying directly toward her. She dutifully gave them their treats when they made their deliveries, letters for her from Professor Evandras and Professor Herder, who appeared to be together, since one owl delivered both letters, and from Madam Perlecta. Deciding to wait before reading and responding to those letters, Minerva hastened from the Headmaster’s office, taking the long spiral staircase to the second-floor, walking the length of the corridor to the most reliable staircase, and then climbed up the five flights to the seventh floor, then up more stairs to the Owlery to post her letter to Flitwick. 

The trip back to Albus’s office went faster, but after Minerva had let herself in and checked the Charmed owl box, she collapsed into the most overstuffed chair in the room. She didn’t know why Albus didn’t just have Wilspy owl all of his letters for him; that walk was an awfully long one just to post a letter. She was glad dinner would be soon; her worry had reduced her appetite that noon, but now she was quite hungry and rather tired. Minerva also wanted to see Albus and Gertrude and find out how Pretnick was doing.

Sprawled in the overstuffed chair, Minerva opened the three letters that had arrived before she had gone to the Owlery. They were all similar, just brief notes informing her that her letters had been received and that they would be attending the meeting. Minerva now worried that she should have told everyone to owl her. Supposing the ones she hadn’t heard from hadn’t received their letters? How would she know? If they didn’t arrive for the meeting in the morning, would Albus be disappointed in her? She sighed. If an owl couldn’t make a delivery, it did eventually return with the undelivered letter, but that was unlikely to happen before eight-thirty the next morning.

Minerva was just setting the letters that had been addressed to her on Albus’s desk when the office door opened, and Gertrude and Albus entered. Gertrude’s strained expression softened slightly when she saw Minerva, and she nodded to her. Albus let out an audible sigh, but smiled as his eyes met Minerva’s.

Before either had spoken, Minerva asked, “How is he? Is it – was he –”

“Ah, now, Minerva, let’s all sit a moment or two, shall we?” Albus said quietly.

“Of course.”

Minerva joined Albus and Gertrude, sitting in one of the floral armchairs, letting Albus take the large, overstuffed chair. He looked very tired. Minerva so wished she could take care of him, and an urge to embrace him came over her. Swallowing, she turned instead to Gertrude.

“Is Pretnick going to be all right?” Minerva asked the older witch.

“He will live,” Gertrude said softly. “But he was, indeed, bitten. There is nothing that can be done about that.” She shook her head, and her jaw tightened.

“We must do all we can to support him, Minerva, all of us,” Albus said. “He is suffering dreadfully now, more so from knowing what has happened to him, what will afflict him for the rest of his life, than from the wounds he sustained.”

Minerva nodded. Of course, she would do whatever she could, though she didn’t know what that might be. She had never known anyone who had been bitten, and although she had met a few people after they were already afflicted by this terrible curse, she had never had any sustained contact with any of them. 

“He was a credit to your House, Minerva,” Gertrude said. “He saved others when he could have saved himself; everyone else was running away, leaving a pregnant witch, her teenage son, and her two young daughters to fend for themselves, but Robert ran toward them, distracting the werewolf and giving the woman and her children time to escape. Even after he was bitten, he tried not to do any permanent harm to the werewolf, but, in the end, he had to kill it. The fact that he had to kill the werewolf bothers him almost as much as his own fate, I believe.” Gertrude pressed her lips together.

“He knows it was just a young woman . . . a Muggle woman,” Albus said, trying to explain. “She hadn’t been a werewolf very long. We don’t know her whole story, but it’s likely that no one who knew her understood the danger she posed. The Ministry had no record of her before this morning, and Muggles are completely unequipped to deal with a werewolf. It is an unfortunate fact that most Muggle werewolves are dead within a few months of infection if they do not come to the attention of the Ministry before then.”

Minerva shook her head. “I am very sorry. For them both. How horrible for him.”

“You know what you’ll be facing, Albus, if you make the proposal you suggested to me earlier,” Gertrude said.

“I do. But I am prepared to deal with it.”

“Perhaps you are, but is Hogwarts? I do not say that because I disagree with you in principle, but out of concern for the school. There are practical considerations –”

“I know there are, Gertie, my dear, and you will certainly make sure that I am aware of them all,” Albus replied with a smile, reaching out and patting his Deputy’s hand. “And I will be grateful for your counsel in the matter.”

“What are you talking about? What proposal?” Minerva asked, trying to ignore the slight stabbing pain in her gut when Albus patted Gertie’s hand so casually.

“Well . . . I had wanted to discuss it with you later, after dinner, but I will tell you now, briefly. I want Robert to remain on staff. He is opposed to it, himself, and Gertie, as you may have gathered, is not in complete agreement with me,” Albus said.

“Stay on the staff?” Minerva asked, eyes wide. “Albus, this is a school. Full of children. A werewolf doesn’t simply suffer from a case of cyclical hirsutism. He could be a danger here – and werewolves don’t only bite, they also kill.”

Albus listened to Minerva calmly, then said, “I know all of this. But I believe we could find a way to work with it, to keep him and everyone else safe.”

Minerva looked over at Gertrude, who looked sombre. “But you don’t think we can?” Minerva asked her.

“I do not know. It is not something I have considered before today,” Gertrude responded seriously. “But I think it would not be easy, even if it were possible.”

Albus sighed. A chime went off somewhere above them. “That’s my reminder that I have to be at dinner in ten minutes. Why don’t we go to dinner; we can speak of this later.”


	62. To Be of Assistance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva assists Dumbledore when a crisis arises at Hogwarts.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Rubeus Hagrid, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, Gertrude Gamp, Professor Lillian Evandras, and Paris - Portrait.

**LXII: To Be of Assistance**

On the way down to dinner, riding the spiral stairs down to the second floor, Minerva told Albus of the various letters they had received in response to the summons to the emergency staff meeting, mentioning that she hadn’t heard from a few of the staff, but hoped that simply meant they would be there.

Albus patted her back. “Don’t worry about that, Minerva, as I can see you are. If they did not receive their letters, there is nothing you can do about it, but I believe everyone will be there in the morning.”

“Albus, I’m going to stop in my rooms before coming to dinner. You two go on ahead. I’d like to change,” Gertrude said.

Minerva looked at her. She’d become so used to seeing Gertie in her summer attire, she hadn’t noticed that the witch was wearing lovely silvery-blue robes with fancy, delicate embroidery in silver thread.

“We will see you there, then, Gertie,” Albus said, with a smile and a nod to his Deputy before she turned down the corridor to her rooms.

After Gertie was gone and they were headed toward the stairs, Minerva said, “Also, I wrote to Professor Flitwick and told him that he could stay in the castle tonight. He’s arriving at eleven o’clock. I hope that’s all right, Albus.”

“That’s fine, just fine, Minerva. Very thoughtful of you, in fact.”

“Well, he said he could stay in Hogsmeade tonight, but I didn’t think that sounded like the right way to start off here. And I told him that I or someone else would be sure to meet him at the gates when he arrives.”

“Very good, indeed, Minerva,” Albus said, uncomfortably reminded of his own negligence the day that Minerva had arrived at Hogwarts. It had been cold that day. “If you would like to meet him yourself, that would be very good. Do you know where the Ravenclaw guest quarters are? No? I’ll show you on the way back up to the office after dinner. If you don’t mind joining us, that is. I know you have been very busy today, and it is your holiday . . . .”

“Oh, no, I’m very happy to. And I was glad to be able to be of assistance today. It was the least I could do.”

“Your very least is always the very best, though, Minerva,” Albus said softly, putting his hand on her arm.

Minerva looked over at Albus, and for a moment, she thought she saw a change in his expression, but it was there and gone again, and unidentifiable, though if she’d had to have named it, she would have called it “wistful.” But he was probably just tired after his long day.

“Thank you, Albus.” She smiled warmly at him.

They entered the staff room to find it more full than usual, and many of the returned staff were those who hadn’t sent a response owl, which relieved Minerva’s worries. Fortunately, there were still a few seats left, one at the head of the table, one in the middle, and two together toward the far end of the room. Albus led Minerva to one of the two free seats and pulled out a chair for her, then surprised her by sitting beside her. Dinner appeared on the table as soon as the Headmaster sat down.

“You aren’t sitting at the head of the table, Albus?” Minerva whispered questioningly.

“It’s summertime and we’re in the staff room,” he said with a smile. “So unless I am in danger of becoming dull and you would prefer me to sit elsewhere, this chair suits me just fine.”

Minerva smiled. “I just wondered, that’s all – but I will tell you if you are in danger of becoming dull!” she joked.

“And I shall return the favour, my dear.”

Gertrude entered the staff room wearing a dark grey teaching robe over her summer attire and took the free chair in the middle of the table. Hagrid followed a few minutes later, looked over the table, realised that the only remaining chair was at the head of the table, shrugged, and pulled it out. Unlike the chairs on either side of the table, however, this chair had arms, and Hagrid looked at it, clearly seeing that he wouldn’t fit in it. Minerva, noticing this, was about to say something to Albus about removing the arms from the chair or widening it, but before she could, Wilhelmina had her wand out and had enlarged the chair for the assistant groundskeeper. 

Hagrid looked over at Wilhelmina and said, “Ta, Professor,” then sat down.

Wilhelmina smiled at him, but Hagrid had already turned his attention to serving himself and didn’t appear to notice.

Minerva wished she knew what was going on with those two. At least Hagrid had acknowledged Wilhelmina this time, although she was fairly certain that Hagrid usually addressed the Care of Magical Creatures by her first name. Once they had dealt with the initial consequences of Pretnick’s injury, she would make the time to see Hagrid and find out what was wrong. If anything, he seemed more subdued than he had before she had left for the Gamps on Monday. Of course, he might still be suffering from the hangover he’d been nursing at lunch. She was glad to see that he looked cleaner than he had earlier in the day, however.

“So, Albus,” said Professor Evandras, the Ancient Runes teacher, “when are you going to enlighten us about why we have interrupted our holidays in order to return for a staff meeting?”

All conversation at the table halted, everyone waiting to hear Dumbledore’s response. 

“At the staff meeting in the morning, when the entire staff is assembled, seems appropriate,” Albus replied with a slight smile. 

“Can’t you just give us a little information now, Albus?” Professor Evandras asked. The witch smiled winningly at him.

“Only that it is something of great importance, or I would not have called you all here,” Albus replied patiently.

“But, Albus – ” Professor Evandras began.

“The Headmaster has answered your question, Lillian,” Gertrude interrupted. “Now tell me, how was your trip to Turkey?”

Gradually, the conversations around the table picked up again, and Minerva was happy that no one offered any follow-up questions. She knew that Albus wouldn’t answer any questions about the purpose of the staff meeting, but some people could be annoyingly persistent, even with the Headmaster, hoping to wheedle just a little information out of him. Gertrude was able to shut them up in a way that Albus wouldn’t have; he was quite capable of deflecting questions and silencing people, of course, but it was nice that he didn’t have to come across as the stern Headmaster. It was a role he played with some reluctance, Minerva believed. She wondered what the dynamics had been like when Dippet had been Headmaster and Albus had been his Deputy. Albus had taken on so many of Dippet’s responsibilities even as Deputy and was of such a different temperament from Gertrude, she imagined that the relationship had been rather different, and Albus’s role, as well.

Minerva was hungry and ate with a good appetite.

“Enjoying your meal, my dear?”

“Mmm, quite,” she responded after swallowing her potato. “I wasn’t up to eating very much lunch today, and this afternoon was busy, so I didn’t have tea – besides, I was in your office for much of the afternoon. Did you eat lunch, I hope?”

“Yes, my dear, we ate in the hospital tearoom, and Gertrude fetched tea and biscuits late in the afternoon. You know you can call Wilspy if you’re in my office and require something. Or, if she’s not in the castle because I’m away and she’s with me, you can call Hwouly, the house-elf matron, as she also has access to the Headmaster’s office and my suite. You shouldn’t let yourself go hungry, my dear.”

“I considered calling Wilspy, actually, but the owls just kept coming. I don’t know how you deal with all of it.”

“Well, much of it is deposited in the Charmed owl box, so I’m not continually interrupted, and Gertie deals with much of the Hogwarts-related correspondence – and she receives a good deal of her own Hogwarts post, as it is. She is invaluable to me.”

“I’m happy to hear that, Albus,” Minerva said graciously, but feeling a most unwelcome pang of jealousy at his words.

“My duties for Headmaster Dippet were somewhat unusual, so it took us a little while to find a system that worked for us, but the fact that we know one another so well smoothed things along nicely.”

“I’m sure it did.” Minerva took a mouthful of spinach. She’d put too much salt on it, so she drew her wand and did a mild desalination spell. 

“You know, Minerva, you could probably do that wandlessly,” Albus said.

“Possibly. But it seems hardly worth the effort.” Minerva thought that Albus overestimated her abilities. Desalination seemed like a basic spell, but it was really quite complex, especially if one wanted to apply it as she had, to remove only some of the salt and not all of it. It was easy enough for her to do with a wand, and even nonverbally, but to do it wandlessly would require focus, concentration, and control that she didn’t think she could muster just to make her meal more palatable. 

Albus didn’t respond to Minerva’s comment, as Johannes on his other side had asked him a question about the possibility of expanding greenhouse four that summer. Many of the castle reconfigurations were done at the same time the wards were reset, and, although the greenhouses weren’t a part of the castle proper, it would be most convenient to make alterations to them at the same time. Minerva was surprised slightly by the request, since Birnbaum would be gone in a year, but, of course, if the change was needed, it would be negligent not to request it. This reminded Minerva of all of the staffing changes that were occurring over the next year. Professor Dustern was on her way out, being free from her contractual obligations after the ward renewal, Wilhelmina would be leaving in December, and Johannes in June. And now Pretnick had been bitten by a werewolf. 

Minerva couldn’t honestly see how they could keep Robert on the staff. It wasn’t just a matter of the three days a month when he would need to be locked away, but during the days leading up to the transformation, he would become agitated and anxious, then after the three days had passed, he would be exhausted for at least a week, not to mention that, being locked up without any outlet for his desire to find and attack humans, he would likely have self-inflicted injuries that would need to heal. Perhaps they could find some other role for him at the school – he could give special presentations, perhaps, or assist Albus with some of his paperwork when he was well enough. He wouldn’t have to live on the castle grounds to do that. He could take a place in Hogsmeade, and Albus could arrange a secure location for him to endure the transformation every month. That was the best she believed could be hoped for, though she wouldn’t feel comfortable saying so to Albus, at least not so frankly. She admired Albus’s desire to treat Pretnick like a normal wizard, but the fact was, he wasn’t a normal wizard anymore. Until there was a cure, or at least a treatment, for lycanthropy, Pretnick’s life would not be normal, and he would have to get some other kind of work, perhaps something that was only part-time. In a shop, or something of that sort. Of course, there was such a prejudice against werewolves that it would be difficult for him to find anything at all.

Minerva’s ruminations depressed her and left her with no appetite for dessert. Instead, she sipped a cup of tea and let the conversation flow around her. Her attention perked up when Albus tapped his glass. Everyone fell silent.

“I would like to thank you all for taking time from your holidays to return for the meeting tomorrow morning. I know you are all curious about the summons, and your patience is admirable. Breakfast will be served in the Great Hall tomorrow morning beginning at half past six, for the early birds among us. Other meals will also be served in the Great Hall while more of us are in residence. I look forward to seeing you all at eight-thirty here in the staff room.” 

With Albus’s announcement, a few of the staff got up and headed off, while others finished their desserts. Minerva had got the impression she was to be included in an after-dinner meeting with Gertie, but she wasn’t sure.

“Albus,” she said, turning to him, “you mentioned something about showing me the Ravenclaw guest room.”

“Yes, yes, indeed.” He smiled at her. “We can do that right now, if you like. Let me just have a word with Gertie, and we can be on our way.”

Waiting for Albus, Minerva stood in the doorway of the staff room and watched him go over to Gertie, place a hand on her shoulder, bend over, and speak close to her ear. When Gertrude turned to respond, Minerva could see the intent look on her face, but she was more distracted by the thought that as Gertrude spoke, Albus was so close to her, he could breathe in her words with her breath. She controlled her response enough so that she didn’t wince outwardly, but the intimacy of their conversation caused her to avert her eyes and repeat her mantra, “his private life is private and none of my business,” to which she added, “she is his Deputy, she is his Deputy, she is his Deputy.” 

Minerva desperately wished that she could adjust better to being around Albus. They were friends. But the closer they seemed to become, the greater her tension. And tension was what had caused all the problems between them last week. She had to get over it. She had no right to be jealous of Albus’s relationship with Gertie. But right or no, Minerva was jealous. Yet if she were to be that close to Albus, even here in the staff room, she feared her feelings would leak through and everyone would know. Worst of all, Albus would know. He would see it in her eyes and believe her infatuated. Sometimes, she was just fine; she could sit beside him and speak with him, walk with him, hand on his arm, and be just fine, but at other times, it was as though she lost the ability to think, breathe, or speak. If he were to speak to her as he was to Gertrude at that moment, his lips so close to her mouth, his hand on her shoulder, his breathe warm on her face . . . the mere thought of it caused Minerva’s heart to pound and her breath to catch in her throat. 

Minerva escaped to the entrance hall to wait for Albus, and tried to clear her mind. She was in the midst of calming her breath and her heartbeat when she felt Albus behind her.

“Ready, my dear?”

“Yes, of course.”

The two started up the stairs. This was one of the days when Minerva thought that there were far too many stairs in the castle.

“I just wanted to tell Gertie to meet us in my office in an hour or so,” Albus explained.

“An hour?”

“Yes, my dear. She has heard everything I will be telling you, and by that time, perhaps Horace will have returned to the castle, and the four of us can meet together. I also asked her to check with St. Mungo’s and find out how Robert is doing so that she can update us,” he said in a low voice.

“Aren’t you going to include Wilhelmina and Johannes in the meeting?” Professor Dustern hadn’t been at dinner, so Minerva assumed she hadn’t returned yet. “As Heads of House, they surely could be informed this evening.”

“True, and I had considered it, but I would prefer to wait until tomorrow. Until then, it’s on a need-to-know basis, as the Muggles would say during the war.”

“I see.”

They reached the seventh floor using a different staircase than the one Minerva generally used to get to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. 

“Here we are.” Albus placed his palm on the portrait of an adolescent boy, dressed in eighteenth-century clothing, reading at a table, shelves of books behind him. A breeze coming through the window next to him ruffled his light brown hair. He looked up with a smile when the Headmaster touched the painting. 

“Albus!” he cried enthusiastically. “I mean, Headmaster Dumbledore! It is good to see you. Have you a task for me?”

“None but your usual duties, Paris; however, there will be a guest tonight. Please make him welcome.”

“Of course! A dignitary, perhaps?” said the boy hopefully.

“Not precisely. The new Charms teacher, Filius Flitwick. He was a Ravenclaw when he was a student, so I thought he would enjoy staying here.”

“I will make him very welcome, Albus – I mean, Headmaster.”

Albus smiled. “You may call me ‘Albus,’ if you like. It’s what we’re used to, after all.”

“You wish to set a new password?” the portrait asked.

“Yes.” Albus touched the portrait lightly with his fingertips. “ _Allegro_.”

The Headmaster turned to Minerva. “Filius enjoys music,” he explained.

Minerva just nodded. She hadn’t realised it was so simple for the Headmaster to change a portrait’s password. She had assumed there would be some fancy ritual involved. Of course, when she changed the password to her suite, what she did was little different, but she used a password charm and her wand.

“So, give it a try, Minerva.” When she looked at him, confused, he added, “The password. Try it out.”

“ _Allegro_ ,” Minerva said, addressing the boy in the painting.

“Welcome, ma’am!” he said as the door clicked open.

“This is Professor Minerva McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher. She was in Gryffindor as a student.”

“Ah, I would have remembered her, otherwise, I am sure. She is beautiful now, and must have been unforgettable as a girl.” The portrait bowed to her. “Welcome, Professor McGonagall.”

“Thank you.” Minerva wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or insulted.

“You are very right, Paris. Unforgettable as a girl, and beautiful now,” Albus said, looking at Minerva with a peculiar expression on his face. She thought he almost looked sad, though his words were not.

Albus looked away quickly and opened the door to the guest suite, motioning for Minerva to enter before him.

“I have known Paris since I was a boy. He used to hang in the Arithmancy classroom in my day. At some point before I returned to teach, he was moved up here,” Albus said as he entered the small sitting room, furnished in bright blue and bronze, heavy blue curtains drawn back to reveal one south-facing leaded-glass window.

Minerva looked around. “This seems quite nice – and is this the bedroom?” She opened the heavily carved door on the west wall of the room.

The bedroom was similarly decorated, but had two windows, one on the west wall and one on the south. The bathroom was small, but more than adequate, Minerva thought for a guest room.

“It needs towels. There are no towels. And I imagine the bed linens need changing,” Minerva said.

Albus smiled and called a house-elf, unfortunately named Drooly, and asked him to see to it that the rooms be readied for the new Charms teacher.

“Righty-o, Headmaster! Drooly fixes everything real nice for new Ravenclaw Professor!”

The two left the suite with a wave to the portrait of young Paris.

“Aren’t we going the wrong way, Albus?” Minerva asked, puzzled by the turn they had taken down a small side corridor. “Surely one of the main staircases – ”

“Ah, Minerva, you are about to be introduced to one of the little secrets of the castle,” he answered with a wink and a conspiratorial grin. “A little Headmaster’s short-cut, you might call it.”

Minerva raised her eyebrow, but followed curiously. The side corridor ended with an ancient, heavy-looking oak door, bound in iron. It was clearly a door; although there was no handle, it had great iron hinges down the left side.

Albus put a hand to the door and said, “Peppermint pillows.” 

The door glowed slightly beneath his hand before it swung toward them to reveal a narrow stone staircase no wider than the door itself. Minerva could only see the first few steps as the rest were shrouded in darkness. She shivered involuntarily. But a gesture from Albus, and the stairs were lit from torches set at intervals on either side. She could see now that it was a spiral staircase, although, unlike the one that opened at the gargoyle, this one didn’t move. 

Minerva followed Albus into the stairway, jumping slightly when the heavy door closed with a thunk behind her. 

“All right, there, Minerva? Not claustrophobic, I hope. It’s just a short flight.”

“I’m fine.” In fact, Minerva was slightly claustrophobic, but with the torches flaring and Albus there with her, she wasn’t too bothered by it yet. She did hope it really was just a short flight, however. The stairs were steep and there was no handrail, but Albus stepped lightly and quickly ahead of her.

“I’m sorry I must proceed you, Minerva,” Albus said as they climbed the worn stone steps. “But it’s narrow, as you can perceive, and I need to open the door at the top.”

Albus had been correct; it didn’t take them long to reach a door that matched the one at the bottom of the steps.

Albus repeated the procedure he had performed below, and the door swung away from them to reveal a sort of barren antechamber with a few long, narrow windows on the right. There was another set of stairs across the way, leading further up. Minerva hoped they weren’t taking them, as well; although there was no door at the bottom, they were as narrow as those they had just come up. If Albus brought her this way again, she might transform into her Animagus form, Minerva thought. It would be much more comfortable.

Fortunately, Albus opened the door on their left and gestured for her to proceed him into the room ahead. Minerva walked through the door and was surprised to find herself in the Headmaster’s suite. In the Headmaster’s bedroom, to be more precise. Minerva tried not to think about the fact that she was now standing in Albus’s bedroom, and tried not to look around, curious though she was, having not had a good look at the room before. Without a word, Albus crossed the room, opened a door and led Minerva into his sitting room.

“Well, my dear, that was much faster, don’t you think, than going all of the way back down to the second floor and riding the other stairs up to my office?” Albus smiled, but Minerva thought he looked tired.

“It was, indeed. You know, today when I posted all of those letters and made the trip back and forth to the Owlery, I wondered that you ever post your own letters at all! But with that short-cut, it’s not so far, is it?”

“No, not at all. There are a few other short-cuts such as that throughout the castle – not leading here, but equally convenient for a Headmaster in a hurry,” Albus answered. “Would you mind if we talked here before going down to the office, my dear?”

“This would be fine, Albus.”

Albus sank down onto the settee, letting out an audible sigh.

“You know, Albus, we don’t have to talk about the situation now. You have to tell Professor Slughorn about it in a little while, anyway. If I am going to be there, I will hear it then.”

Albus smiled slightly. “Ah, but I would not say to Horace all that I might say to you, Minerva.”

“It can wait, though, can’t it? I know the basics of what happened and what you want to propose tomorrow. You look quite done in; this day must have been very stressful for you.”

“You look rather tired, yourself, Minerva. You should sit down. Come, sit beside me.” 

When Minerva had sat down next to him, Albus continued, “You may be right, my dear. We are both tired, and we have less than a half hour before Horace will be here. Perhaps we should speak of something else. But I do want to tell you,” he said, gazing at her warmly, “how very much I appreciated being able to leave everything here in your hands today; knowing I did not have to worry about that was a relief. Thank you very much, my dear Minerva.”

Albus briefly touched her forearm and gave it a light squeeze. Minerva believed she saw the same sad expression pass fleetingly across his face that she had seen earlier. He must be fatigued and distressed about Pretnick’s fate, she thought.

“You’re welcome, Albus. You know that you can call on me at any time for anything at all,” she said. Remembering Gertrude’s words to her in the garden, she added softly, “Whatever you need, Albus, that I can give you, is yours. I hope you know that.”

She thought for a moment that she saw a tear in his eye, but it was only a trick of the light.

“Thank you. You have a very generous spirit, Minerva. I do hope that I don’t tax it unduly,” he said quietly.

“Albus, you must call on me if you need me! I am not simply one of your teachers, I am your friend. Please,” she said, “don’t behave as though you ask too much of me. You do so much, and you must know how much I – how much I want to be able to help you.”

Albus nodded. “Yes, my dear, and I will be sure to remember that. But you must promise me that if I ask too much or become tiresome or unappreciative, you will tell me.”

Minerva laughed lightly. “You could not ask too much of me, Albus, and as long as you refrain from claiming you are uncongenial company, I doubt you will ever become tiresome, but if you seem unappreciative, well, I might remind you of this conversation.”

Albus leaned back, seeming to relax completely for the first time since he’d received the owl from St. Mungo’s. 

“Why don’t you close your eyes for a few minutes, Albus? I can go down and wait for Gertrude and Slughorn, and when he arrives, I’ll come get you.”

“Not necessary, Minerva.”

“Not necessary, but a good idea.” Minerva looked at him and was almost overwhelmed by the urge to take him in her arms and hold him, telling the whole world to sod off – at least until Albus was rested. Instead, resigned, she just took his hand as she stood. “Especially if Slughorn is late, which he may be, you might as well use the time to rest.”

“I’m not doddering yet, Minerva,” Albus said, tensing up slightly. 

Minerva shook her head and smiled down at him, not taking offense. “You most certainly are not, Albus. But you have had a long day.” She touched his cheek lightly with her fingertips, in lieu of the kiss she wished to give him. “Let me do this for you, Albus.”

The words were an echo of those she had said so many years ago after Carson’s death, and he gave in with a smile. “All right, my dear. I could use a short nap, I suppose.”

Minerva went downstairs, leaving Albus stretched out on the couch. It had been so easy to touch and even to kiss Quin, whom she barely knew, really, and yet with Albus, whom she had known for so many years and whom she loved so much, it was a constant struggle to touch him and not to touch him. . . . She remembered Quin’s words about how her joy would die if she did not allow herself to love him openly, letting him know that she loved him and giving him the opportunity to accept her love and love her in return. But that could not happen; the opportunity for acceptance was also an opportunity for rejection. He would be gentle and kind to her, but he would never again look at her the same way, and their friendship would be ruined. She could maintain this friendship, Minerva thought, and love him as a friend. That would be enough. It would have to be.


	63. Tasseomancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slughorn returns to the castle and meets with Dumbledore; Filius Flitwick, the new Charms teacher, arrives at Hogwarts; Minerva has early morning tea with Albus before the emergency staff meeting. 
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Gertrude Gamp, Horace Slughorn, Rubeus Hagrid, and Filius Flitwick.

**LXIII: Tasseomancy**

Determined to remain useful to Albus, Minerva went to the window and checked the owl box. There were a few more letters, including one from Professor James. Minerva opened it and read it quickly. He would be arriving late that night, probably after midnight. Before she met Professor Flitwick, she would speak with Hagrid about being available to open the gates. During the summer, the gates were shut and locked tight at midnight. Those still in residence were given a password to unlock them, but James had left early enough that he likely didn’t know it. Hagrid would have to open it with one of the large, Charmed keys he carried on the heavy ring at his waist. They were normally Ogg’s responsibility, but Ogg had not yet returned from holiday. She hoped he had received his owl.

Minerva sat at Albus’s desk and organized his post again. After considering it a moment, she began to go through his Hogwarts correspondence, sorting it into letters she thought needed his direct attention and those that could be handled by Gertrude – or someone else. Perhaps if Gertrude left after the meeting the next day, she should ask Albus if she could take care of it for him. Most of it was quite routine. She could at least draft replies for his approval. That would save him some time.

She began to write a reply to one of the letters when she felt a strange tingle. She looked up and saw nothing out-of-the-ordinary, so returned to her writing. As she was finishing up the paragraph, she heard a knock at the door, which then opened, and Gertrude stepped in.

“Good evening, Minerva.” Gertrude nodded at her, looking as though it were perfectly normal to enter the Headmaster’s office to find the Transfiguration mistress sitting behind his desk.

Minerva stood hastily, pushing her letter aside. “I was just . . . sorting through Professor Dumbledore’s letters. Trying to help.”

Gertrude quirked a half-smile. “I had no thought that you were doing anything other than being helpful, Minerva. I’m glad. I am sure Albus will appreciate it, as well.” She looked around. “Where is Albus? Upstairs?”

Minerva fought the urge to stand at the bottom of the stair and bar the way to the other witch.

“Yes. He seemed tired. He is resting. I said I would fetch him when Professor Slughorn arrives. He should be here already.” Minerva frowned at the older teacher’s unpunctuality. 

“Good. I am glad you managed that.” Gertrude sat down in one of the armchairs. “Why don’t you and I talk while we wait?”

Minerva didn’t particularly feel like talking with Gertrude at that moment, and an invitation to talk always seemed ominous to her, at least coming from someone like Gertrude – though precisely what she meant by “someone like Gertrude,” Minerva couldn’t have said. Nonetheless, she stepped around the desk and joined the older witch.

“How is Professor Pretnick?”

“Depressed. I decided to Apparate to St. Mungo’s and not just make a Floo-Call. I am glad I did. The man is convinced his life is over and it would have been preferable if he had been killed.”

Minerva hardly knew what to say to that, particularly given her own thoughts on the matter earlier in the day. “I suppose that’s understandable.”

“The Healers say it is typical. If the new werewolf can make it through the first few cycles, he generally resigns himself to his fate, but until then, despair is common. It is especially hard on Robert since, as a Muggle-born, he has no wizarding family. He feels he has nowhere to go when St. Mungo’s releases him.”

“Will that be soon, do you think?” Minerva didn’t know whether it would be better or worse for Pretnick to return to the castle until he made other arrangements, if he weren’t going to be on staff anymore.

“It will be at least a week, possibly more. His wounds were dreadful, even if they weren’t lycanthropic. It will take him a while to heal.”

“I realise that you and the Headmaster have been to see him, but is he allowed visitors? Ordinary ones? I thought I might try to see him.”

“I believe so. He says he doesn’t want visitors, but he hasn’t refused us entry once we arrived. I think he would be pleased to see a friendly face, Minerva, and someone whom he didn’t believe was visiting him out of a sense of professional obligation, which is how he described our visit.”

“That doesn’t sound at all like Pretnick,” Minerva said, concerned. “He’s not particularly extraverted, but he seems generally friendly and cheerful.”

“He has been through a traumatic experience, one that hasn’t ended – one that won’t ever end, really.” Gertrude looked out the window at the gradually darkening sky. “Where is that man? It must be past eight-thirty already,” she said crossly.

“I tried to emphasise the importance of getting here as early possible,” Minerva answered, knowing that Gertrude was referring to the Potions teacher.

“Not your fault. Just the way he is.”

At her words, there came a rapping on the door. The two witches stood, and Gertrude opened the door.

“Speak of the devil, they say, Sluggy. Where’d you come from, anyway, that you couldn’t be here on time? Well, get in here!”

Minerva almost chuckled out loud listening to Gertrude scold Slughorn.

Gertrude turned to Minerva. “Minerva, if Albus is still available to see Professor Slughorn, let him know he has arrived.”

Minerva nodded, realising that Gertrude was speaking for the Potions master’s benefit, not hers or Dumbledore’s. “I will see.” 

She started up the stairs and heard Slughorn give a snort when she safely made it past the sixth step. “Now why won’t he do that for me?”

Minerva heard Gertrude answer Slughorn. “Because not only are you not a lady, Horace, you are rarely even a gentleman!” The witch’s tone was light, however, and Slughorn laughed.

“A better gentleman than me you’ll not easily find!”

As she opened the door to Albus’s sitting room, Minerva could hear Gertrude answer the Slytherin wizard, but couldn’t make out her words.

In the dimly lit room, she could see Albus lying on the settee, long legs stretched out, feet dangling off the edge. Minerva approached quietly so as not to startle him.

“Albus! Albus!” Minerva placed a soft hand on his cheek and stroked his hair. “Albus, it’s Minerva. Time to wake up, dearest.”

Albus’s eyes opened and he blinked. “From one lovely dream to another,” he murmured sleepily.

Minerva smiled, removing her hand, and answered, “No, no dream. I hate to wake you, but Professor Slughorn has finally arrived. Did you have a nice nap?”

Albus stretched slightly and sat up. “Yes. I think I fell quite deeply asleep, in fact.” He yawned. “I need to use the loo. Could you ask him to wait? Oh, is Gertrude there?”

“Yes, she is. She visited Pretnick again. She’ll tell you about it herself, I’m sure. I will have them both wait. You take your time, Albus. Slughorn certainly took his.”

Back in the Headmaster’s office, Minerva told the others that Albus would be joining them shortly. When Slughorn said he was parched, hinting broadly that he should be offered a drink, Minerva and Gertrude looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. Minerva smirked.

“Wilspy!” Minerva called.

“Yes, Professor Minerva, ma’am,” said the little house-elf when she popped in.

“We would all like some tea, please. One pot of regular, one pot of chamomile would be nice, I believe, don’t you Gertrude?” Minerva asked, turning to the older witch.

“It sounds perfect to me, Minerva.”

“Very good, Professors!”

Wilspy Apparated away just as Slughorn was saying, “Tea? I never said anything about tea. A spot of firewhisky, perhaps, or some elf-made wine – ”

“Either – or both – of which you may have in your rooms after our meeting, Horace,” Gertrude said with a slight smile.

Slughorn pouted slightly, but settled down in his chair to wait for the tea and for Albus.

Ten minutes later, Slughorn sat, hands folded across his stomach, his eyes wide, as he listened to Albus describe the attack on Professor Pretnick. Albus emphasised the Defence teacher’s heroism in saving the woman and her children, for the first time naming the family he had rescued. 

“Higgs?” Slughorn asked. “You mean the boy was young Bertie?”

Minerva had heard of Bertrand Higgs, of course, as he was a Beater on the Slytherin House team, but she hadn’t taught him, as he had been a sixth-year and in Albus’s Transfiguration class. 

“Yes, one of the members of your House, Horace. The boy was quite brave, himself. He could have fled, but he stood firm and attempted to defend his mother and younger sisters. He’d placed himself between the werewolf and his family. The werewolf was leaping on him just as Robert got off the first spell, knocking her down and drawing her attention to him. Bertie was going to stay, but Robert shouted at him to pick up his youngest sister, only four, and bring her to safety. His mother is in late pregnancy and his other sister only eight. The boy did as he was told, but then he ran back to help Robert, arriving just in time to see the werewolf sink her teeth into Robert’s leg. It was only when the miserable creature turned to attack the boy that Robert cast a killing hex, slicing open the werewolf’s throat before she could leap on Bertie and either infect him or kill him.”

“Is he all right, then? Bertie, I mean?” Slughorn asked agitatedly.

“Yes, yes, the boy is fine, as is his family,” Albus answered.

“And Robert? Is he . . . did he survive?”

“He survived, yes,” Albus said patiently.

“Poor Robert. Poor fellow.” Slughorn shook his head. “So that is why you called us here? To tell us of poor Robert’s fate?” At Albus’s nod, he asked, “But why tell me now?”

“You mentioned to me sometime ago that Damocles Belby was doing some experimentation, trying to find a cure or a treatment for lycanthropy. Do you know of his progress?”

“Yes, that was going to be his special project for his Potions Mastery, but he ended doing something else rather different. He is still working on it, of course. Become something of a bugbear for the fellow, but I don’t believe he’s come up with an effective treatment yet. A few of his early subjects died, which is why he didn’t pursue it for his Mastery – doesn’t look too good to have one’s subjects die on you, don’t you know,” he said jovially, looking around at the others. At the expressions on their faces, he added hastily, “Willing volunteers, they were. They were aware of the risks. And werewolves have a shorter lifespan, in any event. Er, hum, yes, but I was saying, hmm, yes. Last I heard, he had come up with a potion that is effective at putting the werewolf into a deep sleep during the transition with no ill effect on the subject – unlike the Draught of the Living Death, which, as you no doubt are aware, was tried several decades ago and kills the werewolf in midtransition. Slows down the bodily functions too much, and the transition is too powerful and ends up killing the subject.”

Minerva shivered. She didn’t like the way that Slughorn described the poor souls as “subjects,” although that was what they were, she supposed. And the cavalier way in which he mentioned the deaths among them . . . cold. Typically Slytherin, she thought. But Bertie, of course, was Slytherin, and he had showed some pluck, especially coming back to help Robert. And Gertrude had looked as disturbed by Slughorn’s dismissive mention of the deaths as she herself had felt. Perhaps there were a few decent ones, she thought grudgingly.

“Could you contact him, posthaste, Horace, and ask him for an update on his research? Don’t tell him more than you believe absolutely necessary, however. Although this will likely be noticed in the newspapers before the next full moon, I would like Robert to have as much time undisturbed as possible.”

“Of course, Albus. I will do so immediately. He may have something that will make the affliction easier for Robert to bear.”

“If he does, we will acquire it for him. I’d like it best if you were to brew it for Robert, Horace, but if Belby will not part with the formula, then we will put him on commission. No experimental potions, however. Only ones with which he has had some success and knows are not dangerous to the patient.”

“Right, right you are, Albus.” He fiddled with the gold watch chain that spread across his stomach. “I suppose I should go now, write that letter.”

“Thank you, Horace – and may I have a copy of the letter for my records, please?” Albus said with a genial smile.

“Naturally. I’ll give it to you tomorrow at breakfast, shall I?” Horace rose, as did Minerva.

“I had better go now, as well, Professor. I need to speak with Hagrid and then stop at the gates for Professor Flitwick,” Minerva said, addressing Albus.

Albus smiled at her. “Very good, my dear. Thank you for taking care of Filius for me.”

“Filius Flitwick? The duellist?”

“Yes, as you would know if you hadn’t fallen asleep during the last meeting of the Heads of House,” Gertrude said icily, “Professor Flitwick will be teaching Charms in the autumn, replacing Professor Dustern.”

“Oh, yes, yes, I remember now! Nice little chap,” Slughorn blustered. He turned to Minerva. “Come along, dear, walk an old wizard downstairs.”

Minerva disliked the Potions master’s ingratiating smile, but nodded politely, then turned to the other two. “Good night, Professor Gamp, Professor Dumbledore.”

When Slughorn motioned for her to proceed him down the stairs, she demurred, saying very softly, “Age before beauty, Professor.”

The older teacher blushed, but stepped onto the moving stair. Minerva just didn’t like the thought of him standing behind her, breathing on her neck, possibly bumping her “accidentally” from behind. He had never actually tried anything with her, but ever since Minerva had returned to teach, she hadn’t liked the way he looked at her, particularly on those few occasions when she wore something slightly more revealing than her typical school robes. She doubted he’d actually do anything, but being “appreciated” by someone as unctuous as Slughorn was unpleasant enough, even if he never actually did or said anything overtly. 

He had behaved the gentleman thus far, however, and Minerva felt slightly bad at having made her remark, so as they rode the stairs all the way down to the second floor, she asked pleasantly, “Have you been having a good holiday, Professor?”

“Very nice, indeed. Visiting my niece at the moment. She is to be married in two days time. I’m giving her away. I’m trying to help her through the pre-wedding nerves all brides seem to get, don’t you know,” he said, turning his head and smiling at Minerva.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to have him go ahead of her after all, Minerva thought, as their relative positions put him at eye-level with her breasts. However, he was looking up at her face, so Minerva just smiled back and said, “So I’ve heard. What of her mother and father?”

“Father killed in the war about a dozen years ago. My sister, her mother, is poorly, and so I have taken on the role of father and mother for the dear girl.”

“I am sure she is grateful, Professor.”

His pale brown eyes met hers. “I do hope she is. She wasn’t keen on my leaving tonight, anyway. You know, Minerva, you _may_ call me ‘Horace’ when there are no students about. We are colleagues, after all.” He flashed his straight, white teeth at her again.

“Of course, thank you . . . Horace,” Minerva said, hoping this was not a prelude to an invitation to some other intimacies. 

As they reached the bottom of the long stair and the door opened in front of them, Slughorn said, “So, Minerva, do you have time for a drink before your errands? I have a rather lovely Bordeaux I’ve been considering uncorking. I am sure we could get the house-elves to bring us some nice aged cheeses to go with it.”

“Thank you for the invitation, but I must be about my duties,” Minerva said, as they began walking down the stairs to the ground floor. “And I wouldn’t want to distract you from yours, either, Horace. I know how much you want to write that letter to Belby tonight.”

“Of course, of course.” He smiled toothily. “Perhaps some other time. You should come to my next soiree.”

“Perhaps. Good night, Horace.” 

Minerva turned toward the main doors and tried not to hurry as she crossed the entrance hall. She heard the Potions master walking toward the stairs leading to the dungeons, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She really didn’t know what it was about the man, but she didn’t like him. Perhaps it was just her prejudice against Slytherins, but she didn’t think so. 

Minerva strolled out to Hagrid’s cabin, enjoying the night air. It was a relief to be out of the castle. She felt that the past few months, but particularly the past several days, had been just an exercise of moving from one stress to another. As much as she wanted to spend time with Albus, she was also looking forward to taking a couple of weeks to spend with her family. She wanted to visit Melina, as well. She was talking about getting her own place, moving out of the flat over the apothecary, and she had asked her aunt if she would like to help her look for something that would allow her to have Brennan and his Muggle friends over. It would be nice to do some normal, family things. It might also help her regain some control over her emotions toward Albus if she were to spend some time away. But not at the moment. He needed her right now.

Minerva smiled, thinking of how adorable Albus had looked asleep on his couch. Her smile widened as she remembered his first words on waking, “from one lovely dream to another.” He probably hadn’t even realized what he was saying, but it warmed her heart, nonetheless. She wished that she could awaken to see his face. That would, indeed, be a lovely dream. But only ever a dream . . . .

Reaching Hagrid’s little hut, she knocked on his door. When he didn’t respond, she walked around to the back of cabin where his pumpkin and marrow gardens were. She found him there, sitting on a bench in the bright moonlight, leaning against the wall of the cabin, Brutus’s large head resting across one of his feet. He was drinking something from a brown bottle. Minerva hoped he wasn’t in his cups, but was glad to see that he was bathed and dressed in clean clothes.

“Hello, there, Hagrid.”

Hagrid turned his head to look at her and seemed to perk up a bit, sitting up straighter. 

“’Lo, M’nerva! Brutus an’ me are jest enjoyin’ the evenin’. Join us? Have a butterbeer?”

Just butterbeer. Well, that was all right. Someone of Hagrid’s size could probably drink a couple gallons of the stuff without being affected at all.

“Yes, thanks, Hagrid, that would be nice.” She sat next to him on the rough-hewn bench. It was certainly preferable to be drinking butterbeer with Hagrid than drinking a vintage wine with Slughorn. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be meeting Professor Flitwick at the gates at eleven o’clock, so you needn’t worry about him. However, Professor James will probably be returning after midnight, and I’m concerned that he might not have the password to unlock the gate. Could you keep an eye out for him and let him in?” 

“Of course, I will. Glad to,” he said, handing her a butterbeer.

There was a large, Charmed bell that hung by the gates; visitors could pull the bell rope and notify the groundskeeper of their presence, but if Hagrid was aware that James was arriving, he could be close at hand and the Muggle Studies teacher wouldn’t have to wait outside the gates very long. Minerva remembered how she had waited in the snow for twenty minutes before finally ringing the bell, summoning Hagrid to open the gates to her. Albus had forgotten she was there. But from what she’d seen on his lists, he’d become aware of his sudden habit of being late almost every time he was to meet her, so it wouldn’t do to think about it again. Except it was odd, since when she’d been living in London, he’d almost never been late when they met for tea or lunch, and even then, never by more than five or ten minutes, and he would never have left her standing in the snow.

Minerva sighed as she accepted the cold butterbeer from Hagrid.

“Yeh all righ’, there, M’nerva?”

“Just a bit tired, Hagrid.” She took a sip of the cold drink and rested her head against the wall behind her. It was pleasant sitting here, listening to the night sounds drifting from the forest. “How have you been, Hagrid?”

“Same,” he answered laconically.

“You’ve seemed a little less . . . energetic than usual.”

“I’m fine. Jes’ fine.” He took a swig from his bottle.

Minerva closed her eyes and breathed in the fresh, cool air. She would press Hagrid about his troubles later. Right now, just sitting here drinking butterbeer was relaxing, and Hagrid seemed happy to have her company.

Eventually, Minerva pulled her small watch from her pocket and opened it. Ten minutes before eleven. Minerva didn’t know how long it would take Flitwick to get to the gates once he’d arrived in Hogsmeade. If he Apparated, he could be there just a minute or two past eleven.

“I have to go down and meet Professor Flitwick now, Hagrid. Thank you for the butterbeer. It was nice to just sit for a bit,” she said with a smile.

Hagrid looked at her with a warm smile on his face as he reached out to take her empty bottle. “Glad fer yer company, M’nerva. Come down whenever yeh like. I’m always happy t’see a friendly face.”

Minerva promised him she would remember his invitation, and left to meet Professor Flitwick. Once at the gates, she conjured a garden chair to sit and wait for him, but didn’t have to wait long. She heard a cheerful whistling in the distance, growing louder. Something from Bizet’s _Carmen_ , Minerva believed. She stood and banished her chair. It must be Flitwick; Albus had said that he liked music. A moment later, she saw a little man walking lightly toward her. Not allowing her surprise at his appearance show on her face – he was one of the smallest wizards she’d ever seen; he couldn’t be more than four feet tall, if that – Minerva opened the gate.

“Professor Flitwick?” Minerva asked.

“Yes! And you must be Professor McGonagall! Delighted to make your acquaintance, Professor! Delighted!” His smile lit up his face, his dark brown eyes shone, and he did, indeed, appear delighted. Minerva couldn’t help but return his smile as she took his outstretched hand and shook it. His grip was warm and firm.

“The pleasure is mine, Professor. Welcome to Hogwarts!” She looked around, half-expecting to see his luggage floating somewhere. “Have you any luggage?”

“Oh, yes, but a few convenient charms, and everything fits nicely in my pockets.” He patted his coat pockets. “Thank you very much for taking the time to meet me, Professor. It’s lovely to be back at Hogwarts again!”

“You’re very welcome. I know that Professor Dumbledore is very pleased you took the position. I hope you enjoy it.” 

“I’m sure I will. I love children, I love Charms, I love Hogwarts – so what could be better than teaching Charms at Hogwarts?”

Minerva had slowed her pace some to match the short wizard’s stride. “I feel the same, Professor.”

“You know, if we’re going to be colleagues, perhaps you would call me ‘Filius’? If that’s not too forward a suggestion on such short acquaintance?”

Minerva grinned. Slughorn suggests she use his first name, and she finds it somewhat off-putting, but this little wizard makes the same offer less than five minutes after meeting her, and she finds it charming. “I would like that, Filius, and I am Minerva, of course.”

They continued to chat on the way up to the seventh floor, Minerva feeling rather badly that he had to climb so many stairs on such short legs, and he wasn’t what one would call “young,” either, but he seemed not to notice at all, bouncing along quite happily beside her. When they reached the Ravenclaw guest quarters, Minerva told him the password and invited him to try it.

“ _Allegro!_ ” the new Charms teacher said, addressing the boy in the painting, who rose and bowed as the door clicked.

“Welcome, Professor Flitwick! I am Paris. Please tell me if there is any way in which I may serve you!”

“Marvelous! Thank you, Paris!”

Minerva showed the new teacher his temporary rooms, explaining that he would be assigned new ones before school began and promising to introduce him to the current Head of Ravenclaw in the morning.

“Johannes Birnbaum,” Flitwick murmured, thinking. “I don’t believe I know him.”

Minerva explained that Birnbaum was the German Herbology teacher, and when she described the circumstances of his “Sorting,” Filius clapped and laughed, obviously holding no prejudice against Birnbaum because he hadn’t attended Hogwarts as a student. Minerva smiled. He would definitely be a nice change from the taciturn Professor Dustern.

By the time Minerva returned to her own rooms, it was close to midnight. She had woken up that morning at six o’clock so that she could have an early breakfast with her mother and get back to Hogwarts to meet with Albus; it had been a very long day. She was just entering her bedroom when Blampa popped in.

“Professor Minerva, I, Blampa, has a letter for Professor Minerva!”

Minerva took the parchment from the house-elf. She recognised Albus’s handwriting.

“Thank you, Blampa.” The house-elf Apparated away.

Minerva opened the note.

_“Dear Minerva,_

_“Thank you again for all of your assistance today._

_“Gertrude and I will be having morning tea in my sitting room at six o’clock. Would you care to join us? I know that is early, so please do not feel obligated. I will expect you if I see you, my dear!_

_“Sweet dreams,_

_“Albus”_

Minerva quickly undressed for bed and cast a Tempus alarm for five-thirty, then called Blampa and asked her to make sure that she was up at that time. It wouldn’t do to oversleep. While she would prefer to take tea alone with Albus, she would tolerate Gertrude’s presence if it meant starting the day with him. Climbing into bed, Minerva reminded herself once more that Gertrude was his Deputy, in addition to being friends with him longer than she herself had been alive. Before dousing the lights, she looked over at the landscape Albus had hung for her. If she were to become Head of Gryffindor, which now appeared inevitable, given Pretnick’s condition, she would ask Albus to move the landscape with her. It was nice to be able to see that just before she fell asleep and first thing on waking, given that she couldn’t see Albus himself. With that thought, Minerva hoped once again that he remembered his promise to give her the photograph of the two of them together. She hoped he could find it, although, with all that was going on, she would not blame him if he forgot to look for it.

Minerva woke with her _Tempus_ alarm and bounded out of bed before Blampa arrived. She rushed through her morning routine, dressing in her mossy green summer-weight robes and charming her favourite shoes to match. She put her hair up in a flattering chignon and added the “hair things” that Albus had liked. Despite her shower, after only five hours sleep, she was still somewhat muzzy-headed and was looking forward to her first cup of tea. 

As she made her way down to the second floor to the entrance to the Headmaster’s Tower, Minerva wondered whether this was going to be a social meeting or whether they were going to discuss Pretnick’s condition and his future. Although she wanted to support Albus, she couldn’t see how they could keep him on the staff, even if they were able to sedate him during the transition. And who knew what the side-effects of that potion were? She wondered whether Slughorn would be forthcoming about them – or Belby, for that matter. He was probably doing his research with the permission of the Ministry, unless he’d gone to one of the countries on the Continent in which such research was much less regulated. Who knew what kind of immoral practices he used to inveigle werewolves to co-operate with his research . . . Minerva wasn’t sure she wanted to know what incentives he employed. Although perhaps it was only the spectre of a lifetime of monthly transmogrification that induced their willing co-operation.

“Good morning, Minerva.”

Minerva was surprised to see Gertrude approach her from the direction of the Headmaster’s office entrance. 

“Good morning, Gertrude. Aren’t you having tea with the Headmaster and me this morning?”

“No. I had a quick cup of coffee with him, but I am going to go home briefly and see my parents before the meeting. It was my father’s birthday last night, and I am sure that they would appreciate an explanation of why I missed it and didn’t even send an owl. I have no doubt they are also concerned about me. And I can pick up some more clothes. I left nothing here that’s suitable for the current weather.” Indeed, the Deputy Headmistress was wearing the same pale blue and silver robes she had been wearing the previous day.

“I see. Of course, you must reassure them. I hope they aren’t terribly worried.”

The older witch quirked a smile. “They are used to me dropping everything when Albus needs me; I think it would take more than my disappearance for a day to get them truly worried.”

“Well, we’ll see you at eight-thirty, then?” Minerva felt uneasy, although she couldn’t pinpoint precisely why.

Gertrude nodded. “Yes. Till then!” 

The Arithmancy teacher walked briskly toward the side corridor where her own rooms were located. In fact, a few of the staff members had their rooms off the second floor corridor. Minerva had been somewhat surprised to find that her own rooms were so far removed from anyone else’s. But she did have a much larger sitting room than most others she had seen, her bathroom was practically palatial, and, of course, Albus had thought that placing her rooms on the same floor as her classroom and office would be convenient for her, even if he was mistaken in that. The rooms of the two other staff members whom she visited most often, Poppy and Wilhelmina, were located near the infirmary and Gryffindor Tower, respectively, so she wouldn’t have been next door to either of them, in any event.

Minerva rode the long spiral stairs up to the Headmaster’s office, going over the list of staff in her head, who had replied, who had not, and who she knew to be present in the castle as of last night. A sudden realisation dawned on her, and she felt as though her heart had stopped. Binns. She hadn’t contacted Binns. But she wouldn’t even know how. What did he do during the summer? And was he expected to participate in decision-making meetings such as this? Albus would be so disappointed in her. He had left it all in her hands, and she had neglected to contact a teacher who most certainly was still in the castle . . . somewhere. Minerva almost turned around to go to the ghost’s office – perhaps that was where he spent his time – but she didn’t. She would simply have to tell Albus of her oversight. Unless Binns actually summered somewhere other than the castle, which Minerva couldn’t imagine, he shouldn’t be difficult to summon for the meeting. But Albus had been so proud of her, and now she had let him down.

Minerva made her way up to Albus’s suite and knocked lightly on the door to his sitting room before opening it. He wasn’t present, but there was a teapot, two teacups, and a partially drunk cup of coffee on the table. She was just taking this in when Albus, wearing his dressing gown, his hair and beard still slightly damp, and a colourful towel draped about his neck, stuck his head through the bedroom door.

He smiled when he saw her. “Ah, Minerva! I am so sorry I am yet again unpunctual – please make yourself at home. I will be right out.” 

“That’s fine, Albus, take your time.”

Minerva sat at the table and poured herself a cup of tea. She wondered, with a slight stabbing pain, whether Gertrude had woken him that morning, and if his words to her had been similar to those he had said to her the day before. It seemed that Quin’s words were coming true – every source of joy was becoming a greater source of pain. Certainly it seemed that the pain she felt was increasing with each day. Perhaps the only thing to do was to create distance between them again, since it seemed that the ache in her heart had worsened as a result of her unwarranted feelings of closeness to Albus. But Minerva didn’t think she could do that. It would be like cutting out her heart to step back from him now. She would simply have to harden herself against the pain. She could bear it. She could not bear separation from him; that would be worse.

Just as Minerva was taking a sip of tea, Albus bustled into the room, carrying his shoes. 

“I am so sorry, Minerva! After I’d promised you I’d be on time – ”

Minerva interrupted him, shaking her head, “Don’t worry, Albus, really. It _is_ very early.” She smiled. “You could have taken the time to put on your shoes. I don’t think I would have withered away in that amount of time!”

Albus chuckled. “It was more for my benefit, Minerva. An opportunity to spend a few more minutes with you!”

Minerva was glad that Albus sat down at that moment and bent to put on his shoes; his unexpected words had brought a blush of pleasure to her cheeks. By the time he sat up, she had brought her flush under control. 

“Albus, I have something to tell you. I am afraid I made an error yesterday.” Minerva took a deep breath. “I forgot Professor Binns.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Minerva, my dear! I looked through your letters before I retired last night – admirable job in trying to get Horace here earlier, by the way, and I’m glad you sent one to Apollyon – and I noticed there was no letter to Binns. Of course, it occurred to me that you may have informed him in person, but I thought it likely that his somewhat insubstantial existence had been overlooked, so I sent Wilspy to find him and inform him of the meeting. Much easier than one of us hunting him down. I still need to work on the ghost-detecting wards, I’m afraid.” He grinned cheerfully at her and shook his head. “Still not finished with them, Minerva, after all these years. I think it will be the work of a lifetime.”

Minerva couldn’t help but return Albus’s smile. “When I realised, I felt so stupid, having forgotten him so entirely.”

“Quite understandable, Minerva, quite understandable!” He poured himself a cup of tea. “However, if you ever do wish to see Binns, he generally spends his nights in the staff room, sleeping in front of the fire. Rather a long-ingrained habit of his.”

“I see. I was worried . . .”

Albus smiled kindly at her. He reached out and patted her hand, then let his hand rest on hers. “If you were worried that I would be disappointed, don’t be. You did very well yesterday. I knew I could count on you, and I was not disappointed.”

Minerva turned her hand under his, and her heart pounded when he closed his hand around hers. She curled her own fingers around his hand, holding it. 

Trying to pull herself together, Minerva said softly, “I’m glad you understand, Albus.” She took a barely controlled breath, so aware of Albus’s warm palm on her own and the rich orchestra of his magical power thrumming against hers that she could scarcely think straight. 

“I met Professor Flitwick last night.” She swallowed and looked up at him. “He seems like a lovely person.”

Albus gave her hand a slight squeeze, then let it go to fix his tea. 

“He is, very,” he answered, concentrating on adding just the right amount of milk and sugar to his tea, then stirring it well.

They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping their tea. Minerva dared a glance at him, once her heart had resumed its normal rhythm. Despite no doubt having had a short night, Albus looked wonderful, wearing robes of a soft dusky rose fabric with spirals of gold thread woven through it. He had charmed his shoes to match the robes, doing so as he pulled them on, not needing his wand or an incantation, but merely his will. She shivered. To think that she harboured such feelings for the most powerful wizard alive . . . it was absurd, and no doubt anyone who knew of it would believe it to be mere infatuation. Anyone but Quin; he would believe her, for he already knew the depth of her feelings.

Suddenly aware that she was staring, Minerva was too slow in looking away, and Albus’s eyes met hers, their brilliant blue deepening as he smiled at her. Her breath caught in her throat, and she worked at regaining her calm.

“I am glad you liked Filius, Minerva. Perhaps you could assist him with whatever he may need while he is here over the next few days? If you don’t mind, of course.”

“Not at all,” she said as she tried simultaneously to converse normally and to practice her Occlumency exercises. “It would be difficult not to like him, I think. He is completely charming.” They chuckled at her unintentional pun. “I will be sure to see that he has whatever he needs and feels at home.”

“Good. I will be busy over the next few days, as you might imagine. I am grateful for whatever help you can give us. Naturally, Gertrude is going to be working on this, too, but I would truly value your opinions, my dear, as well as your assistance.”

“I will be very happy to do whatever I can. I saw Gertrude as I was on my way here, Albus,” Minerva said hesitantly, suddenly aware of what it had been about Gertrude’s appearance that had disturbed her and now wishing she hadn’t mentioned that she’d seen her. The witch had been wearing the same clothes she’d had on the day before. Of course, Gertie had said she didn’t have anything to wear, but nonetheless . . . Albus had clearly not been up long when Minerva had arrived. Had Gertie’s face not only been the first thing Albus had seen on waking, but the last thing he’d seen before falling asleep? The thought caused Minerva’s stomach to clench and her throat to close. She doubted she could swallow even tea.

Albus finished his cup of tea and said, “Oh, yes, she stopped by early to let me know that she was going to her parents before the meeting. We had a long talk last night, so when she came by this morning, I agreed that it was unnecessary for us to meet this morning.” He grinned. “I had my alarm clock set for five forty-five, and it was rather a surprise to wake up and have Wilspy tell me I had a guest! I thought I had set my clock wrong and that it was you here waiting for me. I was somewhat disappointed to learn that it was only quarter to six and . . . well, Gertrude was drinking coffee in my sitting room.” He fiddled with his spoon distractedly. “She always does drink that coffee, you know.”

Relief flooded Minerva. Gertie had only just come up for a cup of coffee. She hadn’t spent the night. 

“Yes, she drank coffee every morning when I was in Cornwall.” Minerva felt she was on the verge of babbling.

“Mmm. She complains about the Hogwarts coffee. Don’t know why. Coffee is coffee, after all,” Albus said.

“I had a cup while I was there; it was better than I remember coffee being. It smelled different, too.” Now that she was relieved of her immediate worry, Minerva was curious about their conversation. “But you said that you two had talked quite late last night? Did you come to any conclusions?” Minerva wanted to ask him if Gertrude had managed to change his mind about proposing that Pretnick remain on the staff, but didn’t want to be so blunt.

Albus, used to years of debate in the Wizengamot and elsewhere, grinned puckishly, “You mean to ask whether I am still set on finding a way for Robert to remain in his position here at Hogwarts?”

Minerva blushed faintly. “Well, yes, actually. It does seem . . . a formidable proposition, after all.”

“Yes, but I think that, with some creative scheduling and other teachers pitching in and covering a few classes when necessary, we can enable Robert to continue teaching. The dungeons of Hogwarts are far more extensive than most people are aware; we could create a special chamber for him to stay in for the duration of the change – ” 

“ _Here?_ Inside the castle? Albus, I know you mean well, but whatever safeguards you put in place, there are _children_ in the castle. If there should be an accident of some sort, if he should escape or if someone should accidentally happen upon him – it just won’t do, neither for the school nor for you, should people learn of it.” Minerva paused. She was doing just what she had told Gertrude she wouldn’t dare: telling Albus what she thought was best. “I just think that, even if we could all be certain that no children were in danger, everyone would be more comfortable if he were confined elsewhere. Somewhere in the country, perhaps.”

Albus sighed. “Gertrude said something similar last night. But I am sure that I could create wards that would contain him and keep others out. And if this potion of Belby’s is safe and actually does sedate the werewolf during the transformation, the danger would be minimal even without the wards.”

“The potions are experimental, Albus. You heard Slughorn last night. Who knows how effective it will be? Or how safe for Pretnick? And someone will have to look after him when he emerges from his confinement – even if the potion does work, I can’t imagine he would be in any shape to teach immediately after, and we don’t know what kind of side effects it might have on him.”

The two continued to debate the issue for an hour, until finally Minerva drew a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. “And what about Robert himself, Albus? You mentioned yesterday evening that he wasn’t in favour of the idea.”

“Well, we didn’t discuss it in such detail, of course, but I did mention to him that there had been some progress toward a potion. I believe his concerns to be similar to those you and Gertrude have, although at the moment, he’s not in any condition to articulate them. Much of his objection comes simply from his sense of despair. I think that if we could give him reason to hope for the future, much of his despair would be allayed.”

“I see . . . well, it will be an interesting meeting this morning, I am sure.” Minerva shook her head, thinking of the possible reactions to Albus’s news and then to his proposal. “I still have my doubts, Albus, but if you believe it can be done . . . .”

“This has been a very good preparation for the meeting, Minerva. I am sure that you have voiced many of the objections that any of the other staff may have, other than those arising out of pure prejudice, of course.” Albus smiled at her. “Every one of your concerns was reasonable. I hope that I can address them adequately.”

“Albus, aside from those concerns, it is likely that the attack will eventually be reported in the _Daily Prophet_ at some point, possibly quite soon. Even if Robert’s name can be kept out of the original articles, word will spread. I can’t imagine that you will keep the Board of Governors in the dark about this, and they may insist that the parents be notified if Robert continues to teach. Have you thought about how you might deal with them? No matter how convincing you may be with the staff, or even with the Governors, parents are quite another matter. As you said to me once quite a long time ago, what parent would want to send a child to a school where death or serious injury was more than a remote possibility? Even those who may agree with you intellectually may be unable to bring themselves to reconcile that agreement with their fears for their own children.”

“Ah, I have taught you well, Minerva,” Albus replied with a smile. “It is good to know that you were listening to me – occasionally, anyway!”

“Don’t joke about it now, Albus. It is a genuine problem.” Minerva frowned “Even if I believed the students were all safe during the full moon, I cannot think of an argument to convince parents of it. And some will simply not want him here, even during the rest of the month, simply because he _is_ a werewolf. They will see him as having a taint at all times, not just when he is transformed.”

“I know, my dear, and I do not joke about that. I hope this will become an opportunity to teach everyone that it is better to integrate those who are so afflicted, rather than marginalising them. That is folly and can only lead to trouble.”

“And do you believe that everyone is educable?” Minerva sounded sceptical.

“No, but it is only necessary that we persuade the majority to give this scheme a chance to work.”

“I believe that you will need more than a majority of the staff, however, Albus. Without their full support, both you and Robert would be in for a very difficult time – and it could undermine your authority in other areas, as well. That would be good neither for Hogwarts nor for you,” Minerva responded.

Albus nodded slowly. “Then we must be persuasive this morning.”

“And if we are not?” she asked.

“We will try again. Give everyone time to think about it.”

“Hmm. Well, I may or may not voice some of my concerns at the meeting, Albus, but you know that you have my support. Even if I am not entirely convinced.”

“You shouldn’t support me blindly, Minerva. That is not what I need from you.” Albus furrowed his brow.

“I do not support you blindly, Albus. I believe that, whatever my concerns, you will address them adequately, even if I do not completely see how at the moment.” She grinned wryly. “And I will voice them, if you need me to.”

Albus smiled. “That _is_ what I need. I need to know that when you agree with me, it is because you genuinely do agree, and that when you have doubts, you will tell me of them. I may not always be aware of every pitfall of one of my plans.”

Minerva chuckled. “I doubt that I have come up with a single objection or scenario this morning for which you did not have an answer – even if I’ve not always been convinced of its adequacy.”

“Keep me on my toes, Minerva!” Albus said brightly.

“Well, I suppose we should get to breakfast,” Minerva said with a slight sigh, not eager to bring an end to her time with Albus. “I told Filius that I would stop by and fetch him for breakfast at seven-thirty, and it is almost that already.”

“On a first-name basis already, are you?” Albus asked with a grin.

“He invited me to call him by his first name. If you think it inappropriate – ”

“Only teasing, my dear! You are colleagues. Filius is a very open and friendly soul. I believe you two will get along quite well.”

Minerva rose from the table. “I do think he may prove to be more collegial than some,” she agreed. 

She looked down at Albus; his cheeks seemed rosier that morning, the colour of his robes bringing out the pink in his skin, and his hair and beard were soft and full from his recent shower. But it was his bright, smiling blue eyes that brought a smile to her own face and a warmth to her heart.

“I will see you in the Great Hall in a little while, then, Albus.” She hesitated. “I enjoyed this, even if it was business, and not particularly pleasant business.”

“So did I, my dear, so did I.” 

Overcome by her feelings of warmth toward him, Minerva bent and lightly kissed his cheek before quickly turning and leaving the room.

Oh, now that had been a mistake. Minerva rushed down the moving stairs, one hand hovering cautiously over the rail as she trotted down the steps as they spiralled toward the second floor. Even if Albus thought nothing of it, it was highly unprofessional to end a meeting with one’s boss by kissing him on the cheek! She surely would never have done that with any of her previous superiors at the Ministry, not even Amelia Bones, of whom Minerva had grown quite fond over the years. Of course, she and Albus were friends, too, but it had been a business meeting and not a social occasion, not to mention the fact that kissing him had only served to bring all of her feelings for him rushing to the surface. She had to avoid that, lest she give herself away one day, and destroy their friendship. But he had been so sweet, from the moment he had sat down in the chair to put on his shoes, telling her that he was taking the opportunity to spend more time with her – even if it was only a few minutes – to the way he had taken her hand and held it, and even to his affectionate teasing.

And it had been such a relief to realise that Gertrude had not spent the night with him, anymore than Albus had spent the night with her when Poppy had interrupted their breakfast last week. And Gertrude’s had not been the first face he had seen that morning – little Wilspy’s had been. Of course, that didn’t precisely clarify the nature of their relationship for her . . . but wouldn’t Gertrude have woken him herself if they were . . . _involved_ in some way? Perhaps not, not if she believed that he needed his sleep after his long day. Albus had certainly found her presence in his sitting room unremarkable . . . although he almost seemed to imply that he had been disappointed that it had been Gertrude, and not she, who was waiting for him, although he should have been expecting her, as well.

Minerva shook her head, clearing it. She was being foolish. All of it, from beginning to end. Foolish to worry about a little kiss on the cheek, foolish to worry about Albus’s relationship with Gertrude, foolish to even beginning reading anything into Albus’s attitude toward Gertrude or toward her. She would just have to guard her feelings in the future. Minerva stepped around the gargoyle and began the long trip to the seventh floor and the Ravenclaw guest quarters.

Several stories above her, Albus sat staring into his teacup, wondering what Hafrena MacAirt would have to say about the few tea leaves that had settled to the bottom of it. When Minerva had bent to kiss his cheek, he had very nearly reached for her and returned her kiss, but if he had, could he have stopped there? He had thought he had mastered his reactions to her, but now he didn’t know if he would ever be able to master them. 

His inclination to meet with Minerva only in public had been a good one, he thought, and he only had invited her to early tea on Gertrude’s suggestion because he had believed the three of them would be meeting together. But when Gertie had come by early and said that she thought she needed to go home briefly, he had been slightly disappointed that she would be leaving, but he had also felt an unexpected thrill go through him at the thought of spending time alone with Minerva. It went entirely against his better judgment. He still remembered how lovely it had been to wake up the evening before and see Minerva’s face hovering above his own; he remembered saying something, something foolish, no doubt, and seeing her smile. . . .

What was he to do? He looked into the teacup again. With some imagination, he could see two hearts, each split down the middle, a few droplets of the remaining tea seeming to form tears. But he was no tasseomancer; he didn’t even believe in such things, not really, despite Eliza MacAirt’s pronouncement one hundred years ago that he should not marry Dervilia . . . the old witch had always been saying such things, after all. Not that there weren’t true prophecies, of course, but they were few and far between. The rest was intuition and, he thought, looking into his teacup, wishful thinking . . . or dolorous thinking, in this case. Weeping broken hearts. Such foolishness. 

Albus waved his hand almost angrily, banishing all of the tea things from the table, and stood. He had a hard meeting ahead of him, and he had no time for such idiocy. He would overcome this, this foolish, aging heart of his, betraying him now, in the autumn of his life. 

Unbidden, the memory came to Albus of Minerva, a dozen years before, standing at the top of the cliff, wind whipping through her hair, and he felt the same ache he had then. But it was what it was and would have to remain so. Infatuation or love, it didn’t matter what it was, he would have to cordon it off, maintain control over himself, remain Minerva’s mentor and friend, and if that meant that he could not be alone with Minerva, then so be it. If it were to be necessary that they be alone, he would ensure they were in his office, and he would remain the Headmaster, behind his desk. He couldn’t behave imprudently if he were confined to his desk, after all. His throat constricted. It was for the best . . . but why, then, did the thought of seeing Minerva again and keeping his distance from her cause a stabbing sharp sorrow to course through him?


	64. Debate and Dissension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The staff meets to discuss the current situation with the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, and Minerva finds herself with a new duty.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Filius Flitwick, Rubeus Hagrid, Ogg, Pringle, Horace Slughorn, Gertrude Gamp, Professor Dustern, Johannes Birnbaum, Professor Perlecta, and other Hogwarts staff.

**LXIV: Debate and Dissension**

Minerva sat rigidly at the table, watching as the others slowly filed out or stood in small knots, talking. This had to go on record as one of the more uncomfortable meetings that she had attended in a very long time. It started badly when Professor Dustern sneered at her and asked her why she was sitting where she was, up near the head of the table. Fortunately, Gertrude, whose idea it had been that Minerva sit there, responded in such a way as to leave Dustern no choice but to take a seat grudgingly and seethe silently.

Gertrude had suggested that, in order to show their support for Dumbledore, she, Minerva, and Slughorn should sit up by the Headmaster. Normally, the Deputy sat on one side of the Headmaster and the Heads of House sat, if they desired, up at the head of table beside them. Minerva didn’t know what Dustern was so fussed about; she usually sat at the other end of the table, anyway. So Gertrude sat on Albus’s left, Minerva on his right, and Slughorn next to Gertrude. Johannes took the chair next to Minerva and smiled at her amicably. Wilhelmina sat in her usual spot in the middle of the table, and Dustern sat disagreeably beside Slughorn. 

After the first outpouring of sympathy for Pretnick and relief that no one else had been injured or infected – other than the werewolf that Pretnick had been forced to kill – the meeting took a decided turn for the worse. Other than Hagrid, Johannes, and Wilhelmina, it seemed that no one fully supported Albus’s desire to keep Pretnick on as Defence teacher. Flitwick may have supported the idea, but it seemed he was trying to remain diplomatic about it, given that he was not yet actually on the staff. Of the others, there were a few who were willing to give it some thought, but there were also a few very vocal nay-sayers, among them, Dustern, Evandras, Perlecta, Herder, and Ogg. 

It turned out that Madam Perlecta had been attacked by a werewolf as a child and, although no one had been bitten in that attack and the werewolf had been subdued without having to kill it, she remained so deathly afraid of them that she declared that, much as she felt sorry for young Robert, she would have to leave Hogwarts herself if he remained on staff. Ogg had some rather nasty things to say about non-humans, completely unaware of the impact his words were having on his assistant. Evandras and Herder were opposed to even considering any way of keeping him on staff because of the potential danger to the children, which they saw as very real no matter what safeguards Dumbledore might put into place. The others voiced concerns similar to those of Evandras and Herder, and which Minerva had raised with Albus that morning. Albus answered them as well as possible, and a few people seemed open to exploring the possibility of keeping him on staff, although they were not yet convinced of its practicability. 

It hadn’t helped that Slughorn’s responses to questions about the potion were imprecise and hedged with notes of caution. Minerva couldn’t completely blame the Potions master, however, as he had not yet received a return owl from Belby and so couldn’t articulate the exact effects and potency of the experimental potion. Minerva thought that if they had been able to say definitively that there was a potion that would make the werewolf safe during the full moon and was also safe for Pretnick to take, they may have made more headway with the fence-sitters.

Both Gertrude and Minerva had interjected supportive comments at appropriate intervals, but it became evident that no one who wasn’t already amenable to Dumbledore’s proposal would be persuaded. Finally, Minerva, fearing that more discussion might simply result in losing the support of the few who were amenable to Dumbledore’s plan, made a suggestion.

“Perhaps we should set a small committee to consider the matter and look at all of the arguments both pro and con and then reconvene in a week or two,” Minerva said.

“And who would comprise this committee, precisely?” asked Dustern. “Hand-picked to present only the view the Headmaster favours, no doubt.”

“No, not at all. I was actually going to suggest that the committee members represent those in favour, those opposed, and those who are unsure,” Minerva said evenly.

“I agree with Minerva,” Gertrude said. “If we are to proceed – whether with this or some other plan – we need to have an unbiased examination of the proposal, and perhaps even to devise a counter-proposal that presents an option other than simply abandoning our fellow staff member to his lot. I believe Professor Pretnick deserves that much from us, particularly considering the circumstances in which he came to be afflicted with the infection.”

Dustern snorted. “Well, it should be none of my concern, as I will soon be leaving, but I do not believe that there is any way to have a werewolf on staff in _any_ capacity. But given this Headmaster’s predilection for hiring criminals, rogues, half-breeds, and Squibs, it can hardly come as a surprise to anyone that the next step is hiring beasts. In a few years, we’ll have a house-elf teaching Charms, a garden gnome teaching Herbology, a Muggle teaching the History of Magic, and a centaur teaching Divination.”

Minerva couldn’t help but notice the look on Hagrid’s face by the end of Dustern’s speech. Others were looking on in distaste; Flitwick’s eyebrows raised slightly at the mention of “half-breeds,” and Ogg flushed at the mention of Squibs, but Hagrid looked devastated. He seemed fully recovered from his ordeal all those years ago after the Chamber of Secrets was opened, but it clearly still stung. Minerva didn’t know which reference bothered him more, the one to criminals or to half-breeds, but it certainly confirmed Minerva’s low opinion of Dustern.

“I am surprised that you did not also mention damned foreigners, Katherine,” Johannes said softly. “There are many of us here who would be much worse off if it wasn’t for our Headmaster. Or dead, speaking for my own case. This is an institution of education. We should be dedicated to enlightenment and the betterment of society; the retention of prejudices runs counter to those goals. If there is good, rational argument against keeping Robert here on staff, it must be considered. But prejudice has no place at this table, nor do _ad hominem_ attacks on our Headmaster or fellow staff members. . . . And, as you say, Katherine, you will no longer be on staff in a few weeks.”

Minerva wanted to cheer the German Herbology teacher’s quiet words and was gratified when several other members of the staff, including Binns, murmured, “Hear, hear!”

The meeting came to a close shortly thereafter, a committee having been formed to consider the situation and any possible solutions. Fortunately, Dustern would not be on it, since she would be leaving, and Birnbaum, Wilhelmina, and Flitwick would be; Minerva felt that Flitwick was favourably disposed to Dumbledore, despite not having taken a clear position during the earlier discussion. Madam Perlecta, Professor Herder, and Professor James made up the rest of the committee. Minerva genuinely hoped they could arrive at a solution that everyone on the staff could support and that would give Pretnick some kind of position, even if he couldn’t stay as Defence teacher. It would give him something to look forward to.

Minerva stood as she saw Hagrid make his way from the back of the room, trying unsuccessfully to look inconspicuous. It was clear to Minerva that he was still upset. Perhaps his current problems, whatever they were, had rendered him more sensitive to Dustern’s jibes. As he passed by her, Minerva took his arm.

“All right, there, Hagrid?” she asked quietly.

The half-giant tried to smile. “Fine, P’rfesser McGonagall, jest fine.”

Minerva looked at him with concern, but this was not the time or place to delve into his personal troubles. “Good, then . . . would you like some company later? We could talk. . . .”

“Ta, P’rfesser, but I got things t’be doin’.” He smiled, slightly more successfully this time. “Not that yer no’ welcome any time, but it’s no matter fer yer concern, and I got me job t’be abou’.”

“All right, Hagrid. Perhaps we’ll see each other at lunch, then – it’s in the Great Hall again.”

Hagrid nodded and wandered off. Minerva turned to look around. There were only a few people left. Gertrude was talking to Pringle about something – nasty man. Minerva couldn’t imagine anyone choosing to speak with him of their own accord. They would be bringing on an assistant for him in the autumn. He wasn’t falling in line with the new Headmaster’s ways very readily, and Albus thought that bringing on an assistant might halve the chances of the caretaker out-and-out disobeying the new rules he was laying down. Minerva thought Pringle – she couldn’t bring herself to call him Appolyon as Albus did – was a sneaky, devious sort, and would try to get away with whatever he could. He wouldn’t openly undermine Albus – and despite others’ opinions about caretakers and those in similar positions, Minerva knew it was perfectly possible for someone as apparently low-placed as he to wreck a lot of damage if he wished to – but he would likely do whatever he could to skirt the new regime and do things the way he always had done them. 

Minerva remembered how, when as a third-year she had tearfully told Albus of the way that two of her fellow Gryffindors had been hung by their ankles and had their legs beaten with a stick for having been caught out ten minutes past curfew on their way back from the library, he hadn’t credited her story. Albus believed that Minerva believed it, of course, but he thought such punishments had been abolished since he had been a student. When he learned she had told the unembellished truth, he was furious with the man, and ordered him to bring any miscreant Gryffindors to him and any students from other Houses to their respective Heads and only _they_ could prescribe any punishment. It was not up to the caretaker to determine punishments. Unfortunately, if a staff member sent a student to Pringle and told him to decide what their punishment would be, he felt he had carte blanche.

Albus had worked on Dippet and the Board of Governors to abolish all corporal punishment, but had only succeeded in getting Dippet to create greater limitations on what was allowed. When he became Headmaster, Albus had further limited corporal punishment: now only a teacher could administer any corporal punishment, it must be delivered nonmagically, and it could not cause any bruising, open wounds, or permanent injury, including scarring. He further banned a very long list of instruments that could not be used, including the entire catalogue of instruments found in the caretaker’s office. He would have completely banned all forms of corporal punishment if it weren’t for certain of the Governors who already were disgruntled by his unilateral actions. 

Minerva rather doubted that all of the staff members were going to abide by these rules. The staff who had never used corporal punishment would not be affected, and those who thought that what had been good enough for them as children was good enough for succeeding generations would find ways around Dumbledore’s rules. Minerva would be happiest once the worst of the lot was out, retired like Dustern or simply moving on, as Birnbaum and Wilhelmina were – though Minerva would miss the latter two teachers.

Unsure of what Albus expected of her next, Minerva decided to stay and talk to him. Perhaps she could help him in someway. She didn’t know whether Gertrude was staying at the school or not, but if she had gone to her home and retrieved summer-weight robes, she might very well be staying on indefinitely. In that case, Albus might not need her help. But there had to be something that she could do . . . if he said there was nothing, she would ask Gertrude if she could help her. Helping her would be helping Albus, after all, much as she disliked the thought of having Gertrude between them. Minerva reminded herself sternly that she and Albus were friends, but they had no claim on each other’s lives – Gertrude had her place in Albus’s life, too, and she would just have to live with that as she had for the past several months. 

She tried to catch Albus’s eye, but he was deep in conversation with Gertrude and Birnbaum and didn’t appear to see her. Only the four of them remained in the staff room. Gertrude was saying something about democracy being a fine ideal, but that Albus should consider being a little less democratic about running Hogwarts, and Birnbaum added something about balancing firm decision-making with a desire for harmony and unity. Perhaps it would be better if she went to his office later. Minerva didn’t want to appear to be hanging about for no discernable reason. And she didn’t want to seem to be demanding his time and attention when it was so evident that he was busy dealing with important school matters, either.

Minerva looked up from her ruminations when she heard her name.

“Perhaps Professor McGonagall could be enlisted for that.” It was Gertrude. Minerva’s stomach filled with butterflies. Was Gertrude volunteering her for something? Would she send her away from the castle so that she could have Albus to herself? Minerva barely had time to register her anxiety when Albus replied.

“That is a fine idea,” he said, turning toward Minerva, “if Minerva agrees, of course. We have been discussing the constitution of the committee.”

It had been agreed that Albus would present his proposal in detail to the committee at the first meeting, then leave the committee to their discussions. He would be available to rejoin them at any point if they had questions for him, but he would not attend subsequent meetings unless invited to. Nonetheless, Gertie believed that the Headmaster should have an _ex officio_ representative on the committee, someone to represent his point-of-view and report to him on the committee’s discussions. The staff had agreed that Albus should have someone attend the meetings and report to him. Minerva – and everyone else at the meeting – had instantly thought that Gertrude would be that representative.

“Gertrude has just suggested that you serve as my representative on the committee. Do not feel obligated, my dear, but I do think you would do well.”

Minerva didn’t know what to think, it was so unexpected. “Are you sure, Professor? Professor Gamp – ”

“ – has pointed out a few excellent reasons why someone else should play that role. Johannes cannot, since he is already a member of the committee, and he cannot simultaneously debate the issues, suggest counter-proposals, and the like, and represent me, as well.” Albus hesitated. “I know you still have your own doubts, Minerva. If you believe it would be too difficult to set aside your own questions and concerns and represent me effectively, I can certainly understand and respect that.”

“No, no, I think I could do that without a problem. I know I can raise my concerns with you privately, after all.” Inexplicably, Minerva felt herself blushing. “I would be honoured to represent you on the committee. We should meet and go over everything. I need to make sure I understand your proposal in its entirety. Do you have time now?”

Albus’s hesitation was perceptible. Was he changing his mind? “No, not right now. I will contact you later today and arrange a meeting. I assume you are available all day?”

“Yes, of course. That would be fine.” The committee was holding its first meeting that evening. Minerva supposed she knew enough to make it through the first meeting even with only a short preparation time. She would have to make notes to bring with her . . . it would have been nice to have more time, but Albus was attending the first part of the meeting, so hopefully there wouldn’t be any time for questions she couldn’t answer. Of course, as Minerva had learned at the Ministry, the best way to deal with questions one couldn’t answer was to say so, promise to look into it, and then actually follow through with an answer at the next opportunity. Some people thought that blustering through with a non-answer was effective, others thought that admitting ignorance was sufficient, but she found people respected you most when you did your best to answer their questions, whether at that moment or later, if necessary. She would be fine. She just hoped that she didn’t disappoint Albus.

“Good, then. Thank you! I’ll be in touch . . . send an owl or a house-elf with a message, all right, my dear?” He smiled at Minerva, then turned back to Gertrude and Birnbaum.

Minerva nodded dumbly at the back of his head. Well, he was distracted by all this, and very busy. He no doubt had good reason for speaking to the other two . . . and dismissing her. He was entrusting her with being his representative on the committee, after all. He could have insisted that Gertie do it – if he were adamant about it, Minerva was certain that Gertrude would do it, whatever her objections had been. She shouldn’t be so sensitive, Minerva thought; if it weren’t for _It_ , she wouldn’t have thought twice about the Headmaster’s behaviour, she was sure. Remembering her resolution to visit Hagrid and find out what was bothering him, Minerva rose, said good-bye to the other three, who all turned, smiling, and wished her a good morning. She set off for Hagrid’s cabin, transforming into her Animagus form as she left the castle and bounding across the lawns to find him, hoping to be able to be able to offer her friend a sympathetic ear.


	65. Hagrid's Hut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva visits Hagrid and discovers exactly what has been bothering him.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Rubeus Hagrid, and Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some description of sexual activity.

**LXV: Hagrid’s Hut**

Minerva ran across the grounds, exhilarated by the fresh, cool air. The previous night’s rain had left fed the thirsty grass, and Minerva loved the way it felt beneath her paws, springy and still damp. Tempted though she was to play a while in her Animagus form, she held her feline aspect in tight rein and kept her mind focussed on her mission to help Hagrid. He was one of her oldest friends, after all, and her honorary “little” brother. 

She reached the door to his cabin and scratched at it, meowing. Not even Brutus stirred within, so Minerva picked her way around to his vegetable gardens, then to the back, where his marrows and pumpkins grew beside a trellis filled with French beans. Hagrid wasn’t there, but Minerva was intrigued by the scents of his gardens and began sniffing around. Lovely here . . . perfect for a little catnap, she thought, while waiting for him. She settled into a nice tuft of grass in the shade at the base of the trellis and put her head on her paws.

Dozing with her eyes half-closed, Minerva heard voices coming from the other side of the cabin, and then Hagrid and Wilhelmina came around the corner. Wilhelmina, at about five-foot-three, seemed even smaller than usual, compared to Hagrid’s massive bulk. She held his left arm, almost in an embrace, and was speaking gently to him. It seemed an awkward moment to reveal herself, so Minerva remain quiet in the shadows and the cover of the grass and weeds. 

“Oh, Hagrid, you mustn’t let such remarks bother you, sweetheart. You are a valued member of the Hogwarts staff, and much better liked than either Ogg or Dustern. And Dumbledore appreciates you.” Wilhelmina gave Hagrid’s arm a squeeze against her chest. “ _I_ appreciate you, Hagrid, love.”

Minerva’s eyes grew rounder as she saw Wilhelmina rub Hagrid’s chest and rise up on her tip-toes to kiss his sternum.

Hagrid sighed loudly and sniffed. His eyes were red, as if he’d been having a good cry. “I know yeh do, Meena, but yer goin’ away.” A great shuddering breath came from him. “Yer goin’ away ferever.”

“Sweetheart, would you really want me to pass up this opportunity? As I’ve tried to tell you before, it’s not as though I’m leaving here because I want to leave _you_. I am leaving because I want to work with the dragons at the Welsh preserve. You know that. And we’ll have visits.” Wilhelmina’s arms embraced Hagrid as she looked up at him to see his reaction. 

Minerva felt very uncomfortable now. She wasn’t sure whether this was what it appeared to be; perhaps Wilhelmina and Hagrid were just good friends. Wilhelmina, Minerva knew, had been asked by Dumbledore to give Hagrid informal lessons as a boy and to use him as a sort of assistant to handle some of the larger or wilder creatures. They probably had grown close during that time. She was a mentor of sorts, a friend. But Minerva doubted her own reasoning as she watch Wilhelmina and Hagrid interact.

“I know that. But I’ll miss yeh. Yer me special little Meena-bird. An’ yeh’ll ferget all abou’ me. Yeh’ll find some dragon tamer . . . an’ I’ll have nobody.” It looked as if Hagrid was about to cry again.

“Hagrid, you know we’ve never made promises to each other . . . I . . . I am beginning to regret what we’ve had because now you are so upset. Perhaps I shouldn’t have . . . it may have been a mistake, knowing that I would leave eventually, and you would stay, for me to allow anything to happen between us. And I’ve been so concerned about you these last weeks, I have scarcely been able to consider my own feelings about it. Do you believe that I won’t miss you, too?”

A great tear rolled down Hagrid’s cheek. “But yeh have so much t’ look forward to. An’ me, I got Brutus an’ I got me work . . . oh, Meena, it was always you what made me days an’ nights ’appy ones.” Another tear trickled down his cheek.

“Was this all a mistake then, sweetheart? Would you go back and change it, if you could, and turn me away that first time?”

“No, no, I wouldn’t, yeh know that, me sweet Meena-bird, me sweet, sweet Meena-bird.” Hagrid looked tenderly down into the older witch’s face and caressed it. “Never.”

“Then let’s value what we had and not make a mess of it now. Let’s enjoy what time we have together while I’m still at the school. I am still here, Hagrid. No point in missing me yet.”

Minerva never would have thought the brusque, no-nonsense Care of Magical Creatures teacher could be so tender and so warm, though she had never considered it before, despite having become something of a friend over the last few months. A friend who never knew that Wilhelmina was having some sort of an affair with the assistant groundskeeper, who was also an old friend. While Minerva supposed that discretion was valuable in a closed community such as that at Hogwarts, Minerva wondered whether there was a particular reason for their apparent secrecy about the relationship. When had this begun? Wilhelmina was in her forties; Hagrid was not yet thirty. Had this begun when Hagrid was still a boy? When he should have been under her care? Was that the reason for the secrecy? Hagrid had only been thirteen when he’d been expelled, and Wilhelmina had started teaching the following year. Hagrid had been a big lad, at least seven feet even then, and yet an innocent, younger than his years, Minerva had always thought, despite his size. Had Grubbly-Plank been taking advantage of the half-giant during his formative adolescence? The thought made Minerva want to growl and sink her claws into flesh, but she calmed herself, remembering that she didn’t know the facts. This was all only speculation.

“Do you remember that first time, Hagrid?” Wilhelmina spread her hands upon his chest.

“Yeh know I do. Could never ferget it.” His voice came out roughly, but his expression was misty and tender, and he held her face in one of his hands as his other hand gently massaged the witch’s back. “I was a mite scared . . . afraid I’d hurt yeh.”

Minerva could see Wilhelmina’s broad grin. “Good thing I know a few spells from my work with the beasts.”

Minerva felt like growling again. Was she calling Hagrid a beast?

“Yeh used t’ need yer wand t’ cast it on yerself, remember?”

“Mmmm, and now, all I need is your wand,” the witch said with a naughty look, grasping at the front of Hagrid’s trousers. “I remember coming around back here, looking for you to help me with the Thestrals, and there you were, large as life, shirt and trousers off, standing barefoot on the slate next to the pump, washing yourself down. Oh, I had been watching you before this, so aware of you . . . how gentle yet strong you were . . . and I thought I should turn and leave. You hadn’t seen me, though, and I felt rooted to the spot. I had finally worked up the energy to turn and leave, when I was completely paralysed. You had removed your shorts and were soaping up, and I couldn’t move. I knew you would see me if you turned even a little, but I couldn’t move. And you did turn as you began to rinse yourself under the pump, you turned and saw me.” 

Wilhelmina had begun to undo Hagrid’s shirt buttons as she spoke.

“I did. I saw yeh there, face turnin’ all red, an’ I tried t’ cover meself up, but I’d thrown me shorts over t’ bench where me towels and clothes all stood waitin’ fer me.”

Wilhelmina kissed Hagrid’s lower chest again and laid her cheek against him, closing her eyes. “You were beautiful there, Hagrid. So beautiful. Shh, don’t deny it. You do not see what I see when I look at you. I remember trying to apologise, then finally just saying that I would leave and you could get on with your bath, unless you wanted some help rinsing off.”

“An’ I did, but I was afraid t’ say anythin’, afraid I mistook yer meanin’,” he said gruffly.

“But you dropped your hands from in front of you, and I could see growing evidence that you might like some help rinsing off.”

Minerva could see that both Wilhelmina and Hagrid had become flushed, and Wilhelmina’s breath was coming more rapidly.

“Let’s do that again, Hagrid, the way we did the first time.”

“There’s people at the castle now, though . . .”

“No one who will come down here. They’re all busy with their own concerns right now.” Wilhelmina looked up at Hagrid, supplicantly. “Please, sweetheart?”

If Minerva had wished earlier that she weren’t there, she wished it doubly so at that moment. Wilhelmina could only mean one thing. Hopefully, Hagrid would be adamant and bring her into his hut for whatever it was they were going to do. It was too late for Minerva to announce her presence, and she couldn’t leave now, even in her Animagus form – Hagrid would be sure to recognise her even if Wilhelmina didn’t.

Unfortunately, it appeared that Hagrid was easily persuaded, and he began to undress, neatly placing his clothing on the bench. He turned to Wilhelmina. “I don’t have any towels here now.”

Wilhelmina laughed. “I don’t believe we ever used the towels that particular day, Hagrid.”

Minerva tried to keep her eyes closed as Hagrid, wearing only his shorts, walked over to the Charmed pump and started it running. He picked up a bar of soap and began to lather his chest, then he splashed water on it to rinse, followed by ducking his head under the water and dousing his hair and beard. He stood and shook himself like a puppy, some of the water droplets landing on a very unhappy tabby Minerva.

Hagrid removed his shorts, and despite herself, Minerva watched as he first soaped his legs, then began to lather his rather sizable private parts. He then turned and made a show of spotting Wilhelmina. He covered his penis with his hands, Wilhelmina made her offer to help him rinse, and he dropped his hands to his sides. By this point, Hagrid was not yet fully excited, but sufficiently so that Minerva could easily see why he had been afraid of hurting the small witch. 

Minerva averted her gaze, but somehow her feline curiosity won out over her human embarrassment and slight distaste, and she found herself watching as Wilhelmina stepped forward to “help him” rinse. As she approached Hagrid, Wilhelmina shed her hat, her robe, her shoes, then bent to roll off her stockings. Dressed only in a chemise that scarcely went past her hips, the witch stood on the slate beside the half-giant, she looking even smaller, and he, even larger. Wilhelmina reached out and took Hagrid’s penis in her hands, using it to urge him forward and bringing it under the water streaming from the pump. She rubbed him, stimulating him as she rinsed the soap from his body, and Minerva blinked at the size of Hagrid’s erect penis. Whatever spell Wilhelmina was using, Minerva wouldn’t have wanted to try to have that in her, but despite herself, she found the tender care Wilhelmina was taking as she rinsed him, not neglecting his legs, to be touching. 

Wilhelmina knelt before Hagrid to run her wet hands over his legs, pushing the lather from them, her chemise becoming transparent as it became wetter. Minerva shuddered internally to see Wilhelmina stand, then bend to kiss Hagrid where she had just rinsed him. The kiss became more than a kiss, and Minerva finally closed her eyes. When she reopened them, Wilhelmina was standing and Hagrid was pulling her chemise off of her. He lifted her easily in his arms, holding her against his chest as he brought the small witch’s breasts to his mouth, holding her, kissing her, as she put her legs around his torso. Minerva shut her eyes again and wished for the thousandth time that she had not come down here in her Animagus form, or that she hadn’t come down here at all.

“Yer so beautiful, Meena,” Minerva heard the half-giant declare, “but yeh should go. I want yeh . . . an’ yer beautiful an’ so good t’ touch me as yeh have, but I don’ want t’ hurt yeh.” His voice was hoarse, but gentle.

He held Wilhelmina cradled naked in his arms, her legs still around him. Minerva opened her eyes to see Wilhelmina lean forward and kissed him on the mouth for the first time, her arms threaded around his neck and through his hair. The kiss seemed to never end. When it did, Wilhelmina spoke in a hushed voice.

“I know a spell, for birthing Thestral foals and Unicorns and such. I can use it on myself. You don’t need to worry a bit. I’ll just stretch to fit. Still nice and tight, but not too small.” She caressed Hagrid’s brow. “I’ve been thinking about you for a long time, Hagrid. I tried not to, but I couldn’t help myself. I honestly didn’t plan on ever doing anything about it, although I did think about how . . . well, how it could be done. But it was just a daydream, a fantasy, until I saw you standing there, so huge and strong and gentle. I do want you, Hagrid. But if you don’t, just say the word, and I will leave and never mention this again.”

They really were still reenacting their first time together, Minerva thought. She hoped that it had been over quickly, and would be this time, as well. She closed her eyes again, but opened them to a slit as she heard them moving from the pump. Maybe they were going inside now and she could make her escape. 

No such luck, though, as Hagrid carried Wilhelmina over to a cut tree trunk that could serve as a table to an ordinary witch or wizard, but which apparently Hagrid used as a stool. He sat down on it, and Wilhelmina settled into his lap, her legs still around him, her ankles just able to meet and cross behind him. It was clear to Minerva that the Gryffindor teacher was now stimulating herself against Hagrid, and from the expression on Hagrid’s face, he was far from objecting. Minerva closed her eyes, wishing that her feline ears weren’t so keen. She could hear every rub, every sigh, every gasp and moan, and when she heard a particularly sharp cry come from Wilhelmina, her eyes opened reflexively to see Hagrid holding the witch by her thighs, her hands on his shoulders, as he slowly lowered her onto him. Minerva wondered for a moment if the spell were working, but it appeared that the slow descent onto Hagrid’s erection was a part of the reenactment, since Wilhelmina began to speak again in gasps.

“Oh, my god, Hagrid, I never knew how good this could feel!” the witch cried.

“Am I hurtin’ yeh, Meena?” Hagrid asked solicitously, halting her downward progress.

“Oh, no, more, Hagrid! I can take all of you. Just slowly this first time, please!” The witch moaned as Hagrid began to slowly lower her again until he disappeared within her completely.

Minerva blinked. That must be some spell, she thought. There had to have been fifteen inches to be “taken,” as Wilhelmina put it. If she were in her ordinary form, Minerva would have blushed. She shouldn’t even be witnessing this, and here she was watching! 

Minerva closed her eyes again, unable to stop her ears as the two completed their union rather noisily, with a lot of slapping of thigh against thigh and moaning and gasping, until finally Wilhelmina cried out, “Oh, Hagrid, I’m coming, I’m coming! Oh, god, Hagrid, I love you, my sweet darling!”

Then Hagrid grunted and gasped, barely whispering, “Meena, Meena!” and ending with a moaning sigh.

Minerva opened one eye. Hagrid’s head was resting on top of Wilhelmina’s, and she leaned into his embrace.

After what seemed hours to Minerva, Hagrid said, “Yeh didn’t say that the first time, Meena. Yeh ain’t never said it afore.”

“I do love you, though, you know, Hagrid. And even after I leave here and we both get on with our lives, I will still love you. You will always hold a very special place in my heart. I am sorry I never told you that before. But you take things so strongly to heart, and I knew I wouldn’t be staying and you wouldn’t be leaving.” 

“I’m glad yeh tol’ me, Meena-bird. It makes it easier fer me, knowin’ it’s not so easy fer you. Yeh’ve always known I love yeh, even if I stopped tellin’ yeh after a while. An’ now I know yeh love me, too. It’s better that way.”

“Yes, it is.” Wilhelmina leaned back and looked into Hagrid’s face. “It was a mistake. It was wrong of me not to tell you. I am sorry.”

“It’s okay. I think I knew . . . or I used t’ think I knew. But I began t’ doubt it . . . yer so happy t’ be off fer Wales.” Hagrid’s eyes filled with tears again.

Wilhelmina reached up and wiped his face. “Happy to be off for Wales, Hagrid, not happy to be leaving you behind.”

“Then why can’t I come?” Hagrid’s face was sorrowful.

“We’ve discussed all this before, Hagrid.” Wilhelmina sighed. “But let’s get our clothes and go in now. We can have a nice cup of tea and talk, and then,” the witch grinned, adding, “and then you can feast on your Meena-bird!”

Hagrid laughed and stood, holding onto her. Wilhelmina Summoned her wand, then used it to gather their clothes, which settled between their chests, and Hagrid carried the little witch into his hut. 

Minerva let out a huge sigh of relief, then stood and stretched. Well, now she knew what had been bothering Hagrid. She certainly wished she had found out in some other way, though. She hoped never to be privy to such a thing again.

Minerva began to trot back up to the castle. Her eyes narrowed. She would have a word with the current Gryffindor Head of House later, though. She wanted to find out when this had all started, and if it had been when Hagrid was still a boy, she would let her have a piece of her mind, that was for certain. If it had started later . . . well, they both seemed happy enough, the only problem being their impending separation. But Hagrid would get over it eventually. It might be more difficult for him, since it was quite likely that Wilhelmina was the only witch he’d ever been with, and he wasn’t exactly what most witches were looking for in a wizard – whether sexually or for a life-partner. But she’d be at the school after Wilhelmina left; she would make sure to integrate Hagrid into some of the castle activities, more than he had been when Dippet had been Headmaster. Dumbledore would be quite a different sort of Headmaster, and very good for Hogwarts, Minerva was sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter was unexpected and entertaining! And not too nightmare-inducing!


	66. Many Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva talks with Poppy and disabuses her of a peculiar notion that just entered her head, meets with Albus, and has a somewhat awkward conversation with Wilhelmina.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey, Albus Dumbledore, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, Professor Lillian Evandras, and Madam Perlecta (librarian).

**LXVI: Many Meetings**

Minerva changed her robes, feeling somewhat sticky after her Animagus outing, and put on the saffron and raspberry robes that were fast becoming her favourites, and which Albus had seemed to like. As she rearranged her hair, she wished she knew of some self- _Obliviate_ spell she could use to selectively remove a portion of the memory of what she had witnessed in Hagrid’s gardens. Despite her embarrassment, though, Minerva was determined to talk to Wilhelmina about it. If the teacher had taken advantage of Hagrid when he was a youth, or worse, a child, Minerva would see to it that the witch paid for it. Otherwise, she would just stay out of it and be available to provide Hagrid with support and friendship after Wilhelmina left Hogwarts.

An owl flew into Minerva’s bedroom, a small scroll of parchment clutched in its talons. The little owl didn’t wait for a treat or a response, but just flew back out the open window after depositing the scroll on the vanity in front of her. A school owl, most likely.

Minerva broke the purple wax seal on the parchment. A note from Albus.

_“14 July 1957_

_“Dear Minerva,_

_“Thank you very much for agreeing to act as my representative on the committee. I have every faith that you will serve admirably._

_“Although we met this morning before breakfast, I agree that we should meet again before the first committee meeting so that you are confident that you understand my proposal and my objectives. We can also discuss the issues you should pay closest attention to and include in your reports to me. Can you meet with me at two o’clock in my office? I will be attending lunch; if this is an inconvenient time, we can reschedule then._

_“I very much enjoyed our early morning tea today. I hope you don’t mind having risen so early to drink tea with an old wizard!_

_“I hope to see you soon,_

_“Yours,_

_“Albus”_

After witnessing Hagrid and Wilhelmina in the garden, Minerva had completely forgotten the slight offense she had taken when Albus had dismissed her after the meeting that morning. From the sound of this note, however, it seemed that she really had been over-sensitive. He mentioned their pre-breakfast meeting, after all, and he said that he had enjoyed it. But then, what would he have said? “My dear, I did so enjoy our little meeting this morning, but I found parting with a kiss unprofessional under the circumstances?” Hardly.

Minerva sighed and checked the time. Only another fifteen minutes before lunch would be served. Not enough time to find Wilhelmina and talk to her – if she wasn’t still down at Hagrid’s. Minerva did not want to imagine what kind of “fun” they might be having in his little cabin. Minerva smirked. “Meena-bird.” What a nickname! But rather cute, actually, if one didn’t think about – or witness – some of the details that went along with their relationship. She wondered how many people knew they were involved. Well, she might find that out when she talked to Wilhelmina. The sooner the better, before she could become too uncomfortable with the idea and lose her nerve.

Minerva leisurely made her way down to the Great Hall, arriving at the same time as Johannes and Professor MacAirt. Minerva watched as the two approached the table. This wasn’t the first time she had seen the two in cheerful conversation. She wondered if _they_ were a couple. After what she’d seen in the garden between Hagrid and Wilhelmina, nothing would surprise her, she thought. Birnbaum was much younger than Hafrena MacAirt, by at least thirty years or so, although he was no longer the young man he had been when he had first started teaching at Hogwarts when Minerva was a student. They could just be very good friends. Then again, maybe they were more than that. Or had been at one point. Minerva supposed that living in such relatively close quarters with so few opportunities to socialise with other adult wizards outside the school, it might be natural for some of the staff to become lovers occasionally. Perhaps Albus and Gertrude . . . no, she was _not_ going to contemplate that.

Minerva was one of the first to arrive for lunch. Hagrid and Wilhelmina showed up early, but not together, Hagrid following Wilhelmina into the Great Hall about five minutes after she arrived. Both of them looked quite happy, in contrast to Hagrid’s recent gloominess, and they sat next to each other discussing Flesh-eating Slugs. Minerva thought that was an even worse topic than dragon mating habits, and it appeared that others at the table were in agreement with that assessment. Fortunately, before anyone started throwing their bread rolls at the oblivious couple to get their attention, Albus arrived. With the exception of Professor Dustern, who looked as though she had bitten into a bitter lemon, everyone seemed pleased to see him – and not only because the Headmaster’s arrival interrupted a discussion of Flesh-eating Slug excretions and their acidity relative to their sliminess. People may not always agree with Dumbledore, Minerva thought, but they generally respected and liked him. She was surprised, now that she was aware that Dustern didn’t like Albus, that she could see the woman’s dislike so clearly. On the other hand, perhaps Dustern simply had behaved more professionally in the past, and now that she was leaving Hogwarts, she didn’t feel under any obligation to hide her feelings.

Minerva smiled at Albus as he took the seat between her and Gertrude, then was pleased when Poppy came in and sat on her other side. Poppy had been one of the fence-sitters during the meeting that morning, and Minerva could understand her reasoning. But the conversation at the table was light and didn’t touch on the subject that had brought them all together in the middle of the summer. Flitwick seemed to be making himself at home and was in a spirited debate with Professor James about the Chudley Cannons and the Holyhead Harpies. It seemed that James was an ardent follower of the Cannons, despite their many years of being close to last in the Quidditch standings, and little Flitwick was fond of the Harpies. He reddened quite cutely when James accused him of just liking a witch on a broomstick, but laughed good-naturedly.

Then Professor MacAirt asked Gertrude about the party. Apparently, she had been invited, as a relative through Alroy and Aine, but had been unable to attend because she had been on a divination retreat somewhere in Canada and had only arrived back in the country on Friday. Unfortunately, conversation was at a lull at that point, and it seemed everyone had heard Hafrena’s question and were eagerly awaiting Gertrude’s answer. 

“It was lovely, Hafrena. It is a pity you were unable to attend. The young Blacks were quite well-feted,” Gertrude responded.

Hafrena knit her brow. “But I’d heard there was some disruption, though I didn’t hear the details.”

“Oh, yes, I heard that, too,” Professor Evandras said with a giggle. “Something about that Valeriana Yaxley – it was in the _Prophet_.”

“Oh,” Hafrena said. “In that case, I’ll just look there, then.” The old witch began eating her noodles, apparently having lost any interest in the subject. Minerva remembered that she had been one of the witches who had been involved in Gertrude’s conspiracy to unmask Valeriana, so to speak, and she no doubt did not wish to embarrass the Headmaster by discussing the witch in front of him.

“But it sounded so intriguing! Is it true what the _Prophet_ said about her interrupting your father’s toast, Gertrude?” The Ancient Runes teacher was persistent. And a gossip. Minerva could see why she hadn’t been included in the conspiracy. She never could have kept her mouth shut.

Poppy spoke up, apparently in an attempt to deflect Evandras. “Minerva told me that the account in the newspaper was accurate, Lillian, so if you have read that, you have learned all there is to know.”

“Oh, but surely not! Minerva! I didn’t know you were there! Tell us all about it!” The witch was practically squealing in her desire to know all the sordid details.

“Leave the poor girl alone to finish her lunch, Lillian,” Madam Perlecta said, intervening.

“I just wanted to know if she really made a scene and announced her own engagement at another witch’s engagement party!”

Minerva finally decided that all this back-and-forth was worse than simply addressing the subject, especially given the fact that Albus was studiously cutting his meat into smaller and smaller pieces while trying not to look as though he were paying attention, and so she said, “Yes, I was there. It was a lovely occasion. I was very fortunate to have been invited. And yes, Valeriana Yaxley was also there, and yes, she had the immense bad taste to announce her engagement to Francis Flint in the midst of Mr Gamp’s toast to the engaged couple.” Trying to gauge Albus’s reaction without appearing to be looking at him, Minerva added, “The assembled company greeted the news with astonishment, more at its delivery than at its content, since Yaxley had Flint hanging off her arm the entire time they were there. She is a thoroughly unlikeable witch, regardless of her apparent charm and wit. The general consensus was that she had gone off her nut some time ago and this was the final sign of it. I felt somewhat sorry for her fiancé; I don’t believe he knew what he was in for with her until it was too late. But I have no more desire to discuss that witch. I have seen and heard all I need to, and she is unworthy of another thought – from _any_ of us. I must say, however, that Professor Gamp’s father was the picture of aplomb, despite the rude interruption, and I enjoyed the Gamp hospitality very much while I was there.” That may have been a slight exaggeration, but not by too much, Minerva realised upon reflection.

After the others had gone back to their usual conversations, and Evandras’s curiosity had apparently been satisfied, Gertrude leaned toward Minerva, speaking to her across Albus’s plate, which now looked as though it had contained mince, rather than steak, and said, “Thank you, Minerva. Lillian isn’t ill-intended, simply too curious. And I appreciate your remark about my father, as well. Father was quite taken aback, and he wasn’t sure afterward whether he shouldn’t have interrupted the witch.” Gertie smirked. “I told him he did just fine. Let her embarrass herself without any help from others.”

Minerva smiled at Gertrude. “I did have an interesting few days there, Professor, and it was very good to meet your son – by the by, my mother wrote to Robert. I think they’re making arrangements for her to visit Thea very soon.”

“Good, thank you very much.” The older witch smiled warmly at Minerva.

“Mother sees it as a nice holiday for her and my father – so she won’t be out carousing in Amsterdam on her own!” Minerva grinned.

“Good thing, too. Even the most level-headed witch can become tempted!” Gertie chuckled at her own joke.

“Professor Dumbledore, it doesn’t appear the meal was to your liking,” Minerva said, looking at the mess still on his plate. “Perhaps we should call a house-elf and get you something else.”

“No, no, that’s all right, my dear. I ate plenty. And there’s trifle for pudding!” Albus said brightly.

“Ah, well, you can have mine, too, then,” Minerva smiled at him. “Although I do hope you have a healthier supper!”

“I can’t take your dessert, Minerva,” Albus began.

“You most certainly can! I’m not terribly fond of trifle, and I ate too many noodles, anyway. I’m quite filled up on my starches.”

“Well, if you’re sure . . .”

“Of course, I’m sure, Albus. We can’t have you fainting during our meeting this afternoon, after all.” She smiled at him and patted his arm lightly, then turned back to the remains of her own meal, finishing her vegetables. 

As she watched the plates disappear to be replaced by dishes of trifle, she felt someone kicking her ankle under the table. Scowling, Minerva turned to Poppy.

“Nice lunch, Poppy?”

“Very. I haven’t seen you to talk, though – and I’d love to catch up with you!”

Minerva forbore telling her that they had only just seen each other a few days ago, instead saying, “Well, why don’t we go off for a chat now, then? I’m sure you can do without the trifle after a week with Violet – and you’ll be visiting your gran soon. No doubt she’ll feed you up.” 

It was slightly mean of her, Minerva thought, knowing that Poppy enjoyed trifle, but Poppy agreed readily enough, and they set off for the matron’s quarters near the infirmary. They could drink tea and gossip there. Minerva wondered whether Poppy knew about Wilhelmina and Hagrid . . . but she was loathe to mention it, if she didn’t know. Hagrid was losing his Meena-bird shortly, anyway; no point in gossiping about them. It might hurt Hagrid more than he already was.

Minerva had tea with Poppy, who told her that she felt Minerva had handled Evandras’s curiosity very well.

“I hope that it didn’t bother Professor Dumbledore, though. Bringing it up that way, in public . . . .”

“Albus Dumbledore is a grown wizard, Minerva. Don’t worry so much about it – just speak your mind, as always, and you’ll be fine. Besides, this certainly isn’t the first time he’s heard her name come up in conversation before, even here at Hogwarts.” Poppy paused. “Although I do think that he seems more uncomfortable than usual, you’re right about that, Min. Minerva,” she corrected herself. Gazing at Minerva, she added, “I wonder why that would be. You’d think that over the passage of time, he’d have grown less sensitive about her, not more.”

“Yes, well, this was about her pending marriage. I doubt the other conversations were on that topic.”

“No,” Poppy said slowly, “no, that’s true; they were more along the lines of wondering why she had quit the Board of Governors in such a snit. And a few people wondered why she had stood outside the castle shrieking Dumbledore’s name. He didn’t seem terribly bothered by it, though.”

“She didn’t! You didn’t tell me that before, Poppy!”

“Yes, well, it was after he refused to see her in private before the midsummer Board of Governors meeting. They hadn’t seen each other, obviously, since he had kicked her out of his cottage. I think he would have tolerated her presence on the Board, and been professional about it, but he was under no obligation to meet with her in private. He apparently sent a message out to her that if she wished to discuss Hogwarts business, she should do so with the Headmaster or during the Board of Governors meeting, but they had nothing to discuss on any other subject. That’s when she went outside and started screeching up at the castle. I doubt Albus could even hear her – he had the most peculiar rooms at the time; I could never find them on my own – hidden near Gryffindor Tower.”

“Poor Albus! And I bet he _could_ hear her. I could see the front lawn quite clearly from them although I could never find the windows from the outside when I tried. It was hidden from the outside, not the other way around.”

Poppy’s eyebrows rose. “And when were _you_ in his rooms, Minerva? I had to go there in my capacity as matron, or I doubt I’d ever have laid eyes on them.”

Minerva was pleased not to blush. “As you say, Poppy, we have been friends for quite some time.”

“Yes?” Poppy was still waiting.

She should just tell her she’d visited him after she’d been out of school, Minerva thought, and he’d invited her up to his rooms, but that seemed very suggestive to Minerva’s own mental ears, so she said instead, “I was a Gryffindor prefect, remember, then Head Girl. I, too, had business with him.”

“I was a Hufflepuff prefect, and _I_ was never in his rooms. I don’t know of any other prefect who was, either!”

“I was also in Animagus training with him, Poppy. And he was my Head of House, too, not just the Deputy Headmaster.” Minerva didn’t know why she felt defensive, but at Poppy’s continued waiting silence, she added, “The first time was during that whole business with the Chamber of Secrets, if you must know, Poppy. Well, actually, that wasn’t the first time . . . .” Minerva hesitated, then regretted saying anything.

“When was the first time, then, Minerva?” Poppy wore a look of consternation now, not her earlier one of amused curiosity.

“It’s none of your business, Poppy. Now let’s talk of something else.”

“No, now you wait, Minerva McGonagall. Whatever respect I have for the Headmaster, your relationship has been very tense these last few months, at least on your part. And you can’t deny it, either, or you wouldn’t have been in my office last week yelling about fucking him.” Poppy blushed. “I didn’t mean it that way. Well, in a way . . . . What I meant was . . . Minerva, dear, I don’t want to accuse anyone of anything improper, but when you were a student, the Professor . . . did he ever – ”

Minerva stood, irate. “Poppy Pomfrey! How dare you even _suggest_ such a thing! Of Albus Dumbledore! And of me! He would _never_ – the mere _thought_ – he’s a good man, Poppy, I trust him completely, and I will _not_ hear – ”

“Hush, hush, Minerva, I’m sorry . . . I _never_ thought such a thing of him. _Honestly_. Please sit down. But when you won’t tell me why you were in his rooms as a student . . . it is just unusual, that’s all. I’m sorry. I should know Dumbledore better than that. I do, in fact. He is most trustworthy. And I know he’s a very good friend of yours. And I’m glad you are becoming closer. But you have to admit, it sounds suspicious that you won’t say why you were with him in his rooms as a student.”

Minerva lowered herself to the settee. “I did not tell you because you would want the circumstances explained, and I am not at liberty to discuss them.” She sighed, thinking. “I will tell you what I can, but you must promise not to ask any questions. And not to ever discuss this with anyone, ever. Not even me. It must be as though we never had this conversation.”

Poppy looked astonished at this request, but agreed to Minerva’s terms, and Minerva continued. “You and I weren’t yet as good friends at the time, but you may remember that the September of my sixth year, your fourth, I didn’t take the Hogwarts Express with everyone else.” Poppy nodded. “That’s because I was already at Hogwarts. I had been for a few days. And the very first night, well, the castle was very deserted, and I was afraid to stay in Gryffindor Tower by myself. The castle just felt . . . eerie, I suppose. So Professor Dumbledore allowed me to stay in the guest room attached to his suite. It was very kind of him. The next day, more of the staff returned, and the castle didn’t seem so odd, so I went back to my dormitory. The next time was during the attacks. I thought I had some information for him, so he brought me there to discuss it. Then during my final summer, you know that I had tutoring from Professor Dumbledore, and sometimes we would meet in his sitting room for tea. Professor Gamp was often, though not always, present. It was all very above-board, although it might not have appeared that way to others had they been aware of it.” Minerva remembered meeting Dustern in the corridor on the way back to Gryffindor Tower early in the morning. It had been a very good thing that Dumbledore had had Wilspy fetch her robes for her. 

“Oh! Well, that does all seem rather innocent. And very good of him to let you stay in his guest room. Very understanding.” Poppy nodded. “But why were you at Hogwarts early?”

Minerva frowned at her friend, who had obviously already forgotten her promise not to ask questions. “It was about a Transfiguration project. Really, Poppy! You did promise not to ask questions!”

“I’m sorry . . . I’m sure there’s a good reason for that.” Poppy looked at Minerva curiously. “I never did believe that bit about the Transfiguration tutoring before your seventh year, you know. Most people didn’t give it a second thought . . . but especially after Hagrid told me that you spent so much time with _both_ Dumbledore _and_ Gamp, and you spent hours at a time in your Animagus form . . . .” Poppy shrugged. “I can’t even begin to imagine what it was all about, but if Gamp was involved, and no doubt Dippet knew – and your parents, as well – I thought you would eventually tell me about it. Then, until just now when you mentioned Albus’s old rooms, I’d forgotten all about it. And you still won’t tell me.”

“It isn’t my business to tell you. Unless you one day become Headmistress of Hogwarts, you will have to remain with your curiosity unassuaged, I’m afraid,” Minerva responded. “But now I must be on my way. Dumbledore and I have a meeting about the meeting tonight. Too many meetings for one summer’s day, I’d say!”

As Poppy showed Minerva to the door, Minerva turned to her friend and hugged her.

Poppy smiled at the uncharacteristically spontaneous show of affection. “What was that for?”

“Thank you for being my friend, Poppy, and for being concerned about me – even if you were so wide of the mark as to be insulting!” Minerva joked.

“You know, Min – erva, if you ever do need to talk about anything, I’m here. And I can be discreet. I like hearing gossip more than I do repeating it, you know. And if there’s ever anything troubling you . . . Albus . . . or anything else . . .”

“Thanks, Poppy. I will remember that, but now I really _must_ be going, or I will be as late as I have been annoyed with Albus for being!”

As Minerva rode the stairs up to the Headmaster’s office, she wondered whether anyone else had ever thought that Dumbledore had “taken advantage” of her when she was a student. She doubted it. Poppy would have said something about it now, surely, when she said that she had never thought such a thing before that afternoon. And Gertrude certainly knew them both well enough to know that Albus would never engage in untoward activities with a student – with _her_. He had even been concerned with the mere appearance of impropriety the night that she had stayed in his guest room shortly after Myrtle had been killed. 

It was just as well that she had never told anyone of her feelings toward Albus, Minerva thought with a sigh; they might believe that Albus had done something inappropriate when she had been his student to encourage those feelings in her. A schoolgirl’s crush. But whatever he had or hadn’t done, hers had been no mere student crush, as she had so hoped it would be. Even when Rudolf had asked her to marry him, her first thought had been, not of a potential life with the German wizard, but of Albus, and of leaving him behind her forever. She had been out of school for more than six years by that time, and hadn’t seen Albus in over a year, yet her first thought had been of him. No, it hadn’t been a crush; it was more like a disease, or a curse, or a madness. A monomania that occasionally subsided with time, but always to return, and now returned to dominate her life. No wonder that Quin had picked up on it so easily in his divination. What was it he had said, in that lyrical Irish voice of his? ’ _Tis dominatin’ your life, Minerva, this sadness that you do not have, this emptiness that you do not feel, this longing that is not there . . . ._

Minerva shook herself. She was almost to the top of the long, winding stairs. Soon she would be in Albus’s presence, and she had to maintain her calm . . . she would demonstrate an attitude of friendly warmth and professional concern for the task at hand. The door opened before her as she arrived on the landing at the top of the stair. Minerva smiled slightly. Nice to be expected, she supposed.

She stepped into the Headmaster’s office. Fawkes was there on his perch, head tucked beneath a flame-coloured wing, joining the portraits in their afternoon nap. Albus was at his desk, busily writing something – using the plumy purple quill she had given him, she noticed. He had seemed pleased with its variable width charm. Minerva smiled, thinking of how much Albus liked to play. They’d had quite a bit of fun during her Animagus training, and afterward, during the summer she had spent helping with the wards – once, of course, she had got past her fear that he could read her mind and would learn of her feelings for him, and she had become more comfortable in his presence. Or at least, less uncomfortable with her own feelings, she supposed.

She had rushed so from Poppy’s rooms, she hadn’t had time to stop and retrieve any parchment or her quill. Well, Albus surely had plenty.

Albus looked up from his writing and smiled at her. “Good afternoon, Minerva! I’m glad you could make it.”

“I’m sorry if I’m a bit late, Albus – ”

“I don’t believe you are, but if you were, it would certainly be understandable. And after all of the times _I_ have been late for our meetings, it would be extremely churlish of me to make a fuss about it. Please, have a seat!” He waved his quill, indicating one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“I’m also afraid that I’ve come a bit unprepared, Albus. I’ve come straight from Poppy’s, you see, and didn’t have time to stop and get a quill or parchment.”

Albus smiled and handed her a brilliant red quill with gold tipping the vane. “And there’s some fresh parchment there,” he said, pointing to one end of his large desk. “The quill is charmed to draw from my bright blue ink. I hope that suits?”

“Yes, yes, that is fine. Is this feather from Fawkes?”

“Yes, my dear, and I do keep it here in my office desk. Wouldn’t do to have it lying about, now, would it, Fawkes?”

Having heard his name, the bird had woken and was looking down at them; he trilled a sweet reply to Dumbledore’s question. Minerva smiled at the sound. Fawkes was a most unusual “pet,” although Albus had told her that Fawkes had simply chosen him as his human companion, and so was not “owned” in the way one might own a more common pet. As she came to know Albus better, it was no surprise to Minerva that the phoenix had chosen that particular wizard out of all those in the world. Albus had come upon him during his travels as a young man, and Fawkes had been with him ever since.

Minerva sat in the chair, asking questions and taking notes, for over an hour. She thought Albus was looking a bit tired, and despite the two portions of trifle, he hadn’t eaten well that noon, and she doubted he’d had much sleep the night before – as little or less than she’d had.

“Albus, do you mind if we take a break for a bit? I think you’ve answered most of my questions, anyway, and perhaps we could both do with a cup of tea.”

“I am sorry, my dear! If you are tired, we certainly may take a break. I had hoped that Horace would be able to join us and answer your questions about the potion, but he needed to return to his niece. Completely understandable, if somewhat lamentable, that he couldn’t be here this afternoon.” Albus had briefed her on Belby’s response to Slughorn’s inquiry, which had arrived midmorning after the staff meeting.

“I think I understand that part of it – although I would like to read Belby’s letter myself,” Minerva answered.

“Of course, here you are.” He handed her the letter. 

“Thank you,” Minerva said, not looking at the parchment. “But what of that tea? You look as though you could do with a cup, yourself.”

Albus smiled. “I am quite all right, but I’m sure that Wilspy will be quite pleased to provide us with some afternoon refreshment.”

He called Wilspy, who promised to bring tea and biscuits immediately.

“Shall we move to the sitting area, Albus? It might be more comfortable.”

“Well, I just . . . I’ve been trying to get this work done, you see . . . but yes, you’re right. Of course.” Albus stood. “After you, Professor!” He smiled and gestured toward the armchairs on the other side of the room.

Minerva handed his special quill back to him, then went to sit in the area beside the fireplace, choosing the chair closest to the window and leaving the large overstuffed chair for Albus, if he wanted it. There was a pleasant breeze coming through the open window, and Minerva turned toward it and took a deep breath of fresh air. When she turned back, Albus was still fiddling with things at his desk.

“Aren’t you joining me, Albus?”

“Oh, yes, just a minute . . . just tidying . . .”

As he crossed the room to join her, the tea tray popped in, minus Wilspy, and deposited itself on the low table in front of her.

“Shall I be mother, Albus?”

“That would be lovely, my dear,” he said, sitting in the comfy chair beside her. “I believe she brought us a nice, light Darjeeling. You may want it just with a little lemon rather than milk. That is how I would like mine – and just a touch of honey, please.”

Minerva smiled, knowing that Albus’s idea of “just a touch” was likely more than hers. 

“You tell me ‘when,’ all right, Albus?” Minerva asked as she dribbled honey into the amber tea. Sure enough, the “touch” of honey was at least three times the amount she could have borne to have in her tea. She placed a lemon wedge on Albus’s saucer to allow him to add the lemon to taste, then poured her own tea and squeezed just a bit of lemon into it.

Minerva leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and breathed in the aroma of the tea.

“Are you very tired, Minerva?” Albus asked softly. “We could meet again just before dinner if you’d like to go back to your rooms for a while.”

“No, I’m just enjoying the tea, the breeze, and your company, Albus.” She smiled warmly at him. “But if you were planning on napping . . . I can read over Belby’s letter and leave it on your desk for you.”

Albus smiled, eyes twinkling. “I don’t nap _every_ afternoon, you know, Minerva.”

“Naps are healthy. Mother always said so. She says they are better than sleeping in in the morning.” Minerva frowned. “Of course, Mother never _can_ sleep late mornings, but I still think she’s right about naps.”

Albus chuckled. “Well, right or not, I hadn’t planned on a nap this afternoon, although I did think I might try for an earlier night than usual.”

Minerva took a sip of her tea. “When did you finally get to bed last night, Albus? It sounded from what you said that it must have been quite late.”

“Oh, almost one o’clock, I believe.”

“Albus! You need your sleep – you had a hard day yesterday. You should have gone to bed soon after Slughorn and I left.”

“Gertie and I had a lot to discuss, then I had some research I wanted to do . . . I just lost track of time.”

“You need to be at your best during the meeting this evening. Perhaps you should reconsider that nap.”

Albus remembered her insistence the evening before that he shut his eyes for a while, and how lovely it had been to wake with her there. 

“Ah, but, my dear, I do not always have you there to lay me down then wake me up as you did yesterday evening.” Albus had intended it to be a joke, but as the words came out of his mouth, he found they sounded quite different from how he had intended them; instead, they sounded much more as he actually felt: that it had been lovely to have her there with him and to see her face when he awoke. It was all he could do to keep from blushing crimson. He sipped his tea, fussing with the lemon.

“Well, if that’s what it takes, I’ll tuck you in and come by and wake you up,” Minerva answered. 

She was blushing. He had succeeded in embarrassing the poor girl, Albus thought. 

“No, no, my dear. Not that that wouldn’t be lovely, of course, but I was joking. I have my Big Ben. I can set that. It’s a bit less gentle than awakening to your voice . . .” And there he was again, on about her. He never should have left his desk. What was the matter with him that he could turn into such a fool around Minerva? She looked so beautiful; she was wearing the same frock she’d worn to breakfast that day in her rooms. But she was saying something . . . .

“. . . glad to, Albus. But it’s up to you. I do still need to read Belby’s letter, and there are a few things I wanted to do this afternoon. So if you’d like to take a nap, or just rest for a while, I’d be happy to come by later and we can meet for a half hour or so before dinner. And if you aren’t up, I won’t mind replacing Big Ben, whoever he is.”

Albus chuckled. “Big Ben is my Muggle alarm clock, Minerva. Rather noisy thing, but effective! I wind it once a day. It’s quite fun!” He smiled at her, relaxed once more.

“Oh, I thought maybe Big Ben was another house-elf or something. It was puzzling!” Minerva laughed. “So why don’t we do that? We’ll finish our tea, I’ll take care of a few things, come back, read the letter, and if you’re not up, I’ll come wake you about a half hour or so before supper.”

Albus nodded. “All right, my dear. If you insist. But I can’t promise I will sleep!”

As Minerva made her way to the Gryffindor Head’s rooms twenty minutes later, she wondered about Albus. He seemed to be behaving rather peculiarly, but she couldn’t put her finger exactly on what it was. Perhaps he was only overtired. That would also explain his odd behaviour that morning after the meeting. 

She hoped that Albus wasn’t overtaxing himself. He was the most powerful wizard alive, but that didn’t mean that he had endless reserves of energy, after all. And despite the fact that everyone touted the fact that Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald and returned to Hogwarts the following week, Minerva knew it wasn’t as simple as that. He had been dreadfully exhausted; she had only seen him occasionally during the months after the war ended, but there had been a look in his eyes that hadn’t been there before . . . almost haunted. It seemed a long time before he was truly himself again, and not merely acting the part for those around him. Minerva wished that Albus had felt comfortable enough with her to have relaxed and been himself with her, but although they had gradually found their footing again after the incident at her parents’ house, Albus still withheld his feelings from her. And perhaps whatever it was that he had done, whatever it was that he had suffered, in order to defeat Grindelwald . . . perhaps it was something he couldn’t speak of with anyone. Minerva remembered the bleak look that had crossed her mentor’s face when he had told her that Grindelwald’s defeat had not come without great loss. She wondered if she would ever know the full extent of what Albus had meant by those words.

At least this situation with Pretnick was not as serious as a war with a Dark Wizard. And she was here to help him with it. Minerva smiled. He had let her talk him into going up into the Headmaster’s suite and resting. She hoped he really would take a nap. She felt as though she could use one herself, in fact, and she was younger than he . . . much younger. Somehow, that was a very gloomy thought to Minerva, and she sighed.

Remembering why she was on her way to see Wilhelmina, Minerva steeled herself for an uncomfortable conversation. Perhaps this wasn’t any of her business . . . but she had felt somewhat responsible for Hagrid her last year at Hogwarts, ever since she’d bought him that broom, and on returning, she found those feelings reawakened. They hadn’t seen one another very often over the years, but she’d always found him a comfortable soul, easy to be around, and seeing him after a long separation was never difficult or awkward. Minerva smiled. Another relationship that was easier than the one with Albus. But she would deal with _It_ and continue to work on their friendship.

She had been a bit embarrassed at her thoughts when Albus had mentioned his nap . . . she would have liked to have tucked him in . . . given him a kiss to dream on . . . lain down beside him . . . No! Minerva almost groaned aloud. This was exactly the sort of thing she was supposed to be avoiding. And the kiss would not be for Albus . . . it would be for her. For her dreams. 

Albus would find her thoughts about him disturbing, without a doubt. Here he had spoken to her as a friend, as a daughter, perhaps, and she was perverting it with her own desires for him. But just to lie down beside him . . . .

Minerva arrived at the seventh floor in a foul mood, having lectured herself about the necessity of reining _It_ in and getting _It_ under control. And now she was about to confront another witch about her sex life. As though it were any of her business. No, it wasn’t about the witch’s sex life, Minerva reminded herself, it was about _Hagrid_ , and whether he had been exploited as a youth. Minerva sighed. Poor Hagrid. He was vulnerable even now, really, odd as that might sound to some. Not naive, perhaps, but an innocent, nonetheless, and despite the hardships he’d endured. 

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Minerva knocked on the Gryffindor Head’s door portrait. As the portrait disappeared to announce her presence, Minerva began to have second thoughts about what she was about to do. But it was too late to turn back now; the door opened to reveal a smiling witch.

“Minerva! What a pleasant surprise! I thought you might be . . . someone else.”

“Were you expecting someone? I can come back . . .”

“No, no, not at all. Come in, come in. Tea?” the Gryffindor Head of House offered.

“No, thank you, Wilhelmina. I just had some.”

“Well, what brings you by?” Wilhelmina asked. “I’m not sure we should discuss the Pretnick situation before the meeting.”

“That’s not why I’m here.” Minerva perched in the chair across from the sofa where Wilhelmina sat. Minerva drew a deep breath. “You may remember that I asked you about Hagrid and whether you noticed that he seemed depressed lately.”

“Yes, but he seemed quite happy at lunch.”

Minerva had to hand it to the witch. Not a blush or a twitch of an eyelash. Not bad for a Gryffindor. “Yes, he did. But you see, after the meeting this morning, I was concerned about him. He’s an old friend, you know, and he seemed even more distressed after some of the things that had been said at the meeting.” Barging on, heedless of Wilhelmina’s attempt to say something, Minerva continued. “I decided to go down and visit him. You may not know this, but I enjoy exercising in my Animagus form. I went down to Hagrid’s cabin looking for him. I was in my cat form. He wasn’t in, so I went around back. When he wasn’t there, either, I settled down for a catnap while waiting for him.” Wilhelmina had blanched. “I was in the shade under the trellis. There are a few tufts of weeds and grass there. It was quite cool and comfortable. I dozed until I was woken up.” Minerva paused and just looked at the witch across from her.

Wilhelmina swallowed, and when she found her voice, it came out in a raspy whisper. “You were there. When we arrived.”

Minerva nodded.

“Oh, god!” Wilhelmina’s blanch turned to a blush, and she hid her face in her hands. “How much . . . ?”

“I couldn’t leave. By the time I realised what was . . . going on, it was too late.”

“Oh, god,” the older witch repeated. “Oh, this is . . . this is beyond embarrassing.”

“Believe me, I wasn’t terribly comfortable at the time, myself. Nor am I at the moment,” Minerva replied.

Distressed, the older witch said, “You should have just left! How could you . . . so private,” she ended in a whisper.

“Believe me, if I had been able to vanish from my spot, I would have. I had no idea – and it just got worse.”

“So why are you here now? To share your embarrassment and humiliate me? Have you told Hagrid? He would be mortified!”

“No, I haven’t told him. As to why I’m here, I’ll just come out with it: how long has this been going on, Grubbly-Plank?”

The other witch looked up angrily. “It is none of your business. You may be Hagrid’s friend, but that’s all. You have no claim on him yourself!”

“I am not saying I do. But I _am_ Hagrid’s friend. This is clearly not some new relationship. It’s been going on for a while. When did it start?” Minerva stared stonily at the older witch.

“And _I_ say, it’s _none_ of your business! I ask you to leave now. And if you care at all about Hagrid, you won’t mention this to him. He would be mortified.”

“I am not leaving until I get an answer to my question. Your reluctance to answer makes me wonder if my fears are justified.” Minerva narrowed her eyes. “Did you seduce Hagrid when he was a boy, just a child under your care?”

“What do you take me for?! Of course not! That’s . . . that’s _disgusting_!” Wilhelmina’s eyes flashed angrily.

The older witch’s reaction was enough to convince Minerva, and she relaxed, letting out a sigh. “Oh, that’s good, then. It’s just that I worried . . . not knowing. I didn’t _think_ you would have, but I didn’t know. Hagrid is such an innocent in so many ways, and when he was a boy, he was larger than any grown man. I’m sorry, Wilhelmina.”

“Hmpf. Can’t blame you for being worried about Hagrid, I suppose – but to think such a thing of me?” Wilhelmina shook her head. “I hope you don’t mind, but I need a drink. Would you like something?” 

“No, thank you, but you go ahead.”

Wilhelmina got up and went over to a sideboard and poured herself a shot of fire whisky. “It was about five years ago. In the summer. It was a hot one that year. I had begun to think of him differently a couple years before, but never acted on it . . . never thought I would.” Wilhelmina returned to her place on the sofa. “One day several years ago, I looked up at him, and it was suddenly as though I was seeing him for the first time . . . for the first time as an adult male. I had grown fond of him, of course. Hagrid is sweet, kind, gentle . . . but I had always seen him as just another variety of student. Of course, as he grew older, we came to know each other better as adults, but there was something about that day, when I looked up at him . . . he was looking down at me, smiling. He’d just helped me with a rather nasty creature, and I remember thinking how safe I felt when he was around, then I looked up, and something came over me. I’m not saying I fell in love in that moment, but after that, I could never look at him the same way. And I became increasingly aware of him as a masculine entity, until one day, I just decided to stop denying to myself that I found him incredibly attractive. I know most witches would think me crazy – ” 

“No, no, I understand . . . not that I personally find him attractive, but I can understand what you see in him.” Minerva smiled encouragingly at her friend. “And he is a good man.”

“He is. Anyway, I walked around for about a year and a half in a constant state of heightened awareness of him . . . I couldn’t get him out of my mind. We had become friends . . . we’d have a drink together occasionally, take walks that weren’t strictly business . . . but I had no idea how to approach him and was convinced that it would be a bad idea. If he was shocked or disgusted . . . he might feel our friendship betrayed if I were to make any moves toward him. But then . . . well, you saw,” Wilhelmina ended with a dark blush. “It really was like that . . . and I thought it might be just a one-off thing, but the sweet, adorable man began to court me. He brought me the most peculiar things – any other witch would have found them peculiar gifts from a suitor, at any rate. But they were always things I liked or had wanted. He is always so thoughtful . . . but I always knew that this couldn’t last. I never wanted to be a teacher, though I have endeavoured to do my best. And I knew that I would be leaving when the right opportunity arose. I mentioned this to Hagrid repeatedly. I do love him, but he loves more, and more strongly.” Tears rose in her eyes. “I hate to hurt him, but there is no way around it.”

“I understand . . .” Minerva hesitated. She rarely spoke about her personal life, even with friends. Poppy came closest to knowing all that Minerva was willing to share with another human being. But Wilhelmina had just been honest with her about something very personal – and after the embarrassment of realising that Minerva had witnessed something even more personal. “There was a wizard once . . . he was very good to me, and I can honestly say that I loved him, in a way. It was during my apprenticeship in Germany. He wanted me to stay, to marry him, or even just to stay there with him . . . but I couldn’t. He loved me more than I loved him, and my life was here and his life was there. I have always regretted hurting him, but it would have been worse to try to make something work that wasn’t meant to be.”

Wilhelmina nodded and sighed, finishing her drink with one last shuddering gulp. “You do understand, then. It isn’t that I don’t care for him, I just . . . I can’t stay here. And I can’t imagine giving up everything to stay with Hagrid, or to have him stay with me . . . and it makes me feel guilty.”

“Don’t. Hagrid’s life was enriched by your relationship, I’m sure. And hopefully, someday, he’ll have another. Until then, he can look back on this and know that a wonderful witch cared for him and found him attractive. You do have a life to lead, Wilhelmina. If teaching were your life, then perhaps you and Hagrid could have had something longer term, perhaps a real commitment, but the way things are, you’d never be happy, and he would eventually be unhappy, as well.”

“Thank you,” Wilhelmina said softly. “I haven’t had anyone to talk to about it . . . it’s been difficult.”

Minerva knit her brow. “So no one knows? Five years, and no one knows?”

“Well, I imagine that more than a few people suspect or assume something, but other than Johannes, who spends so much time outdoors because of his work in the greenhouses and gardens that he did eventually notice, no, no one actually knows.”

“Johannes saw you, too?” How often did this couple enjoy the open air?

“No, no, not like that! No, he just noticed how much time we spent together, and how often I would go down to Hagrid’s cabin . . . and we’ve spoken of the relationship. But I didn’t want him to feel as though he were in the middle, so I haven’t talked with him about Hagrid’s distress.”

Minerva raised her eyebrows. “I rather think Johannes must have felt stuck in the middle between you, anyway, Wilhelmina, with all that message passing he ended up doing because you two weren’t talking to each other.”

“I _was_ talking to Hagrid. And it’s not as though he was _not_ talking to me . . . he _couldn’t_ talk to me. It got to the point where he’d break down in tears asking me for the salt and pepper. Johannes was being a good friend.” Wilhelmina sighed. “I suppose I should talk to him. Johannes, I mean. Thank him.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure he noticed that Hagrid was behaving more normally at lunch, so unless you want to, there’s probably no need. Although I must say, Wilhelmina, I won’t miss the conversations you and Hagrid have. Flesh-eating Slug slime while people are trying to eat their lunches?”

“We forget where we are and get carried away, that’s all. Just remind me the next time we veer into unappetising areas!”

“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t forget so much that you truly get carried away and start reenacting the dragon mating rituals at the table. I think that would put everyone off their feed permanently!” Minerva said with a grin.

Wilhelmina laughed good-naturedly, but blushed. “I can’t believe you were there and saw everything. It’s so embarrassing.”

“I closed my eyes. I wouldn’t have chosen to be there, myself, believe me, but I had no idea what I would witness when I decided to take my catnap in Hagrid’s garden. But . . . it was sweet. I mean, I’m sure you don’t need to know what I thought, but, well, don’t be too embarrassed,” Minerva stuttered, hesitantly adding, “But you might want to check the bushes and around corners before you do such a thing again, and then cast a few privacy spells. Or just stick to indoors.”

Wilhelmina nodded. “We don’t usually . . . only a few times. And only when the school has been deserted – I should have listened to Hagrid. He will be so mortified.”

“I don’t see any reason for him to know I was there. If you want, you can tell him that we just happened to talk, and I told you about one of my relationships, so you talked about him. It might be nice if, after you leave, he had someone to be around who knows and understands, even if he doesn’t really talk about it. And we are friends. I’ll try to help him adjust, Wilhelmina. Don’t worry too much about him. Go have fun with your dragons. I hope your flame-repellant charms are up-to-snuff!”

The two witches talked another fifteen minutes about Wilhelmina’s new job, and it was clear the witch was looking forward to it. Finally, Minerva excused herself. 

“I have a few more things to do before supper, but I’ll probably see you then. And I’m glad we talked.”

Minerva made the long trek back to the Headmaster’s office, stopping off in her rooms on the way to pick up her own quill and ink. It was nothing as fancy as the Headmaster’s, just a good, old-fashioned goose feather, but it made a nice line.

It was good that she had talked to Wilhelmina, as embarrassing as it had been for both of them. She was relieved that Wilhelmina hadn’t taken advantage of Hagrid when he was a teenager. It hadn’t seemed likely, but one never knew about people. Wilhelmina hadn’t even considered him attractive until he was out of his teens, apparently. Minerva smiled; it was nice that Hagrid had had this experience, even if he felt broken-hearted now. He’d get over it. He might even find someone else. He’d need that spell of Wilhemina’s. . . . Minerva grinned to herself.

After reading through Belby’s letter and making a few more notes, Minerva checked the time. Albus hadn’t come down yet, and dinner would be soon. Perhaps he really had lain down for a nap and fallen asleep. Feeling uneasy about going up to his rooms after her imprudent thoughts about him earlier, and not knowing whether he had really meant it when he’d said she could wake him, Minerva was unsure whether she should just wait for Albus or go find him. He could have set his Muggle alarm clock, after all, and not be expecting her at all. But if he were counting on her to wake him . . . she’d best go up, she decided resolutely.

Minerva slipped up the stairs and knocked gently on the sitting room door. When she heard nothing stirring within, she slowly opened the door and peeked in. The draperies were drawn back, and the sitting room was cheerfully bright with the late day sun, but Albus was nowhere to be seen. Could it be he was elsewhere in the castle?

She crossed the room and quietly rapped on the bedroom door. Uneasily, she opened the door and looked in. The room was dimly lit, the curtains closed, and she couldn’t see through to the bed. The bathroom was to her left, and the wall created a short hallway into the bedroom. Taking a breath, she reminded herself that she was a Gryffindor, Albus’s good friend, and that she had helped him through all kinds of situations. Waking him from an afternoon nap was a far cry from dragging him, bloody and half-dead, from a filthy hole in France, after all. 

With that encouraging thought, Minerva tiptoed over to the bed. Albus had removed his shoes and his outer robe, which was draped at the foot of the bed, and was wearing only a very lightweight gold-coloured underrobe, no doubt chosen to complement the gold spirals in his outer robe. He was lying on his side on top of the bed, a light coverlet grasped in front of him, as though he had shoved it off in his sleep. Albus was now clutching it to his chest; from his expression, Minerva thought he might be dreaming. Much as she hated to wake him, he wouldn’t want to sleep through dinner. Big Ben might wake him . . . perhaps she should leave, she thought, looking around for his Muggle alarm clock. But then Albus murmured something in his sleep. She couldn’t understand what it was he was saying, but it was clear that she should either wake him or leave.

“Albus! It’s Minerva. Time to wake up!” Minerva cringed to herself. She’d begin to sound like Gluffy soon. “Albus, would you like to sleep a bit longer?” she asked softly as Albus’s eyes fluttered open; she could call Wilspy and ask her to bring him his dinner in his suite. 

Albus blinked and looked up at her sleepily. “Mmm. Minerva,” he said with a deep sigh. He closed his eyes again. His hand released its grip on the sheet and inched toward her.

Minerva gingerly perched on the edge of the bed beside him. “Are you all right, Albus?” She touched his brow. He was a little warm, but the room was too warm for her liking.

“Hmm?” Albus opened his eyes and blinked again. Minerva quickly removed her hand. “Oh, Minerva, I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean to sleep this long.” His voice was hoarse. “What time is it?”

“About forty-five minutes till dinner. It’s all right; you have time. But are you feeling well?”

“Perfectly.” He pulled the coverlet toward him. “Just fine. But, umm,” he said, suppressing a yawn, “a little warm.”

“I’m concerned about you, Albus.” Minerva examined his face. Other than a slight flush, however, he seemed fine, wide-awake and fine.

“Could you open the draperies, my dear? And perhaps a window?” He covered himself with the light blanket.

“Certainly – and may I suggest that you get rid of that blanket? You’ll make yourself ill sleeping in such a warm room, all covered up like that,” Minerva said, trying to speak as briskly as her mother did to her patients, as she walked over to one of the windows and pulled back the curtains. “And you should have something to drink. Something cool, but not cold.”

“Yes, ma’am, Mother McGonagall!” Albus quipped.

Minerva laughed. If he was calling her “Mother McGonagall,” he was fine.

A fresh breeze came through the window, and Minerva turned to open another one. When she finished, she saw that Albus was sitting up, but still hadn’t moved from the bed and was still clutching the blanket in front of him. Well, Gertie interrupting his half-nude beard-bucket time had apparently not prepared him to have his Transfiguration mistress wake him from a sound sleep in his bedroom, Minerva thought wryly.

“I’ll wait for you in your sitting room, then?” Minerva asked.

Albus bobbed his head in cheery agreement, and Minerva left him to dress. From the sitting room, Minerva heard the water running in the bathroom, and Albus joined her a few minutes later, his beard and hair freshly brushed.

Minerva smiled up at him. “You look more awake! How are you feeling?”

“I am fine. I have been burning the candle at both ends, I’m afraid – just what you warned me against this afternoon. And I will try to take better care to get more sleep,” he said, holding up his hand to forestall the admonishment on her lips. 

“All right – but I will remind you, if I need to, Albus! And I wouldn’t be unhappy if you had Poppy check you over while she’s still here. She’s leaving for her grandmother’s tomorrow evening. Would you do that?”

“Not necessary! But thank you for your concern.” Albus sounded slightly annoyed, but Minerva persisted.

“You were quite warm – you may be catching something. Maybe you picked up something while you were at St. Mungo’s.”

Albus looked down at Minerva. “My dear. I do appreciate your concern, but I merely slept too long in a room that was too warm. I am neither an infant nor yet in my dotage that I require looking after.”

Minerva raised her eyebrows. “Very well. In that case, we should get on with our meeting. I have a few questions about Belby’s letter. My notes are in your office. Let’s go there now.” 

Minerva stood and started for the stairs, feeling a complete fool for having expressed her concern for him. He was the Headmaster. She was a teacher at his school. They were friends, but clearly she had overstepped some invisible boundary. And she was not going to allow it to bother her. Yet his words rang in her head as she preceded him down the brass spiral staircase, _I am neither an infant nor yet in my dotage that I require looking after._ He had clearly chafed at her well-meant concerns. Perhaps he simply didn’t understand that she was truly concerned about his welfare. He could think she was being patronising . . . as though he could be patronised! He was the most powerful wizard of their age! But what had Gertrude said, there in the garden? Something about how, despite his power, his intelligence, and his talents, he sometimes needed protecting, even from himself occasionally? Minerva now understood that to mean the incident with Valerianna . . . but perhaps it meant more than that. _I am neither an infant nor yet in my dotage that I require looking after._

Minerva headed over to the sitting area where she left had her notes. Albus went to his desk. 

“Professor, my notes are over here.” She sat down deliberately. She was not going to let him hide behind his desk so easily. Unless he insisted. 

“And mine are here,” he answered with a slight smile as he sat down at his desk. “As is the letter, which you so efficiently returned. Thank you, Professor!”

Minerva flushed, but got up and moved. “Of course.”

“I’m sorry, my dear . . . our time is short, though. And it’s my fault entirely for having fallen asleep.”

“Yes, well, as you said . . . burning the candle at both ends . . . .” Minerva was still peeved that he dismissed her concern for him the way he had. It was one thing not to want to see Poppy, and another for him to act as though her concern for him was unwelcome condescension when she hadn’t intended it that way at all. She thought he knew her better than that.

“And we can see each other later tonight, after the committee meeting, to discuss what happens after I’ve left – ”

“No, you said you were having an early night. I wouldn’t want to keep you up. Now, our time is short, as you just pointed out. I only have a few questions.”

Minerva went rapidly through the few questions she had, then the chime went off overhead. 

“I assume that means that dinner is in ten minutes. I will see you there, then, Professor.” Minerva nodded at Albus as she stood to leave.

“Yes . . . and Minerva, if you have any other questions – ”

Minerva was at the door. “No, sir, but if I think of any, I will let you know.” She opened the door, then paused and looked back at him. “You know, I was only concerned about you. I am very well aware that you are neither an infant nor in your dotage. You are the Headmaster of Hogwarts, hero of the wizarding world, and the most powerful warlock alive . . . _and_ the most vital wizard of my acquaintance. I believe us to be friends, as well, and I look after my friends. It was of our friendship I was thinking, not of your status. I apologise for offending you.”

She turned and left the office quickly, closing the door quietly behind her. Stuffing her notes into her pockets, Minerva popped into her Animagus form. She raced down the moving stairs, barely stumbling in her lithe and agile cat form. Minerva couldn’t believe that she had said what she had . . . to have suffered a fit of pique like that . . . Albus must be even more offended than he had been before. But at least he knew her well enough, she hoped, to know that she would still do her best for him at the meeting that evening. She just wished she knew what it was she kept doing wrong. Maybe it was nothing . . . maybe it was just her. Maybe it was just . . . _It_.


	67. An Escort in Dark Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus enlists the help of the Silent Knight, and Minerva has a nice surprise at the end of her long day. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Beginning of Part Eleven.**
> 
>  
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, The Silent Knight (portrait), and Poppy Pomfrey.

**PART ELEVEN**  
 **LXVII: An Escort in Dark Places**

It seemed as though every time he turned around, he managed to offend Minerva, Albus thought. And it was his fault. He should have been professional from the beginning, from the moment she stepped through the doors of Hogwarts as a teacher in December. He should have met with her just as he had everyone else and treated her just as he did the rest of the staff. He never should have ignored her and given her cause to worry about their friendship. They had come so far in repairing the damage he had unintentionally done their relationship, and yet his inability to let down his guard completely . . . fearing what he might say or do . . . somehow he was going about it the wrong way.

Minerva’s concern for him shouldn’t have annoyed him the way it had, either. He had been curt with her, and then he had sat at his desk and not joined her in the sitting area, asserting his authority as Headmaster. Albus felt even worse now. He certainly didn’t want to use his status as some kind of bludgeon in his personal relationships – and he never would have imagined that he would do so, either. It hadn’t been intentional. He had simply felt uncomfortable with Minerva after he had woken as he had, especially after her repeated expressions of concern for him.

Albus sighed and gathered himself to go down to dinner. He should have set Big Ben before he lay down, but he really hadn’t believed he would fall asleep. And then when he woke up . . . he’d been having the most lovely dream. Minerva had been in it . . . they were sitting on the cliffs by her home, perched high above the ground. He was leaning against a boulder, the sun was shining, but the wind was blowing in off the sea . . . it was warm in the sunlight, and he was holding Minerva in his arms. She was leaning back . . . looking up at him and smiling. He was caressing her face, kissing her forehead, and she had just tilted her face and begun to kiss him when . . . Minerva had woken him. He was confused, thinking for a moment that he was still dreaming. Then he opened his eyes and realised that he had been dreaming and was now waking up. It had been most unusual . . . he usually was very aware of his dreaming and waking states, able to wake himself easily from any dream – or from the occasional nightmare. But this dream . . . it had seemed as real as his waking life. 

Albus shook his head to himself; no doubt it was all simply the result of having been too warm while he slept. And now, of course, Minerva was worried about him. He would reassure her. And he would try not to do anything for which he would have to apologise again . . . though that seemed highly unlikely.

The door at the bottom of his stairs scraped open and the gargoyle sprang aside for him. Albus winced, remembering Minerva’s words. Minerva had been upset that he had seemed not to accept her concern. He _did_ appreciate it. He just didn’t want her thinking of him as a weak, sickly old man. Foolish of him – it was nothing he normally worried about. But Minerva seemed to bring out all kinds of things in him . . . his desire to have her think well of him not the least of them, either, nor, unfortunately, the greatest. 

When Albus reached the Great Hall, he realised he must be late, since almost everyone was already seated. He was pleased to see that Hagrid’s mood was still improved. Whatever had been the matter with the boy had apparently passed, fortunately. Minerva wasn’t there yet, but Gertrude was, deep in conversation with Hafrena MacAirt. They both looked up at him at the same time and nodded, Hafrena smiling and seeming to look at something just over his shoulder in that way she had. Albus nodded cordially at them, then took one of the few free remaining seats. It was beside Dustern, who wasn’t his usual choice of a mealtime companion, but it left a chair open to his right, and Poppy Pomfrey was sitting on the other side of that free chair. He hoped that Minerva would choose to sit beside her friend even if she were still upset with him. And it wasn’t like Minerva to hold grudges, after all.

As their supper appeared, Albus apologised to everyone for being late. 

Poppy grinned at him. “If we can’t all wait two extra minutes for our food, there’s something very wrong with us, indeed!”

As Albus sipped his chilled cucumber soup, he managed civil, though sterile, conversation with Dustern, trying not to keep looking at the door, wondering when Minerva would arrive. When Minerva did enter the Great Hall, Albus saw what had been keeping her. She had changed out of her saffron and raspberry robes and donned some similar to those she wore when school was in session, though not as plain. The bodice and skirt were of tartan, and the sleeves and stand-up collar were pale grey, and there was a wide border of grey at the hem. Albus smiled as she took the chair between him and Poppy. She could have sat between Johannes and Wilhelmina, both of whom she liked.

“Freshen up before the meeting, Professor?” Albus asked with a twinkle.

“Just so, Professor,” Minerva answered, tasting her soup. “I thought this more appropriate.”

“Very nice tartan.” He wished that Dustern weren’t sitting on his left. He would like to tell Minerva how lovely she had looked earlier . . . but then she might think that he thought she didn’t look nice now, and she did. The green in the tartan brought out the colour in her eyes, and the grey emphasised the healthy glow in her cheeks.

“Excuse me a moment, my dear,” Albus said a few minutes later. “If I might have a word with Poppy?” They had been discussing something to do with a party at Poppy’s grandmother’s, and Albus hadn’t wanted to interrupt, but he had exhausted all polite conversation with the current Charms professor, and he wanted to ask Poppy something while Minerva was still present.

“Of course, Professor.” Minerva looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Poppy, before you leave tomorrow, would you have time to give me a quick once-over? I think I’ve just been overextending myself lately, but it has been suggested that I may have come into contact with something at St. Mungo’s that might be contributing to my slight fatigue today. Just to be on the safe side, perhaps you wouldn’t mind . . . ?” Albus asked, smiling.

“Of course! In fact, you can stop by after supper. It won’t take long. I suspect you’re right, and you’ve just been doing too much – as usual! If that’s the case, a quick diagnostic will suffice.”

Albus hesitated. “Do you mind waiting until tomorrow? If it is not inconvenient. I have a few things I need to do this evening . . . and there’s the meeting, as well.”

“No, that’s fine. Nine o’clock, then?”

Albus agreed readily, pleased to see that Minerva was looking at him with a fond smile. At least, he thought the smile was directed at him. And it appeared to be fond. His supposition was confirmed a moment later, when he felt Minerva pat his leg under the table. With her touch, it seemed that something unknotted in his chest, and he relaxed, smiling.

“Wonderful soup, isn’t it, Minerva?” He had to say something to explain the silly grin that was spreading across his face.

“It is. Chilled soup is always refreshing at this time of year.” She looked over at him, eyes smiling warmly, a slight smile playing about her lips.

Albus had to avert his gaze consciously, lest he sit there in the Great Hall like a schoolboy with a crush, staring with obvious enthralment and open admiration at the object of his infatuation. But this was no infatuation, even if he had not long ago out-grown such short-lived passions. He would need to be careful how much of his emotion he displayed toward Minerva . . . but he wanted her to be secure in their friendship and to know that he valued her opinion, even if he was occasionally a cantankerous old codger.

His elation faded with that thought. Yes, a cantankerous old codger. Cantankerous or not, there was no denying he was an old codger. The thought normally amused Albus, but not at the moment. He was foolishly in love with a witch for whom he was far too old. . . . 

He needed to take particular care of his friendship with Minerva. He was fortunate, indeed, that she wanted to spend time with him at all . . . that she seemed to genuinely enjoy it. Albus didn’t want to drive a wedge between them again, whether one like that which had separated them after Carson’s death or the one he had unintentionally created over the course of the previous term. They had spent more time together as friends when Minerva had been living in London than they had during those first months she lived there in the same castle with him. Despite this, Albus was still uncomfortable with the idea of spending very much time alone with her. But if he could discover the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, he could discover a way to spend time with her without overdoing it or revealing the depth of his feelings for her.

After dinner, Albus returned to his office to look over his notes once again. He knew what he was going to say, how he would lay out his plan and his reasoning behind it, but reading through the words on the page would help to carry him through his presentation without distraction. 

An hour later, leaving the staff room after his presentation, Albus hurried out the great front doors of the castle and down the path to the gates. Madam Puddifoot’s closed at ten on Sundays. He should be able to get there before she closed if he Apparated into town. With a crack, Albus arrived in the small side alley next to Scrivenshaft’s and took off briskly down the street and around the corner to Puddifoot’s. The decor may leave something to be desired, but she did do a lovely trifle, Albus thought. But it wasn’t trifle he was after that evening. His eyes twinkled as he thought of the way that Minerva had given him her trifle that noon. It may not be her favourite pudding, but she usually ate it when it was served. It had been very kind of her to let him have it – especially after he had made a hash of the rest of his meal. Albus had been concerned what Minerva might say or do when Valerianna’s name came up in the conversation, but he needn’t have worried. He had no idea what he thought she might have said . . . it had been just a vague, formless worry.

Albus smiled, remembering Minerva’s words about Valerianna, that she was not worth any of them spending another thought on her. Whatever Minerva might know about his humiliating association with the witch, he doubted that she held it against him. Of course, she couldn’t know the whole truth of the affair . . . unless Valerianna had said something to her, and he simply couldn’t imagine that she would have done that. Perhaps he should speak to Gertrude about Valerianna, after all, he pondered as he entered Madam Puddifoot’s.

Fifteen minutes later, Albus was whistling a funny tune from his childhood as he walked back up to the castle. His mission had been a success. Now . . . how to carry out the rest of his plan? Thinking of the cooperation he had received from the Silent Knight in the past, Albus grinned and set out for Minerva’s room, first casting a quick peek at the staff room to make sure the meeting was still in progress. He didn’t use an eavesdropping charm, merely a little spell that would tell him how many occupants were in the room. No one had left yet, fortunately!

Albus sprinted up the stairs, arriving on the fourth floor slightly winded, but in good spirits. And just as he had hoped, the Silent Knight agreed to cooperate in his “quest,” as the portrait designated it. He seemed to find Albus a most chivalrous and gallant gentleman, which Albus found amusing, considering that his efforts were by way of yet another apology to Minerva. Apologies he shouldn’t have to make because he shouldn’t be offending her. Of course, she _had_ harped on about his health, but that had been only mildly irritating. The only insult was in his own head. Minerva had said nothing about him being an old man who had to start taking care of himself, after all. It was he who had been using and thinking the word “old,” not she.

Albus headed back up to his suite, hoping that his plan would work . . . and without him behaving like a giddy teenager with his first crush, even if he did tend to feel somewhat giddy around Minerva. Warm and friendly but . . . grandfatherly, he supposed, would have to do. He hated that notion, but it would help him to maintain control of himself if he reminded himself to behave . . . grandfatherly. Perhaps “avuncular” might be a better term to use – it was not quite so apt to make him queasy.

* * *

Minerva emerged from the staff room tired but not unhappy. It had been a productive meeting. After Albus had left, Birnbaum had been selected to chair the little committee, and Minerva thought that, although he never seemed particularly organized to her, he was fair and could be impartial in running the meetings, despite his own opinions. That was important – just as it was important for Minerva to put aside her own doubts and criticisms while doing her best to represent the Headmaster’s perspective. The committee had then determined a course of action, which parts of the proposal to examine first and which difficulties and pitfalls should be explored before moving on. Each member of the committee had been assigned one aspect of Dumbledore’s plan and a corresponding problem, and each was to be prepared to discuss them at the next meeting, which was set for eight-thirty in the morning of the sixteenth. Each staff member promised to do their best to consider all sides of everything and to withhold any conclusions until they had done so. Minerva thought that Dumbledore’s proposal would be treated as fairly as possible, as would Pretnick. Birnbaum had reminded the committee before they left never to forget the human being, Robert Pretnick, who was at the core of all of their deliberations.

Minerva was just as pleased that she had been called on to do very little except answer a few questions about the potion. Because she had read through Belby’s letter carefully, she had happily been able to answer them clearly and succinctly. She had taken many notes, however, and would have to find time the next day to meet with Albus and go over them with him. 

Minerva smiled. They could meet _after_ he had seen Poppy. She was sure he was right, and he was just overextending himself. From what Poppy had said to her on prior occasions, this was habitual with the Headmaster. Perhaps it _had_ been silly of her to want him to have the mediwitch examine him, but she had only been concerned with his welfare. It was kind of him to humour her . . . and without it feeling as though he were merely humouring her. She would have to remember in the future that he liked a little fussing over him but not too much. 

It had been a very long day, and Minerva was grateful when she reached her rooms. She gave her password hurriedly. Normally, she only had it halfway out of her mouth and the Silent Knight opened the door for her. This time, however, the Knight bowed, and the door did not even make a click. Just as Minerva was about to protest, the Silent Knight spoke.

“My lady, the lord of this castle has set for me a mission which, as your humble servant and mere chattel, I would loathe refuse, as the lord’s quest is noble and most worthy. He begs that you attend him this night and is most anxious for your gracious presence!” The knight bowed again stiffly.

“The Headmaster wishes to see me?” Minerva asked, puzzled. 

“Yes, my lady, Master Dumbledore has requested your attendance this evening in his high tower.”

“And if I want to enter my rooms? You are not supposed to lock me out, you know.”

“Yes, my lady.” The Knight nodded, resigned, and the door clicked open. “I have failed in my mission,” he said with a dolorous sigh.

“No, you haven’t. I simply wish to put my parchments away. I will go directly to the Headmaster’s Tower after I drop my things off and use the loo. All right with you?”

The Knight nodded.

“For a Silent Knight, you have certainly been talkative recently . . . too bad you won’t see fit to announce my visitors, like a normal portrait,” Minerva grumbled as she entered her sitting room. 

“I am not a normal portrait. I am your servant, my lady!”

“Hmpf!”

But Minerva was good as her word, and five minutes later, she was on her way up to Albus’s office. She had left her notes behind in her rooms, however. She had told him they could wait to discuss the meeting until tomorrow, and wait they would, no matter what his “quest” was! And why did she have to have such a peculiar door portrait?

Minerva reached Dumbledore’s office, but it was dark but for the moonlight, and the portraits were snoring. He must be in his quarters. She went up the spiral brass stairs, warm light coming from the open sitting room door illuminating her way. Minerva smiled as she reached the top of the stairs: Albus was sitting in a wingback chair on the far side of the room, his feet up, and was just putting his book down as she entered. 

“Minerva! Thank you so much for coming. I presume that your portrait passed on my message?”

“I’m not entirely sure what message you gave him, Albus, but if it had to do with ‘missions,’ ‘quests,’ and your ‘high tower,’ he did!” Minerva said with a laugh.

Albus chuckled and stood. “No, my dear, I did not use those particular words, but he achieved the purpose I set for him, so that’s all to the good!”

“I was quite puzzled by his behaviour, as he delivered his message before he would open my door for me, but he did open it in the end.”

“Please, have a seat, Minerva!” Albus said, gesturing at the sofa. “I will join you.” 

Albus sat in the armchair beside the sofa. “How was the meeting?”

So that’s what this was about! “I said that we should wait until tomorrow to discuss the meeting, Albus, and I think – ”

“I think that is a fine idea, as well, my dear. I simply was asking in general terms!” He smiled, eyes twinkling. 

“Oh! Oh . . . it was fine.” Minerva was suspicious. Surely he didn’t call her up here just to ask her about the meeting in “general terms.”

“Good! Not too stressful, then? I thought that after your meeting, you might be a little peckish.” Albus made a gesture and a silver-domed plate flew across the room and landed on the low table in front of them. “Now, the Hogwarts house-elves are very accomplished at all types of confections, my dear, but sometimes it is fun to have something a little different . . . and I owe you a dessert from this noon.”

“Don’t be silly, Albus! You don’t owe me anything!”

“Humour me, just this once, Minerva?”

Minerva smiled. “All right – I’ll make an exception, just this once!”

“Go on, you can remove the cover!”

Shaking her head and chuckling, hoping he hadn’t replaced her trifle with yet more trifle, Minerva raised the lid and uncovered a most scrumptious looking torte. It was chocolate, so dark it was almost black, in many thin layers, with different shades of creamy icing between them, one thick layer of cherries and heavy whipped cream in the middle, and more cherries on top. Minerva’s mouth began to water.

“It looks delicious!”

“Try it, my dear! I did not get it for you to admire it from afar!” Albus grinned.

Minerva picked up the single fork. “Albus, you have to eat some of it, too. This is far too much for me, and I can’t just sit here and eat it in front of you.”

Albus did not need any further persuading, and conjured his own fork. 

“You first, though,” he said, urging her to try the cake.

Minerva tried to get both cake and some of the cherries onto her fork. Her eyes closed involuntarily as she tasted it. “Mmm. Oh, Albus, this is divine.” The icings were buttery and not too sweet, and the chocolate . . . it must have been Honeydukes finest dark chocolate that had gone into the making of this cake. Some of the layers had been soaked in cherry brandy, as well. All-in-all, eating this torte was a heady experience.

Albus grinned and took a taste for himself. It _was_ very good. Madam Puddifoot herself had recommended this torte, saying there wasn’t a witch in the world who liked chocolate who wouldn’t love it. The witch did have questionable taste in decorating, but her cakes and tarts were quite uniformly good. And her trifle was even better than the Hogwarts house-elves’, and that was saying something.

“Wherever did you get this, Albus?” Minerva asked after her third blissful mouthful of chocolate torte.

“Madam Puddifoot’s. She calls it ‘Deep Chocolate Enthralment.’ It was highly recommended.”

“Mmm. I shall have to rethink my decision not to frequent her establishment. I do believe I am enthralled,” Minerva joked.

Albus called Wilspy and requested a pot of peppermint tea to help wash down their dessert, and the two ate cake and sipped tea in warm, contented silence. The torte was so rich that the two of them had difficulty finishing it, but Albus gamely ate the last bite before leaning back in his chair, sighing happily, and smiling over at Minerva, who had uncharacteristically shed her shoes and curled her feet up under her. He was very glad that she felt so comfortable with him. She spent too much time being sensible, Albus thought, and needed to let herself play more. She had always been that way, though.

“We probably shouldn’t have had such a rich dessert so late at night, Albus, but it was delicious. Thank you!” Minerva set down her teacup. “I enjoyed that . . . but what made you decide to go all the way into Hogsmeade for it?”

Albus chuckled. Sensible Minerva, worrying about eating dessert too late at night! “I popped into Hogsmeade for it because I thought you would enjoy it . . . and I thought it would provide an excuse to spend time with you that didn’t involve any Hogwarts business . . . and I wanted to make sure that you know how much I appreciate you, my dear Minerva.”

Minerva blushed. “Thank you. It was lovely. And I wouldn’t mind other such non-Hogwarts excuses to spend time with me, since you continue to insist that you require one. And I do feel very appreciated.”

“I’m sorry if I was a bit curt with you this afternoon, Minerva. I do appreciate your concern for me, truly, but I just occasionally get a bit . . . crotchety, that’s all.”

Minerva snorted. “Don’t call yourself ‘crotchety,’ Albus – it makes you sound like some doddering, bad-tempered old man, and you’re not that. You were irritable. We all have a right to be irritable at times – although I _was_ offended that you seemed to think I was being patronising. I didn’t intend to be, you know.”

Albus’s lips twitched in amusement. “Very well, my dear. I was ‘irritable.’”

“And _I_ fussed too much . . . but I am still very glad that you will be seeing Poppy in the morning. I just want you to take good care of yourself because I – because I do. That’s all.”

“And I shall. And I shall listen to any recommendations that Poppy may have.”

“Hmpf. I notice you said you will _listen_ to them, not that you will _follow_ them, Albus.” But Minerva smiled.

“Yes, well, I shall do my best, my dear.”

Minerva let out a sigh. “As much as I would love to stay longer and chat, Albus, you had wanted an early night, and it’s already well past time for that.” She stood. “I ought to go. But this was lovely. Thank you!”

“Of course, my dear. Let me walk you back to your rooms.”

Minerva smiled. “No need, Albus.”

“Well, allow me to let you out my backstairs, then. It will be a bit quicker for you . . . .”

Remembering the cramped, narrow stair, Minerva almost refused Albus’s offer, but she felt as though she had gone up and down a thousand stairs that day. It would be easier and faster. “All right . . . that would be nice.”

Albus led Minerva through his bedroom to the old door that led to the hidden Headmaster’s stair. This door apparently didn’t require a password, and Albus opened it to allow Minerva to enter the landing ahead of him, then he closed the door behind them. The old stone landing was dark, one lone torch lighting itself when the Headmaster stepped out; the meagre moonlight coming through the narrow slits in the outer wall provided little illumination. Minerva suppressed a shudder. She was with Albus Dumbledore – and in the middle of Hogwarts – she couldn’t be safer, Minerva told herself.

Albus turned to the old, scarred oak door, placed his hand on it, and said, “Peppermint Pillows.” The door glowed briefly, then swung open. The torches on either side of the stairs sprang to life.

“I need to go ahead of you again, Minerva, so that I may open the door at the bottom.”

“You know, Albus, I can just take the normal way – no need for you to go to any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all, none at all.” Albus looked closely at her. “Nervous, Minerva?”

“Just a little.” Minerva was embarrassed to admit it. She was a grown witch! “Just a bit . . . claustrophobic, that’s all. I was thinking . . . in my Animagus form . . .”

“Mmm. Why don’t we try this? If you become too uncomfortable, you can pop right into your little tabby self, and I’ll give you a lift the rest of the way. But give it a go in your ordinary form first. You can place your hand on my shoulder. I’ll be right there ahead of you the whole way, my dear.” He smiled at her, and the torchlight flickered against his glasses. “Don’t hesitate to say if you want to stop a moment or if you want to transform, though. I don’t want you to make yourself ill after that lovely torte!”

Minerva gave a half-smile and said ruefully, “You must think me very foolish, Albus.”

“No, not in the slightest. I had some trouble with closed spaces, myself, after that business in France. It doesn’t matter what our head tells us when every sensation we have is telling us that the walls are closing in, the air’s too heavy, and such. So I understand.”

“You got over it?” Minerva asked.

“Mmhm. The business with Grindelwald a few months later gave me some rather different things to replace it with!” His voice was cheery, but Minerva ached in sympathy for whatever it was he had gone through . . . it must have been terrible, indeed.

“All right, Albus. I’m ready,” Minerva said, summoning her Gryffindor courage and inspired by Albus’s own example.

They started down the stairs, Minerva placing a tentative hand on Albus’s shoulder. Albus had left the door open behind them, and Minerva wasn’t sure whether that was better or worse than having it closed. While it opened an avenue of escape, she could feel a slight draught coming from above, and she had the irrational fear that something could surprise them from behind, and she told this to Albus.

He paused and turned on the stair, looking up into Minerva’s face. “Nothing will harm you here, Minerva,” Albus reassured her quietly. He raised a hand and caressed her arm lightly. “You will be fine. We are halfway to the seventh floor, but if you’d like to enter your Animagus form now, that would be fine with me – and you can either follow me, or I can carry you, if you prefer that.”

“No, that’s not necessary. I just thought I’d mention it. It doesn’t seem as scary now that I’ve told you.” Minerva tried to smile.

Albus nodded slightly, and the two continued down the stairs, Minerva trying not to grip his shoulder too tightly and reminding herself that she was able to breathe perfectly well. Beneath her hand, Minerva could feel the soft thrumming of Albus’s magical core, like gently lapping waves. By the time they reached the great oak door at the bottom of the steps, Minerva actually felt more like herself, but she didn’t remove her hand from Albus’s shoulder even as he opened the door.

Albus placed his hand on age-darkened oak and uttered the password. The door glowed briefly, then the narrow side corridor stretched before them. Torches lit themselves as Albus led Minerva from the stairway into the hall. Her hand slipped from his shoulder to his elbow, and, although it wasn’t strictly necessary, she held his arm as they walked down the hall to the main seventh floor corridor. 

When they reached the end, Albus asked warmly, “All right, my dear?”

Minerva smiled up at him. “Very! Thank you, Albus.”

“I didn’t want to force you to do anything if it were too difficult for you, but I think I know you, Minerva, and what you are capable of. I hope it wasn’t too much for you.”

“No, it wasn’t; it really was all right. Thank you.”

Albus’s eyes smiled down at her, and he said softly. “I am always very happy to escort a beautiful witch, Minerva, through dark places or light. I will see you tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Minerva was glad of the flickering torchlight, for she was entirely unable to suppress her blush of pleasure. “Good night, Albus.”

“Good night, my dear.” His voice came out in a whisper.

Albus raised her hand to his lips without taking his eyes from her face, and Minerva’s breath caught. It must be the torchlight, she thought, but his expression . . . it seemed almost a reflection of her own feelings. But then he turned and was gone down the narrow corridor, headed away from her in a flurry of rose and gold, back to the secret stair, and Minerva numbly made her way to the well-lit, broad staircases that would bring her to the fourth floor and her own rooms.


	68. A Date for Minerva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva goes on a date ... but doesn't know it.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey, and (off stage) Filius Flitwick.

**LXVIII: A Date for Minerva**

As Albus readied himself for sleep that night, he kept remembering Minerva’s hand on his shoulder, how her little bright ripples of magic tickled against his, but they were steady and she was steady. She was so lovely standing there on the stair, bravely facing her claustrophobia with her eyes wide open, her skin flushed from the torch light, her black hair reflecting dark reddish highlights that were so difficult to see under ordinary light, and her eyes darkening with the shadows around them. Minerva. 

Minerva. Albus lay in bed and thought of Minerva. Of the dream he’d had earlier of Minerva kissing him on the warm cliffs, of the Minerva who called him awake, who opened his windows and draperies by hand, and who, with one slight smile and a light pat on the knee, could unwind the tight knot in his chest that he hadn’t known was there until it was released. Minerva, who followed him confidently. Minerva, who shared chocolate cake with him and who wiped a bit of cream from his beard. Minerva, who cared about him and wanted him to take care of himself.

Albus stretched under the covers. The windows were still open from earlier. He normally slept with them closed, but the breeze was cool and gentle and reminded him of Minerva. He was glad he had brought Minerva down the back steps, and not only because it helped her learn to cope with claustrophobia, but because he had enjoyed helping her overcome it. As he began to drift asleep, he remembered the faithful confidence with which Minerva looked at him, heedless of her own fear. Her hand rested on his shoulder, and then, when they reached the base of the stairs, she slid her hand down his arm and settled it at his elbow. The narrow hallway had never seemed as short as it did that evening when he had to take his leave of her. Minerva’s expression as he kissed her hand seemed, in the torchlight, to mirror his own feelings for her. How he had wanted to lean forward and kiss her! But he hadn’t wanted to spoil perfection, and so he bade her good night and raced back to his quarters. There was no point in berating himself about it. She had seemed . . . pleased with his company, after all. He would continue to restrain himself slightly, of course, but Albus decided that it was much easier to behave normally around her if he . . . acted normally.

Perhaps it would be easier for him to behave normally if he knew she was involved with someone, he thought. It would put her in the category “off limits,” and perhaps his attraction might subside some. Albus doubted it would disappear entirely, Minerva was so absolutely wonderful, but it might help him interact with her more easily. And she wouldn’t misread his intentions – well, she wouldn’t _accurately_ read his intentions, to be more precise – if he made a few minor slips occasionally. After all, she wouldn’t dream he would have any intentions toward her if she were involved with someone else. 

He had laid such hopes that Quin might be a suitable beau, but whenever he brought up his name, Minerva was quite adamant that she wasn’t interested in him and he wasn’t interested in her. Of course, Albus could scarcely imagine that an obviously vigorous young wizard such as Quin wouldn’t find Minerva attractive, but perhaps they were temperamentally unsuited. It could be that Minerva might find a more . . . intellectually inclined wizard attractive. Not that Quin had ever struck him as anything less than intelligent, but he wasn’t the academic sort, either. Albus cast his mind about for an intellectual wizard whom Minerva might find compatible. Slughorn . . . well, aside from the fact that Horace had been Minerva’s teacher, Albus had always had the impression that Minerva didn’t particularly like the Potions master. Birnbaum was a good man, solid, intelligent . . . but he was going to be leaving for Germany at the end of the next year. Of course, that might be attractive to Minerva; she spoke German and had enjoyed her time there during her apprenticeship. Still, he wasn’t particularly academic, but more the hands-on type. Herder was brilliant, but introverted and somewhat dour. He kept odd hours, too. Which was to be expected of an astronomer, Albus supposed. Pretnick might have been a candidate, but with his current problem . . . the adjustment to his new life would take all of his energy right now.

Ah-ha! Flitwick! Oh, Filius might be just perfect for her. Of course, he _was_ a tad shorter than Minerva . . . well, more than a tad, but Minerva probably wouldn’t mind that. Filius was certainly intellectual, as well as out-going and cheerful. And he liked music and could escort Minerva to concerts. He could be quite a bit of fun for Minerva. He was older than she . . . by more than a few years. But he was younger than Minerva’s father by at least a little, Albus thought, so that was all right. And Filius couldn’t be luckier than to have a witch such as Minerva by his side. Now . . . how to get the two of them together, just to get things off to a start . . . . 

Albus ignored the slight pang in his heart and fell asleep thinking of various ways he could encourage his two friends to begin seeing each other . . . but his dreams that night were only of Minerva, Filius never making even a cameo appearance. . . .

* * *

Minerva got ready for bed, still in something of a daze. How could a simple hand kiss, a mere look, an ordinary “good night,” put her in such a state? Hopefully Albus hadn’t noticed; he was surely gone too quickly to have observed her racing pulse, her inability to breathe, her flushed cheeks . . . if he had, she hoped he put it down to her claustrophobia.

Opening her window to let in the night air, Minerva remembered opening Albus’s windows that afternoon. It was good of him to have apologised for not taking her concern for his health in the spirit in which she had meant it, but she had long forgiven him his slight irritability. It was understandable that, after sleeping in a warm room in the middle of the day, as well as being over-tired, Albus might be a little cranky. And if you couldn’t be cranky with your friends, who could you be cranky with? He did seem to be somewhat sensitive about his age, though. Hardly a characteristic that she associated with Albus Dumbledore. And yet he could joke about being cantankerous. It was odd . . .

Minerva slipped between her sheets. The last week had been surprisingly eventful. She had thought that now that school was out, her days would stretch before her pleasantly but lazily. That certainly had not turned out to be the case. It seemed that from the moment she had tried to meet Albus to discuss the NEWT-level curriculum, it had been one thing after another. From her embarrassing rant in Poppy’s office and dinner with Albus the previous Friday to this evening’s late-night dessert with him, Minerva felt as though far more time had passed than just a little over a week. 

She believed that she and Albus were growing closer, although she thought she had to learn to take his occasional peculiar moods more in stride. Minerva had never thought of him as the moody sort before this, but perhaps she simply hadn’t been in a position to notice. He had always been slightly absent-minded or distracted when he was working on a problem or deeply absorbed in thought, but this seemed to be more than just being somewhat distracted. It seemed that it had started after she had returned from the Gamps. It could be that it all had to do with his reluctance to talk about Valerianna, Minerva supposed. She could understand that – she would be embarrassed to have dated a witch like her. If she were a wizard, of course. And then to have walked in on her and some other wizard in your own cottage . . . being cuckolded right under your nose and having your friends and colleagues knowing about it couldn’t have been pleasant. Especially when you were commonly known for your intelligence and magical power. Albus was a generally modest and unassuming wizard, but it couldn’t have been easy for him to have looked foolish in front of so many people. Poppy was right: it was good that Gertrude and her co-conspirators had acted when they did, or Valerianna’s shenanigans would have become even more widely known, perhaps even been reported on in the _Prophet_. 

Minerva didn’t know what was wrong with Valerianna. Why would she have been catting around with other wizards when she had Albus’s attentions? One look from him, one murmured “good night,” one brush of his lips on her hand, and she was practically in a swoon, and Minerva didn’t think of herself as the swooning type. How could Valerianna not have appreciated Albus? Minerva was very glad she hadn’t, though – she hated the thought of Albus with anyone else, but the thought of him with a witch so beneath him as Valerianna – that was unbearable. No, she’d rather he were with Gertrude. Albus likely was looking for someone with more wit and glamour than Gertrude, though, based on his choice of Valerianna. 

Minerva sighed and rolled over. For all she knew, he and Gertrude _were_ a couple, and were just keeping under wraps, just as Wilhemina and Hagrid had done with their relationship. Perhaps that was why he chose her as his Deputy despite the fact that she wasn’t a Head of House. Minerva had never heard of such a thing before.

But Albus wouldn’t walk Gertrude down his secret backstairs. His spiral staircase would dump her right on the second floor where her rooms were, after all. But Albus had walked her down the narrow, worn, stone stairs, letting her hold onto him the whole way down. And then he had walked her down the hallway and kissed her hand. He had looked so handsome in the flickering flames of torches, his rose and gold robes heightening the colour in his cheeks. . . . 

Minerva fell asleep with Albus’s face before her, remembering the feel of his warm lips just barely brushing her skin, and she smiled as she slept.

* * *

“So, what’s the verdict, Madam Pomfrey? Did I pick up some strange and exotic illness while I was at St. Mungo’s the other day?”

Poppy laughed. “No, you’re perfectly healthy, Professor, if a little rundown. I wouldn’t notice it in anyone else, but your magical levels are a bit lower than usual. I think you just need more sleep and to watch your diet. More veg and fruit, for you. And,” she said, waving her wand in an _Accio_ , Summoning a large brown bottle, “this vitamin potion, since you do insist on overdoing it.”

“Oh, not a vitamin potion!” Albus made a face.

“It’s flavoured, Professor – not like the stuff your mum probably forced down your throat.”

“My ‘mum’ was a Muggle-born – it was cod liver oil from her. It was my Aunt Sarah who forced the vitality potion down my throat. And both of them dreadful.” Albus shuddered.

“Mmm, well, this is better. Lemon-lime flavoured. I can do grape for you next time, if you prefer, but I’m out of grape at the moment. It’s on my inventory list to restock. One teaspoon before bed. Let it work while you sleep.”

“All right. . . .” Albus sighed with a rueful smile. “Perhaps I _am_ entering my second childhood, then. Naps in the afternoon, vitamin potion at night. Next thing you know, and I’ll be having cambric tea and toast for my supper!”

Poppy laughed even harder at that. “Oh, my, Professor! I may not know a more youthful or childlike wizard than you, but I would never say you’re entering your second childhood! More like that you never truly left your first one behind entirely.” Poppy looked at her old teacher with a fond smile. “And knowing how hard you work, that is _not_ a bad thing. A certain witch I know could learn a thing or two about lightening up and having fun. I’m always trying to get her to loosen up some. She was old before she was young, I always tell her! Say . . . while she’s here in the castle this summer, you could look after her for me – make sure she has a bit of fun.”

Albus raised his eyebrows. “Of whom do you speak?”

“Why, of Minerva, of course!”

Albus chuckled. “Yes, she can be quite the serious, sensible one, but I’ve known her to have fun, too.”

“Well, there, you see! That’s perfect. You have the ability to get her to lighten up and have fun, and she might be able to get you to get enough rest and take your vitamin potion. It’s perfect, if you ask me. Now run along, get your work done now so you aren’t up half the night with it – I know you, Albus! I need to be getting ready to go to my gran’s – and as she would say, _you_ should make hay while sun shines!”

Albus laughed good-naturedly and let himself be shooed from the infirmary by the young witch. Now to find Minerva and go over what had transpired at the meeting. And maybe get her to “lighten up,” as Poppy suggested. Funny witch, Poppy. Always had been a warm-hearted girl; it hadn’t surprised him a bit when she went into training at St. Mungo’s. 

He had made the perfect plans for Minerva for that evening. Well, ostensibly, they were for Filius. But they were really for Minerva. To make her happy! Dinner reservations for two at Delancie’s for her and her new colleague. She and Filius were in for a real treat. Everything was to go on his account, and he’d made it quite clear to Mr Delancie that the two were to want for nothing. No prices on the menu. Whatever they wanted, they were to have. Yes, Minerva would have a good time that evening. And Filius would be the envy of every wizard who saw them together.

Albus smiled wistfully. He wished it were he who was bringing her to dinner that evening . . . but she would have a fine time with Filius. And if they hit it off, so much the better. No better place for a first date than Delancie’s, either. It was romantic . . . posh . . . perfect food, perfect service. Albus sighed as he reached Minerva’s rooms and waited for the Silent Knight to announce him. He could faintly hear Fidelio barking within, and the Knight creaked back into his portrait and bowed before Minerva opened the door.

“Albus!” Minerva smiled. “I wasn’t expecting you – I thought you’d owl, or send an elf, or something – come in, come in!”

“Thank you, my dear. I hope I have not arrived at a bad time?”

“Not at all. I just got back from my morning walk.” Minerva laughed. “Part of my plans for my self-improvement this summer. A walk every morning either before or after breakfast.” Minerva showed Albus in and gestured for him to have a seat on the sofa. “Perhaps you might like to join me occasionally?” she asked hopefully.

“Yes, I might,” Albus said with a grin. “I’ve just come from Poppy, and I believe she would approve of it for both of us.”

“What?” Minerva was puzzled.

“I’m supposed to take better care of myself and you’re supposed to have more fun. It sounds as though morning walks would fill the bill on both scores!”

“So . . . how are you, Albus? I mean, not generally, what did Poppy say?”

“Just that – that I should take better care of myself. Get more sleep. Eat my veg. She sounded more like my mother than the Hogwarts matron. But you will be happy to know there is nothing wrong with me. No exotic bugs picked up at St. Mungo’s. I’ll just have to stop burning the midnight oil so frequently. And,” Albus said, pulling the large brown bottle from the pocket of his robes, “she gave me this. Vitamin potion.” He made a face. 

“Oh! That’s one of Murdoch’s, I think,” Minerva said, looking at the label and smiling. “Is it the grape, the cherry, or the citrus one? You needn’t make that face, Albus! He has to put a child-proof charm on the bottles so the kiddies don’t try to down an entire bottle at once. Melina was his tester, and she is _very_ finicky. He never was able to develop a chocolate-flavoured one that she would approve of, hence, no chocolate vitamin potion!”

“Poppy said it was lemon-lime. You’ve had it, then? Not too foul?”

“Not foul at all. And I assume that she told you to take it at night before bed, not in the morning? Yes, that’s Murdoch’s special formula, then. Um, Albus, did Poppy mention anything else about the potion?”

“No, just to take it at night . . . yes, that was all she said,” Albus said after reflecting on it.

“Well, when you first get up in the morning, there may be a bit of a surprise.”

Albus raised his eyebrows. “A good surprise or a bad surprise?”

“Neither . . .” Minerva blushed. “It’s just that there’s a slight side-effect that Murdoch was never able to get rid of . . . it’s not dangerous, and it fades with time. By the second week of taking it, you’ll be back to normal.”

“I don’t know if I like the sound of this,” Albus said.

“You’ll pee bright purple. Then it goes lilac.” Minerva was bright red. “Then it fades completely. Perfectly harmless. It’s whatever it is he puts in it to help you assimilate the nutrients overnight. It interacts with something else. I never felt compelled to understand it, and Potions was never my forté, so I can’t say precisely what it is. But it is perfectly harmless. Only a little alarming the first time. And your body gets used to it and it stops.”

Albus laughed. “Thank you for the warning, Minerva! That might be a peculiar thing to wake up to, indeed!”

“Well, I’m happy to hear that you are well – and happy that someone with more authority than I was able to tell you not to work so hard.”

“She didn’t say that precisely. She did say to make hay while the sun shines. So I will work hard while conditions are right for it and try not to burn the candle at both ends anymore.”

“Good! I am happy to hear it. But I assume that you are here to discuss yesterday’s committee meeting, not to talk about the state of your blooming good health.”

Minerva told Albus about the meeting and gave him a parchment with a concise summary of the discussion. “For your records, Albus. Is there anything else?”

“Thank you, my dear.” Albus hesitated. “You know, Minerva . . . no, no, I can’t ask this of you. You are already doing so much. . . .”

“What is it, Albus? I am happy to help out, you know that.”

“Well, it’s just that I would like to bring Filius out to dinner tonight – I even made reservations for this evening – but it turns out I can’t. Gertrude has gone back home, or I might ask her. I would just like Filius to feel welcomed properly. And I am afraid that it might look as though I am trying to improperly influence him if I were to bring him out to dinner the night before your next meeting. Of course, we can do a little something for him at the end of August before school begins, but he is taking his own time to be here in the middle of the summer . . . .”

“I would be happy to take Filius to dinner tonight, if you like. Where are the reservations?” Minerva asked, thinking of the Three Broomsticks or perhaps Madam Puddifoot’s, although she didn’t think Puddifoot did anything suitable for dinner.

“Delancie’s in Diagon Alley.”

“Delancie’s? That’s rather . . . posh.” Minerva didn’t want to use the word “expensive,” but that’s what she was thinking.

“Yes, well, I thought . . . the best, you know. And you needn’t worry about paying. It’s all going on account. Just go, and you two enjoy yourselves!” Albus felt a pang. Especially now that he was sitting there with Minerva, he wished it were he who was accompanying her to dinner. Dinner anywhere. Plaice and chips eaten from a Muggle newspaper, sitting on a park bench . . . . But it was too late now. And it was for his own good. If Filius and Minerva hit it off, it would help him to rein in his inappropriate feelings, he was sure of it. 

“All right, Albus. It does seem a bit . . . extravagant, though,” she said, thinking that, other than Poppy’s “housewarming,” she hadn’t had much of a welcome. But she had arrived in the middle of the school year, after all.

“Well, as I said, he has come all the way from Provence, interrupting his holiday, and he’s not even on staff yet.”

“Do you do that for all your new staff members, Albus?” Minerva asked.

“Goodness, no.” And it suddenly occurred to him why she had asked – he had not brought _her_ out to dinner when she started at the school. Indeed, he had left her waiting in the snow at the gates for a half an hour. “It’s just a way to thank him for his extra effort, that’s all. And I hope you enjoy yourself, too, Minerva.” He wished he could be there . . . she would no doubt put on her finer robes, take time with her hair, and look her loveliest.

“Well, I’m sure Professor Flitwick would enjoy your company more than mine, but I will do my best. You know, if it turns out you are available for dinner, you could come with us. Couldn’t you?”

“Perhaps, my dear, perhaps. Thank you for doing this for me. I think you will like Filius. He is a delightful person.” And he might be able to make you happy, Albus added to himself. And that thought brought a now-familiar pang to his heart. But he fixed a smile on his face and thanked Minerva again before taking his leave. He had work to do before lunch, then he planned on visiting Robert in hospital again. If it weren’t for his duties calling, he would have preferred to spend time with Minerva. He was half way out the door when she called behind him.

“Albus, don’t forget your vitamin potion!” She handed him the bottle with a smile. 

“Ah, yes! Madam Pomfrey would be most displeased if I were to start out disobeying her orders right from the first day! Thank you, my dear. I hope you have a pleasant day – and evening!”

“And you, Albus.”

* * *

At ten o’clock that night, Albus felt the slight tingle that indicated that someone had given the password to the gargoyle and was coming up to his office. He had already put on his nightshirt and dressing gown and was drinking chamomile tea in his sitting room, about to settle down with a book. His mind had been distracted that whole evening, wondering how Minerva and Filius’s date was going. Of course, neither of them knew that it was a date, but a witch and wizard could scarcely have dinner at Delancie’s and not have it be a date, in his opinion. Not if the witch was even half as enticing as Minerva.

Albus set his cup and saucer down and went down to his office to wait for his late-night visitor. He was only slightly surprised when he opened the door to see Minerva standing there in her dress robes, looking quite lovely. 

“Hello, Albus! Oh, you’re ready for bed! I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just thought you’d like to know that Filius and I went to dinner and it was very nice.”

“You’re back early, Minerva.”

“Well, the reservations were for seven. We ate. We talked. We strolled down Diagon Alley. We returned to Hogwarts. He is a very sweet wizard, you were right, Albus.” Minerva was glowing.

Inexplicably, Albus’s heart sank. She had enjoyed herself.

“You know, Albus, I think we should try to set him up with someone. Do you know – well, of course, _you_ do, but _I_ didn’t – he’s been a widower for twenty years! There must be some nice witch out there for him. I thought of Poppy, but I don’t know if he’s quite her type . . . and I don’t know him well enough to know his type.” Minerva flopped into one of the armchairs. “Oh, but I did eat too much, Albus! I hadn’t been to Delancie’s in a few years. I’d forgotten how good the food is! I only remembered the prices,” she said with a grin. “But we had the most peculiar menus. No prices on either of them. So let me know if I went over-budget, Albus, and I’ll repay it.”

“Oh, no, my dear! I asked that you have the witches’ menus. Well, that’s what they used to call them – I didn’t want either of you to think about the prices. I wanted you to order whatever you wanted.”

Minerva sighed. “Well, that we did. Thank you, Albus. It was lovely. The only thing that would have made it more lovely is if you had been there.” She smiled warmly. 

Albus’s cheeks went pink. “That’s kind of you – but didn’t you have a good time with Filius?” 

“Of course I did! You don’t think I’d consider setting him up with one of my friends if I hadn’t, do you? He is thoroughly sweet, very amusing, quite knowledgeable on many subjects. A generally delightful dinner companion. But he’s not you.” Minerva grinned. “I’m sorry, Albus. I’m afraid I didn’t only eat too much. We both had a little too much to drink. We had to Flee, I mean Floo, back from the Leaky Cauldron.” Minerva giggled. “We Flooed to the Hog’s Head. He thought it would be fun to have a nightcap there before we came back to the castle. We made quite an impression!”

“I’m sure you did!” Albus said, thinking of the seedy pub and the normal attire of the usual clientele. Minerva looked beautiful in her bright green summer robes. He saw now that her flush was probably due to the wine and whatever other spirits she had imbibed, and not simply from the pleasure of Filius’s company. “You look very beautiful tonight, Minerva. I am sure there wasn’t a wizard there who could tear his eyes from you.”

Minerva giggled again. “Filius was quite funny. He told me he was a duellist and would defend my honour if anyone accosted me . . . once he wasn’t drunk! Of course, he wasn’t really drunk, only a bit tipsy. For such a little fellow, he can hold his liquor. I just had a small gilly water at the Hog’s Head – I was surprised they even had that – but he had a double fire whisky. And this after splitting a bottle of wine with me and having two brandies, as well.” Minerva sighed and stretched, catlike. “I can’t imagine where he puts it!”

Albus averted his eyes; her stretch was far too . . . sensual. “You know, I was having some tea – chamomile tea – upstairs. Would you like to join me? You look as though you could use something nonalcoholic, if you don’t mind my saying so.” Albus smiled at Minerva, amused by her attempt to sit up straight and look sober.

“That would be very nice! But,” Minerva said, hesitating and knitting her brow seriously, “I shouldn’t keep you up. You are not supposed to be burning the midnight oil, after all.”

“It’s far from midnight, Minerva, and spending time with you is far from work.”

“All right!” Minerva popped up from the chair with as much energy as she had shown lassitude in her languid stretch a moment ago, and they started over to the stairs.

Albus chuckled. “So, you had a nice time.”

“Mmhm. We should go sometime, Albus. They have trifle!” she announced.

“Do they, indeed?” Albus replied, humouring her. “And did you have the trifle, my dear?”

“No, no.” She stopped on the sixth step up and tapped it with her toe. “This is the naughty step! Dumped me right on your floor!”

“Yes, but it won’t ever again, Minerva. Come on up and we’ll have that tea, hmm?”

“Someone should have warned me, Albus. It wasn’t very nice.” She shook her head seriously.

“No, you’re right, it wasn’t very nice. I am sorry, my dear.” He took her arm and escorted her the rest of the way up the spiral brass stairs. 

“I had a fruit torte. Berries. Very good berries.”

“Ah! I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She was back on the dessert again. “Here, have a seat, Minerva. I will fetch us some fresh tea.”

Albus called Wilspy and asked for a fresh pot of chamomile tea and another cup for Minerva.

“I hope Blampa doesn’t make her send ginger newts. I don’t think I could eat another bite.” She leaned her head back. “I’m sleepy, too, Albus.” She stifled a yawn. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, it’s a good time of night to be sleepy, I suppose. Here, have your tea, my dear,” Albus said gently and handed her a cup. 

“Thank you.” She took a sip. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit silly tonight, I’m afraid.”

“That’s fine! Poppy was just saying this morning that you need to have more fun.”

“Did she? I’ll have to bring her someplace boring for her birthday dinner, then.” Minerva laughed. “I’ll bring her to the Hog’s Head! It’s not boring, but it certainly would be unexpected!”

Albus laughed along with her. “I don’t know if they could survive your presence twice in one week, though, Minerva.” He looked at her with a bright smile in his eyes. “So, Filius enjoyed himself, as well?”

“Yes, I think so. I left him at his rooms. There are too many stairs in this castle on some days, Albus.”

“You didn’t need to come see me, Minerva; you could have gone straight back to your rooms.”

“Oh. Do you want me to leave?”

“No, not at all! I am very glad you came by, I’m just saying you didn’t need to feel obligated.”

“I didn’t. I wanted to see you.” She looked at him and sighed, smiling. “It was a good idea. . . .”

“Yes, it was.” Albus smiled. “More tea?”

“Yes, please.”

Albus poured her another cup of tea and asked her about what she and Filius had talked about during dinner. Minerva leaned back, sipped her tea, and told Albus all about the dinner and their conversation and the people they had seen in the restaurant and on the street.

After her third cup of tea, a more sober Minerva said, “It’s getting late now, Albus. I should leave you to get a good night’s rest.” She set her cup down and pushed up from the sofa, standing.

Albus stood, as well. “Would you like to go down the back way again, my dear?”

Minerva hesitated. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all.”

Again, Albus led Minerva through his bedroom to the backstair and opened the doors for her. As they started down the worn stone stairs, the torchlight flickering around them, Minerva asked tentatively, “Do you mind if I . . .” Her hand hovered in front of her as Albus turned his head and looked up at her.

“Please, feel free . . . I don’t want you to stumble or to feel nervous.” 

Minerva rested her hand on his shoulder and let out a small, happy sigh. He was warm and comforting. She could feel his shoulder through his lightweight nightshirt and dressing gown. They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Albus opened the door for them. He turned and looked up at Minerva where she stood on the second step. He held out a hand to her. 

“How was that, Minerva?”

“Better than last time. But it’s reassuring to have you there.” She smiled and took his hand. 

“I’ll walk you back to your rooms.” He held up his other hand. “No, no protests tonight. I am confident you could make it back quite safely and securely on your own. But I would like to see you to your door.”

Minerva nodded. “All right, Albus. Thank you!”

Albus slipped Minerva’s hand to his elbow and patted it. “Good . . . good.”

He led her down the side corridor then to the main staircase down to the fourth floor. They didn’t speak, but just walked in comfortable silence until they reached the portrait of the Silent Knight.

“Good night, my dear Minerva!”

“Good night, Albus. Thank you for the tea – and don’t forget to take your vitamin potion tonight!”

“I will take it as soon as I return. I promise.” Albus looked down at Minerva and smiled. “Sleep well.”

“You do the same.” She gave her password to the portrait. “ _Alvarium album_.” The door clicked open.

Albus leaned forward just a little and bent his head, placing a light kiss on Minerva’s cheek. “Good night,” he whispered, his breath warm on her face.

Then Albus was gone, and Minerva stepped into her sitting room, her cheek still tingling from his kiss.


	69. None but the Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva spends the day in London, visiting Pretnick at St. Mungo's and then going to Diagon Alley, where she unexpectedly meets a friend; they have lunch at the Leaky Cauldron.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Quin MacAirt, Florean Fortescue, and Robert Pretnick.

**LXIX: None But the Two**

At ten o’clock the next morning, Minerva walked down to the front gates and Apparated to London. The committee meeting had been unsatisfactory, from her point of view, in that they had come to no decision about Pretnick’s job. She had hoped that it wouldn’t take long for the committee to come up with a recommendation, but it appeared that this committee was like all other committees she’d had experience with, and there would be a few more meetings before they had a recommendation for the full staff. That meant more waiting for Pretnick, although from what Albus had said, he didn’t believe he should come back to the school, and he had a very bleak view of his future.

Minerva was unhappy, too, with what Belby had said about his progress toward creating a potion to treat lycanthropy. The only potion that he had that did not have dangerous, or even potentially deadly, side effects, simply put the werewolf into a deep sleep prior to the transformation; unfortunately, the sleep did not carry through the entire period of transformation. At some point during the night, the werewolf would wake and begin exhibiting behaviour typical of a confined werewolf – running in circles, biting its own limbs and tail, and flinging itself against the walls in an attempt to escape and find human prey. Belby was working on refinements, but none of them were without danger. One interesting side effect to the special sleeping potion was that the werewolf now retained some memory of being a werewolf; normally, the person did not remember the transformation or what he did when under its influence. Belby believed that this showed some change in the werewolf’s awareness, and he was focussing on exploiting that aspect of the potion, believing that perhaps consciousness was the key to the treatment, since every attempt he had made to thwart the transformation itself had ended in the death of the werewolf or some other almost equally disastrous result.

Despite her own discouragement with both the committee and the potion, Minerva was determined to remain cheerful – well, as cheerful as was appropriate – during her visit with Pretnick. As she entered the Creature-Induced Injuries ward, she wondered precisely what she could say to someone who had been bitten by a werewolf that wouldn’t sound disingenuous. She needn’t have worried. 

“Good morning, Robert! How are you feeling today?”

“Minerva . . . hullo. I’m as you see me.” He gestured at his leg, which was still swathed in bandages. He gave a bitter chuckle. “Of course, come by in a few weeks, and you’ll see quite a different me.” He bared his teeth mockingly. “Grr.”

Minerva wasn’t sure how to react to his peculiar joke. “Well, I’m glad to see you today. How’s the leg?”

“Healing slowly.” He gave another bitter laugh. “Ironically enough, the Healers say that after my first transmogrification, it will heal up completely. Of course, I’ll have other injuries that will need healing after that . . . but the leg will be like new.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing. Does it hurt much?”

“Not anymore. They gave me potions for the pain . . . now it just itches like hell.”

Minerva pulled up a chair and sat down. “You know, everyone was most distressed to hear about your injury, and they all admired how well you defended the Higgs family.”

“Hmph. That explains why you’re my first visitor. They’re all so busy ‘admiring’ my ineptness.”

“Professor Dumbledore and Professor Gamp – ”

“Had to visit me. It’s their job. Don’t think I don’t know that.”

“They wanted to visit you, Robert. And I know they’ve been back to see you, more than once. If it were only obligation, they would have come that first day, then been done with it.”

The Defence teacher didn’t respond to that, only looking away.

“What about your family, Robert?”

“They’re all Muggles.”

“But surely you’ve told them?”

“No . . . no, they wouldn’t understand.”

“I think you may be underestimating them, Robert.” Minerva hesitated. She knew some Muggle-borns grew away from their Muggle families as their lives became more immersed in the wizarding world. “Unless you don’t have any contact with them . . .”

“No, no, I do. And I think my nephew – he’s four – he may be a wizard.” Pretnick’s eyes filled with tears. “I had wanted to help him, make it easier for him than it was for me growing up. At least my sister has some idea what is going on with him, which is better than when I was a boy.”

“You can still help him, Robert! You’re only a werewolf three days out of the month.”

“Yes, and then recovering from it for a week, not to mention a danger to everyone near me during those three days. And ostracised the rest of the month.”

“There are advances made in Healing every day; you can’t know that there won’t be a cure right around the corner.”

“After I’ve infected how many other people? Or even if I don’t, I’ll be dependent on charity for the rest of my life. No one hires a werewolf.”

“We’re working on that, Robert.”

The wizard snorted. “As if I would trust myself in a school full of children. Werewolves love children, you know. That’s why the Higgs were such a tempting target for that werewolf. Who is now out of her misery, at least. I can only hope that someone will do the same for me.”

“Robert! Professor Dumbledore said that you tried to spare the werewolf even after she’d bitten you!”

“And that was a mistake. She had no life, particularly as a Muggle. And if I had done the right thing to begin with and just killed her, I wouldn’t have been bitten. Stupid human sentimentality.”

“It isn’t stupid and it isn’t sentimental. It is human, though. Human compassion and human reverence for life.”

“You see, I’m no longer human. I may still look human to you, Minerva, but I’m not. I’m a werewolf. And I know what that means. I do teach Defence, after all. Or I did. The point is, you can’t tell me that everything will be all right because I know it won’t be.”

“Life won’t be the same as it was before, but you can still have a life, Robert. You still live and breathe. You could even work in the Muggle world, which not all wizards could manage.”

Robert shook his head. “I can’t even drive an automobile, Minerva. I may be able to use a telephone, but you need more skills than that to work in the Muggle world. I’ve been a wizard since I was eleven. I don’t fit in the Muggle world anymore.”

“It sounds as though you’re close to your family, though.”

“Mmm. I suppose. But family life is more-or-less the same whether you’re a wizard or a Muggle.”

“You really should tell them. Are your parents still alive?”

“My mother is. My father passed away last year. . . . I’m getting tired, Minerva. I think I need to sleep now.”

Minerva stood. “I’ll come visit again, Robert.”

The wizard nodded. “All right. Thank you for coming. I’m sorry I wasn’t better company.”

“Just get your rest and take care of your leg.”

Minerva left St. Mungo’s using the street level exit. She thought that as long as she was in London, she would go to Diagon Alley and do some shopping. It had been nice to be in the city the night before; the bustle of the street even on a weekday night had been a nice change from Hogwarts, and she had been surprised to find that she had missed it. 

By the time she had finished her shopping, having first visited Gringott’s, then gone on to Scribbulus’s, Madam Malkin’s, and Flourish & Blotts, Minerva realised that she had long since missed lunch. She was just paying for her books and was debating whether to have lunch in Diagon Alley or to return to Hogwarts and have Blampa bring her something, when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Ah, and ’tis the fairest witch o’ me acquaintance, and ’tis not even condescendin’ t’ greet me, she is!”

Minerva turned with a grin. “Quin!”

“Minerva.” Quin returned her grin and nodded. “You have a few parcels there. Have you been after workin’ up a thirst?”

“I don’t know about a thirst, but I _am_ hungry. I was just trying to decide whether to eat something now or to wait till I got home.”

“I believe I am owin’ you a meal or three . . . _ma grande dame de la Metamorphosis_ ,” Quin said with an impish wink. “Come! Where would you like to eat?”

“The Leaky Cauldron would be fine – I can Floo back from there.”

“Your wish is me command!” He bowed with a flourish, waving the door open for her.

As they walked toward the pub, Minerva explained that she’d been visiting a colleague at St. Mungo’s and had thought she would do a bit of shopping while she was in town. “I hadn’t thought that I would take so long, but I lose track of time when I’m in a bookstore.”

“I, too, suffer from that affliction – however, I discovered the cure for that today.”

“And what was that?” Minerva asked with an amused smile.

“The distraction of a fair lady!”

Minerva snorted. “I should have known it would be something like that!”

“I cannot guarantee it would work for you – but you could try lookin’ in a mirror and see!”

“Oh, hush with your nonsense, Quin!” But Minerva laughed. 

They reached the pub and found a table in the corner away from the hubbub of the comings and goings of what seemed half the wizarding population of Britain. Minerva placed her parcels on the seat beside her, and a tall, gangly young wizard came over and took their lunch order.

As they were waiting, Quin leaned forward and asked, “So, how’s your wizard? Seen him since you left the Gamps, have you?”

“He’s not my wizard, yes, I’ve seen him, and he is fine.”

“More to the point, how are _you_?” He looked at her face carefully, as if examining it for a clue or a sign. “You still haven’t told him, have you, lass?”

Minerva reddened. “I don’t think this is an appropriate topic of conversation.”

Quin sat back and shrugged, spreading his hands expressively. “Dry weather we’ve been havin’, ain’t it? Parched, practically.”

“Quin . . .” Minerva sighed. 

“What? The weather is off-limits now, too? Well, then . . . what do you think o’ the Prides this year? I favour the Kestrels, meself. But I must say, the Wasps ain’t doin’ too poorly. They just might have a chance this season.”

“Quin! I do not want to talk about Quidditch, either.”

“Nothin’ t’ talk about, then? All right. Silence can be congenial.”

“You are truly incorrigible.”

“So you keep tellin’ me. And you’re not rid o’ me yet.”

“How are your children?”

“Left ’em with me mum. Me sister is close by, and her kids come over, or mine go there. They have a grand time. I have business in London still, but I’ll be back and spendin’ some time with ’em later in the summer.”

“You mentioned you have a place there, yourself. Is that where you’ll be?”

“It will be. It’s a small place now. I signed most o’ the land o’er to me brother-in-law, but it’s in trust fer me kids, in case they want it when they’re grown. And if he dies, it reverts.”

“It all sounds complicated to me.”

“Borin’, not complicated. Just can’t stay awake long enough to listen to it t’ be understandin’ it,” Quin said with a smile.

Their lunch arrived, and conversation became less stilted as they relaxed over their food.

Minerva found herself speaking of her dinner at Delancie’s the night before and her tipsy visit to the Headmaster’s office afterward. 

“I can’t imagine what he must have thought of me! When I woke up this morning, I felt properly embarrassed. I said the silliest things.” Minerva laughed at herself.

“And the great Albus Dumbledore sobered you up with tea and biscuits?”

“No biscuits. I couldn’t have eaten another crumb. And I do wish you wouldn’t call him that, Quin.”

“What? Oh – you mean, ‘the great Albus Dumbledore’? I don’t mean anythin’ disrespectful by it.”

“I know you don’t, but I’d just rather you didn’t. If you knew him better, you wouldn’t.”

“And you don’t think him great?” Quin asked.

“Of course I do, that’s not what I meant.”

“Mmm.” Quin looked at her with a peculiar expression. “I see.” Then he added briskly, “Well, you’ll just have to invite me to Hogwarts for that tour, and p’raps I can get t’ know him better!”

“Yes, I’m sorry . . . it just slipped my mind. I’m afraid I’ve been rather busy with various things. I hadn’t forgotten it altogether,” she said hastily. “I even mentioned it to Dumbledore. He thinks there should be no problem with a tour of all the House common rooms, as well. I still haven’t asked the Head of Gryffindor, but that should be an easy one,” Minerva said, thinking of her last private conversation with Wilhelmina, “Dumbledore asked Slughorn already, though, and he’s amenable, and the Head of Ravenclaw has also agreed. I’m still waiting to hear about Hufflepuff, but there’s a good chance that’ll come through, as well. I’ll know in a couple days when I see Poppy.”

“Poppy – your friend, the matron, correct?”

“Mmhm.” Minerva took a bite of her sandwich.

“And why, if you don’t mind me askin’, would you be findin’ out from her?”

“She’s a Hufflepuff. Professor Dustern was her Head of House. She is asking for me.” 

“I’ll never understand how these Houses work, I’m afraid.”

“It’s just that Professor Dustern will be leaving her post in August. I don’t know her very well.”

“I see . . . she and your Headmaster aren’t gettin’ along, and you’re none too fond o’ her, elseways.” 

Minerva rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I thought you said you don’t know anythin’ about Hogwarts and don’t understand the Houses.” She snorted. “You’ve been talking to Gertrude.”

“I often talk with that lovely witch, Minerva. But if you are implyin’ that I spoke with her about this particular topic, that I haven’t. I simply know business. And Hogwarts business may be a bit different from me own, but if the Headmaster is askin’ the others, but not this one, and this one is leavin’, and you’re askin’ Gryffindor, but not this one, well, there are several plausible explanations, but as a wise man once said, the simplest answer is usually the correct one. _Lex parsimoniae_ , Minerva!”

“Occam’s Razor.” Minerva quirked a smile at Quin’s surprised expression. “You forget who my father is – _and_ that I studied with Dumbledore.”

“Hmm. It may be that I have underestimated the Hogwarts education. I did not think they stooped to Muggle philosophy.”

“I believe it was also mentioned in passing in my Arithmancy class – with Gertrude. With, of course, many counterexamples from Arithmancy, which were then shown to be incorrect in the end.” Minerva shook her head and let out a sigh. “Arithmancy was never my strong suit, I’m afraid, but Albus was right. It was invaluable when studying advance Transfigurations and devising novel spells.”

“And yet you won’t let me call him ‘the great Dumbledore,’” Quin said in mock distress.

Minerva laughed. “I never said he wasn’t ‘great,’ nor that he didn’t teach me a lot, just that it annoys me when you repeatedly call him ‘the great Albus Dumbledore.’ It sounds mocking. I know you don’t mean it that way . . . but some would.”

“All right, me dear.” Quin smiled gently and patted her hand. “Just know I’ll always be thinkin’ ‘great’ when I say his name – as do _you_ , I can see that in your eyes. Hmm . . . Occam’s Razor?” He asked, looking at Minerva questioningly, and she blushed. 

“I don’t know what you are on about, Quin, but what do you say to some dessert? Or tea? Or coffee?”

“Coffee, I suppose. But not here. The coffee here tastes like mud. Florean does a nice coffee, and you can have some dessert, if you like.” Quin took Minerva’s change of topic easily and waved at the waiter to bring him the bill.

* * *

Albus had finished his business at the Ministry later that morning than he had hoped. It was well after noon before he made it to Gringotts to see to it that the monthly transfer from his account to the Indigent Scholars’ account was increased and to arrange for St. Mungo’s to be able to bill his account directly for young Pretnick’s care. Albus wanted to insure that Robert received the very best care possible, not just the minimal required. He had instructed St. Mungo’s to put any additional charges on his account, and he needed to make certain that Gringotts understood these instructions, as well. On impulse, once he was at the bank, he made an additional donation to the Creature-Induced Injuries ward for the care of any other werewolf patients and instructed the goblins to continue to make a monthly donation to that purpose.

Now Albus was wanting his lunch. The Leaky Cauldron would be the easiest thing, he thought, and so he walked briskly down the street, nodding greetings at those he passed, but not pausing to speak to them. Despite some of the business he’d dealt with at the Ministry, he was in a cheerful mood, and it was all due to Minerva. Inviting her up to his suite for late dessert the other night had been a fine idea. He would have to find other such excuses to spend time with her . . . she had said, after all, that she would welcome similar non-Hogwarts reasons to spend time with him. But he didn’t think that he could do exactly the same thing twice in a row. He would need to think of a new excuse. It was rather fun, really, thinking up excuses to spend time with Minerva. And there was no doubt that she genuinely enjoyed herself with him. Otherwise, why would she have arrived, somewhat tipsy, in his office the night before? He was relieved, oddly enough, that she had obviously not considered Flitwick a potential beau, and from the little that Filius had mentioned to him that morning, his thoughts weren’t moving in that direction, either. Perhaps he should find some way of subtly encouraging Minerva to see more of Quin. Quin could hardly be insensitive to Minerva’s wit and beauty and all of her other positive qualities. He would speak to Gertrude about it, as well. She might have an idea or two.

Albus stepped into the Leaky Cauldron and blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dimmer light of the pub after the bright sunshine in Diagon Alley. He looked around for a free table, not feeling up to perching on a bar stool, and he saw Minerva sitting at a corner table with a wizard whose back was to him. The wizard leaned forward and patted Minerva’s hand, then leaned back; Minerva blushed. It was Quin. Well, so Quin could make her blush. . . .

Albus turned and quietly left the Leaky Cauldron. He would lunch elsewhere. He didn’t want to interrupt what might very well be a more successful date than the one he had arranged for her with Filius. The smile faded from his face as he stepped back out into Diagon Alley in search of a light lunch. Florean Fortescue did a passable soup. He would just eat there then be back off home to Hogwarts. Albus headed off for the ice cream shop, distracted by the pang in his heart and the sense of loss that was creeping up on him. He scolded himself – after all, he had already decided to encourage Minerva to see Quin. If she had lunch with the young wizard, that was a good thing. His mind may have been convinced by his argument, but his heart was not. And when Florean told him that the soup was sold out, he didn’t feel the slightest bit bad for ordering a banana split with three kinds of ice cream, two flavours of sauce, and almost as much whipped cream on top as ice cream below.

“I don’t know how I let you talk me into this, Quin. I need to get back to Hogwarts. There’s work to be doing.”

Albus heard Minerva grumble as the pair approached the ice cream shop. He turned his head to see Quin guiding her through the cluster of umbrella’d tables. His spoon stopped half-way on its course to his mouth, and ice cream began to drip on his robes. There was no escape – and yes, the couple had seen him now. And he could not pretend not to have seen them.

“Professor Dumbledore!” Minerva said, smiling delightedly. “How lovely to run into you here!” Then, in a lower voice, she added, “Do you know you’re dripping ice cream, Albus?”

Albus hastily put his spoon back in his bowl and looked down at the ice cream running down his front to puddle in his lap. Before he could do anything about it, it was gone.

“Allow me,” Quin said, and with a slight gesture, the mess on his robes was cleaned up. “It is good to see you again, sir.” Quin nodded at the older wizard, who was about to stand. “Please, don’t get up. We were just comin’ for some coffee and dessert.”

“It is a very nice day for ice cream,”Albus said politely.

“It may be forward of me, but would you care for company?” Quin asked.

“Yes, may we join you?”

Albus couldn’t possibly say “no,” and certainly not to Minerva, so he smiled and gestured toward the chairs, which pulled themselves out from the table. “That would be lovely.”

“Why don’t I go inside, love, and let Florean know we are here – it seems the midday rush is over, and he may not have seen us,” Quin said, addressing Minerva.

“Thank you, Quin.” When Quin had gone into the shop, Minerva turned to Albus. “It really is nice to run into you! I didn’t know you would be in London today, or I would have enjoyed meeting you for lunch!”

“I wouldn’t have wanted to interfere with your plans or your . . . date,” Albus replied, taking another bite of ice cream, which, as long as it was in its Charmed bowl, didn’t melt very quickly, despite the warm sun.

“I didn’t have any plans for lunch, and this isn’t a date. I just happened to see Quin in Flourish and Blotts at about the time I was thinking of getting something to eat. Pure coincidence.”

“I see.”

“Am I correct in guessing that that is your lunch, Albus?” Minerva asked, pointing at the bowl of ice cream.

“I took my vitamin potion last night,” Albus protested. “And there’s fruit here – bananas and cherries, see!” He waved his spoon over the bowl, indicating the bright red cherries.

Minerva laughed. “You _are_ a grown wizard. I suppose if you want an ice cream sundae for lunch, no one will stop you.” She looked at him affectionately. “ _Do_ take care of yourself, though, Albus. For all of us who care about you, hmm?”

Albus smiled. “Ice cream is very good for the soul, you know. You should have some!”

Quin returned, a tray with three cups of coffee, cream, and sugar, floating in front of him. “He’ll be out in a moment to take our dessert orders. He’s busy with some delivery person out back at the moment.” He settled the tray on the table with nary a ripple in the coffee. “I wasn’t sure whether you drank coffee or not, Professor, but I took the liberty o’ bringin’ you a cup. Don’t feel obligated t’ drink it.”

Albus took a cup, added two teaspoons of sugar and a liberal amount of cream. Minerva added only cream to hers, relying on Quin’s assurance that it wasn’t “swill.” Quin took his black with a half teaspoon of sugar – to “bring out the acid,” he said, whatever that was supposed to mean.

“So, Quin, I understand you provided Minerva with company while she was at the Gamps,” Albus said conversationally, trying to remember his resolve to see to it that Minerva found a suitable wizard who could make her happy.

“I did try t’ be more congenial company than that she could have found with others there.” Quin smiled warmly, first at Minerva, then directing his gaze at Albus. “I took care of her and tried t’ return her to you whole, happy, and intact, sir.” His smile did not fade, and Albus could feel the warmth the young wizard was projecting, intentionally or not, but he was unsure whether the warmth were directed at him or only at Minerva.

“I did not need to be taken care of, Quin!” Minerva protested indignantly.

Quin shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “Let me say, then, that ’twas a convenient thing for us both that we spent time together, given the presence of certain other individuals at the gath’rin’ and leave it at that, shall we?”

Albus smiled. “Thank you for taking care of Minerva, Quin. Or not,” he added, seeing Minerva’s expression. 

“And I hope she was returned to you happy and intact?” Quin asked the older wizard.

Ignoring Minerva’s scowl, Albus said, “She seemed to have enjoyed herself, didn’t you tell me that, my dear?” Albus turned to Minerva, who nodded.

“I do believe she would have enjoyed your company there, sir. You were missed by many. I know that Robert and Gertrude both would have been pleased if you had been able t’ come this year. And,” Quin added with a barely perceptible glance at Minerva, “you could have taken care o’ Minerva yourself.”

It was all that Albus could do not to blush at Quin’s statement. The boy was a MacAirt; the males weren’t as gifted as the witches, but Quin was rather extraordinary, from what Gertrude had said of him. Had he somehow seen into the old wizard’s heart and discovered his attachment to his one-time protege? “Well, as Minerva says, she can take care of herself,” Albus said.

Just then, Florean appeared to take their order. At the wizards’ encouragement, Minerva ordered a small bowl of ice cream. Quin declined, however, saying that he had some business later that afternoon and would need to be leaving soon.

Minerva protested. “You dragged me here, Quin. The least you can do is have some ice cream with us.”

“I was sayin’ I wanted coffee, love; I said nothin’ of ice cream. An’ ’tis not abandonin’ you, I am! I’m after leavin’ you in the company o’ Professor Dumbledore, who is even more congenial company than meself, t’ be sure!” He grinned at Minerva impishly, who glared at him for a moment, but then, unable to help herself, laughed.

“All right, Quin. I don’t want to be keeping you from your work – ’though you were quite happy to keep me from mine!”

“What are we ever t’ do with her, Professor?” Quin asked rhetorically, shaking his head melodramatically. “’Tis lovin’ her that’s the only thing for it – wouldn’t you say?” He looked at Albus expectantly.

Albus nodded and wished he could think of something clever and amusing to say in response. But the only response he could think of was clearly inappropriate, so he simply nodded and smiled at Minerva.

“Well, if you two are going to conspire against me, I haven’t a chance!” Minerva said in good-natured resignation.

“’Tis _for_ you we are, love,” Quin said softly, his demeanor suddenly mild, “An’ never against you.”

“He’s right, Minerva. I heard you when you arrived, saying you had to get back to work. There’s nothing at Hogwarts today that can’t wait for you to have a bowl of ice cream.”

“But I haven’t written up your report yet, Professor,” Minerva protested.

“There will be time for that later, my dear. I wouldn’t have been able to read it yet, anyway.” He reached out and patted her arm.

The shopkeeper arrived with Minerva’s ice cream and another cup of coffee for Quin, interrupting their conversation. Quin drank off half the coffee, black, then stood.

“I have t’ take me leave of ye, desolate though that renders me!”

“But you’ll be visiting the castle soon, I understand,” Albus said.

“That I will, sir, as soon as your lady sees fit to invite me there. Good day t’ ye both,” Quin said with a grin.

“’Bye, Quin!” Minerva said. “And I will be inviting you soon, I promise!”

Quin was off with a cheery wave to them both, and when Albus later asked for the bill, they discovered that he had paid for all three of them.

“He’s a gentleman,” said Albus after Florean had vanished back into his shop.

“Yes, _and_ a rogue, as he would tell you. Though he’s not really . . . he’s just not . . . _typical_ , I suppose you’d say,” Minerva replied thoughtfully.

“No, not typical. Although he does seem to appreciate you, Minerva.”

“Yes, well, I suppose so.” Minerva hoped he wasn’t about to start on about how he’d make a good suitor. “He was under orders from Gertrude, apparently, to keep me company and try to keep me from any unpleasant encounters with some of the more disagreeable guests.”

“I am sure he spent time with you out of more than just a sense of duty, though, Minerva.”

Minerva shrugged slightly. “We enjoyed each other’s company; it’s nice to make new friends. Sometimes one does feel that one knows absolutely everyone in the wizarding world and there’s no one new to meet . . .”

“And . . . did he succeed?” Albus asked hesitantly.

“What do you mean?”

“I meant, did he succeed in keeping you from unpleasant encounters?”

“He wasn’t glued to my side, Albus. Not everyone at the Gamps was pleasant. They say you can’t pick your relatives, but it does seem to me that some of the people to whom Gertrude is related by marriage, well, I wouldn’t choose them for relatives.”

“So . . . you did encounter some disagreeable people?”

“You know already that Valerianna Yaxley was there. She was superficially charming, as I am sure you know, but she tried to be slyly unpleasant. She didn’t succeed. She wasn’t in the least bit clever, though she certainly was unpleasant. And then there were all these old witches and wizards – well, not that old, actually. Many were younger than my father. But they were certainly past their prime, unlike my dad – or you. They kept fishing around to find out if I was a half-blood, since they didn’t recognise the McGonagall name. I gathered that none of them reads, or they’d at least have noticed Dad’s books on display in Flourish and Blotts, if nothing else. Anyway, I finally made my escape by mentioning Grandmother Siofre. They were so busy trying to get over the fact that she’s a Tyree, they couldn’t keep me pinned there for their examination any longer.”

“It does sound as though you can take care of yourself, then,” Albus chuckled, wishing, though, that Minerva had elaborated on Valerianna Yaxley’s “unpleasantness,” despite not really wanting to discuss the witch. He certainly was a mass of contradictions lately!

“Yes . . . well . . .” Minerva hesitated. Albus didn’t seem to want to discuss the Yaxley person, but he hadn’t flinched or started playing with what remained of his ice cream – it had been too much for even him to finish, he’d stated – perhaps she should say something more. Something that might make Albus feel a little better . . . .

Albus looked slightly alarmed at her hesitation. “Did something happen? Was someone – ”

“Well, in a way. I am afraid I was rather rude, myself, Albus. I already confessed to Gertrude . . . I know that one does not attend a social gathering of any type and hex a fellow guest, and certainly not at an engagement party, no matter the provocation . . .”

“You _hexed_ a guest, Minerva?” Albus asked, astonished.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly a hex. It was only a little jinx. And as I explained to Gertrude, it was not on a person . . .”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense, my dear! What did you do?” Albus couldn’t for the life of him imagine sensible Minerva McGonagall, despite her occasional temper, hexing a guest at a party!

“I jinxed Valerianna Yaxley’s shoes. With a slow-shrinking jinx.” She grinned, failing in her attempt to keep a straight face. “She apparently was quite hobbled by it. Claimed to Madam Gamp that some unknown person had hexed her.” 

Albus was torn between amusement, shock, and embarrassment that he had ever been associated with that particular witch.

Seeing Albus’s expression and unsure how to interpret it, Minerva continued, “Gertrude already knew about the jinx by then, but I don’t believe she enlightened anyone about the cause of the witch’s difficulties. Besides,” Minerva said defensively, “she did bring it on herself for behaving like a cow!”

“She behaved like a _cow_?” Now Albus was puzzled. 

“Not _literally_ , Albus! There are a few other words I could choose, but we are in public. She had the bad taste to insinuate that I was alone for a moment at the party because I was a repressed spinster. She also tried to seduce Quin just after announcing her engagement to Flint. Quin, of course, found it a highly distasteful proposition. She basically behaved very badly the entire time, Albus, and worst of all at the party.”

“I see . . .” Albus wondered whether Valerianna had said anything about him, but he couldn’t very well ask that. If she had, it had likely been something that had infuriated Minerva, knowing her loyalty to him, and if she hadn’t said anything, well, no point in having Minerva wonder what the witch _could_ have said about him. Besides, Minerva clearly didn’t hold against him whatever the witch _had_ said. 

“Well, Albus, it is getting late. Shall we be getting home? When we get back, I can write up my report on the meeting and give it to you. Unless you have other business here?”

Albus smiled. “No, my dear. No more business today. Although I will be happy to accept your report, of course.” He stood and held out his hand, assisting Minerva from her chair. He looked at her, and he was once again struck by her warmth, her beauty, her wit, and her determination. “I am very glad we saw each other today, Minerva. Thank you.”

Minerva returned his smile. “I am glad, too, Albus. It was a wonderful chance to have found you here.” She took his arm and squeezed it slightly. “Floo or Apparition?”

“Apparition, if that suits you,” Albus replied.

Minerva nodded, and they began to walk down the street. “Apparition would be faster.”

“May I offer you a Side-Along, my dear?” Albus asked as they reached the small side alley that many used as a Disapparition point.

Minerva flushed slightly, remembering her first Side-Along Apparition with Albus.

“Of course, I know you are quite capable – ” he began, thinking perhaps he had insulted her.

“Yes, please, Albus. That would be nice. Although, after the ice cream . . . .” She was shameless, she thought. Utterly shameless.

“Ah, well, we can compensate for that, I am sure.” Albus blushed despite himself. “You are a bit taller than you were . . . but come closer, my dear.”

Minerva stepped closer and let him put an arm around her. Feeling her blood flow into places where it really had no business pulsing so strongly, Minerva fought to control her breathing.

“Are you nervous, Minerva?” Albus placed his other hand at her waist.

Minerva shook her head, unable to speak. She closed her eyes and laid her head against him. His magic thrummed powerfully, in waves washing over her, gently bringing her magic in tune with itself.

Albus’s breath was warm on her forehead. “Ready, my dear?”

“Almost,” she whispered, savouring the sensation of his warm embrace, of his strong magic mingling with hers, of his soft breath on her face. She could stay in his arms forever.

Finally, unable to delay any longer, Minerva nodded, and the two Disapparated from the alley with a barely audible pop. Had anyone been watching, they would have believed they had seen two lovers in an embrace, but no one was there . . . none but the two who loved.


	70. Forever in the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus comes to some new conclusions, and Minerva has company on her morning walk.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Poppy Pomfrey.

**LXX: Forever in the Sun**

Albus lay in bed and cast another cooling charm. The room was comfortable enough; it was he who was uncomfortable, uncomfortable with the feelings that he had allowed to rise in him that afternoon, feelings that kept returning. He was old enough and self-controlled enough, he told himself, to be able to conquer both his emotions and his physical responses. His Occlumency, his long life, his costly defeat of Grindelwald, even his study of alchemy, all should have prepared him to meet the troubles of life with equanimity. Not with complete emotional detachment, of course; that would render him inhuman. But he should be able to calm himself . . . but Minerva was no trouble of life, no problem to be solved, no obstacle to be overcome. No, it was in himself, the trouble, the problem, the obstacle. 

He closed his eyes and relaxed completely. Albus knew why he wasn’t able to overcome the obstacle within. He did not truly wish to overcome it. That is why all of his efforts had been misdirected, external ones, and why they had all failed. But as he had told himself before, and as he completely, fully believed, love was a good thing. Love should not be an obstacle to be overcome. Love should be embraced. Love should be acted upon. It should be expressed. If expressed properly, love would surely help him to overcome his difficulties. His decision to behave normally around Minerva was incomplete without an acknowledgment that he would be acting out of love for her. It would simply have to be an appropriate love expressed in appropriate terms. And one of those appropriate expressions would be to allow her to live her life as she chose; not to push her toward Filius Flitwick or Quin MacAirt, but to encourage her once she did choose her wizard. 

Quin MacAirt. There was no denying that the young wizard had a great deal of affection for Minerva. Albus believed from seeing their interactions that it would take very little for the Irish wizard to fall in love with Minerva. Minerva, on the other hand . . . he was not entirely sure of her feelings toward Quin. Clearly she liked him and was comfortable with him – far more comfortable than she was in the company of most, although she had persisted in addressing him as “Professor” until after Quin had left. She did allow Quin to tease her, though, and he had made her laugh. That was definitely a very good thing for Minerva. It was as Poppy had said the day before: Minerva had been old before she was young and she did occasionally need to “loosen up,” as the matron had put it. Quin could do that for her. Yes, Quin might be suitable . . . and if Minerva chose Quin, he would support her completely. And if she were interested in someone else, well, he would encourage that. As long as the person weren’t anything like Valerianna, of course. Then he would have to intervene, just as Gertrude had done for him.

Feeling more comfortable, Albus fell asleep . . . and dreamed of Minerva.

* * *

Ah, that had been such a mistake, to have fed _It_ when she should be overcoming _It_. If only she could redirect _It_ , if only she could feel so strongly for another . . . _It_ would certainly surrender then. Minerva turned her pillow over and fluffed it vigorously before lying back down. How could she have allowed herself to settle into his embrace as she had done? If he had somehow sensed what she had felt . . . that would have been beyond embarrassing. 

Merely thinking about the Side-Along Apparition to which she had so selfishly and foolishly agreed caused Minerva to grow warm and a heavy tingling to arise in her. She would not think about it. She would not think about what it had felt like to have his arm around her and to feel his magic flowing through her own. His right arm had been around her and his left hand had been at her waist . . . he hadn’t done that during their first Side-Along. Despite her resolution not to think of Albus in that way, Minerva imagined what it would have felt like if he had drawn that hand up her side and down again, then back up to her breast. She would have raised her face to his and kissed him, drawing on his lips with her own, tasting them. Minerva shuddered and moaned. 

Oh, gods, she could not, she _would_ not think such thoughts. She had always managed to push them aside in the past. But tonight, she could still feel his reassuring solidity and the hum of his magic around her . . . her warmth grew. She had to think of something else. Anything else, anything that would keep her from tormenting herself like this.

Quin. Minerva had feared for a moment in the Leaky Cauldron that Quin had figured out that Albus was the wizard whom she loved so desperately. All that bit he had said about her thinking Albus was great, just as he did, and then his seemingly random comment about Occam’s Razor. Perhaps he had arrived at the correct explanation . . . but if so, he had had the good grace to allow her to change the subject. But then they had met Albus at Florean’s. Minerva had been thrilled to see Albus, but had tried not to let Quin see just how happy she was. Yet Quin had made comments during coffee that made her again suspect that he did believe it was Albus whom she loved . . . what would she say if Quin came right out and asked her? She couldn’t lie, not about her love for Albus. She couldn’t ever deny him that way.

It had embarrassed her, the way that Quin had said they would just have to love her. And Albus had smiled and nodded. It was no doubt just a little teasing to Albus. A lump came to her throat, but Minerva swallowed past it, reminding herself that surely Albus did love her in some way . . . he walked her through dark places and he kissed her good night, after all. On the cheek, of course. But Minerva couldn’t envision him doing that if he didn’t love her . . . perhaps as a daughter. Now Minerva blinked back tears. She didn’t want him to love her as a daughter or a granddaughter or anything similar. The least she would want would be for him to love her as a friend, but, oh, how she wished he could love her as something more.

Minerva drew a shuddering breath and let it out in a gasping sigh. Quin had said that where there’s life there’s hope . . . she wondered if he would still say that, knowing it was Albus whom she loved so. Quin would surely see that Albus was beyond her reach. And yet . . . Quin had also said that if the wizard appreciated her, paid her sincere compliments, and cared for her – no, that was when he didn’t know who it was. If he knew it was Albus, he would tell her that she had been right, Albus was hopelessly beyond her reach. She should just settle for friendly walks, friendly kisses, friendly compliments. But she would always wish they were more. Quin’s words echoed in her head _. . . there will be only sadness and longing, and your joy will die. Do not let your joy die, Minerva. You love him. Let him know that he holds your heart. Let him love you._

Tears leaked from her closed eyes, and Minerva fell into a restless sleep, still denying Quin’s prediction that unless she gave Albus her love openly and freely, she was destined for pain and the death of her joy. And yet her dreams that night were only of Albus. Albus holding her, Albus in sunlight, Albus in moonlight, Albus in the wild wind, Albus in the calm, still night, Albus holding her forever. . . .

* * *

It seemed to Minerva that Saturday morning had come far too quickly. She had visited Pretnick again on Thursday, bringing him a few books she thought he would enjoy, and he seemed slightly more cheerful than he had two days before – well, not cheerful, but less gloomy. The committee had met again, and it seemed as though they had simply raised more questions than they had found answers, but Minerva was pleased that at least they had agreed to draft a proposal at their next meeting on the twenty-second. It was bound to be a very long meeting, Minerva thought with a sigh.

The night before, Minerva had brought Poppy out for dinner and drinks. She had asked her friend if she wanted anyone else along, but Poppy had declared that she had had a big party earlier in the day, and just wanted to spend some time with her alone, and that had warmed Minerva’s heart. Poppy was a very dear friend – even if she had persisted in asking Minerva more questions about Quin. Minerva had finally asked her if she was interested in being set up with him on a date, herself, a proposal which Poppy had appeared to consider, but then reject. 

“It’s not that I think you’re interested in him, Minerva – I see quite clearly that you aren’t. It just sounds to me as though perhaps he’s grown a bit fonder of you than you’re admitting. Of course, if you’d like me to go on a date with him to try to draw him off, I’d be willing to make the sacrifice for you,” she’d said with a laugh.

Minerva had just rolled her eyes and changed the subject, telling Poppy, instead, about the plans that she and Melina had made for Brennan, and about Dumbledore’s participation. “Dumbledore seems to think it will go well, although he is a little concerned that it may be too much of a shock to Brennan, and he’ll need to _Obliviate_ him.”

“Won’t it be too late to _Obliviate_ him by that point?” Poppy asked, puzzled.

“It’s a two-stage process, you see. The first is the oath and the initial light binding which will enable us to tell Brennan about the wizarding world, the second is the spell that will allow him to see all things wizarding even after he’s left the flat. And the heavier binding, if he consents to it. I don’t think that Dumbledore will perform the unmasking spell, though, if he doesn’t agree to the stronger binding.”

“And Melina is prepared for all this?”

“It seems so . . . this binding isn’t really like a marriage, you know, although marriage would be the next logical step for the two of them. But it does entwine their lives in an irrevocable way. Brennan will need to fully consent to it before Dumbledore will perform it, unlike the light binding and the oath, which would be impossible for Brennan to fully consent to, given that he has no idea that the wizarding world exists and we can’t tell him until he’s taken the oath and been bound. The first binding will actually be to everyone present. That’s one reason that Murdoch will be there. Dumbledore thought it best.”

And here it was, Saturday morning, and she had a wicked headache from the night before. It wasn’t as though she’d had too much to drink . . . well, perhaps just a little too much, but Poppy had insisted on trying several very peculiarly named drinks. It was the mix of the different liquors that had done her in. Minerva had always pestered Murdoch to develop an anti-hangover potion, but he’d always just grinned and said that the best potion for that was the alcohol itself – not to drink it – and, barring that, lots of water. What good was it to have a Potions master in the family if he didn’t develop useful potions, Minerva had often grumbled.

But she forced herself out of bed at her usual time. Albus had agreed to join her on her morning walk, and it wouldn’t do, the first time he stopped by to pick her up, for her to tell him she couldn’t go because she was nursing a hangover. He’d think she was developing into a lush, especially since he’d seen her tipsy earlier in the week after her dinner with Flitwick. 

By the time Fidelio came into her bedroom landscape and barked to announce Albus’s arrival, Minerva was feeling more like herself. She’d had a long shower and three cups of strong tea. She hadn’t been hungry when she’d woken up, but now her stomach was growling.

Minerva opened the door to Albus and greeted him with a smile. 

“Good morning, Minerva. You look lovely today, as always!” Albus said.

“Thank you. You look nice, yourself.” Unlike many of his more colourful robes, these were of earth tones, sandy colours mixed with dusty greens and muted blues. They were very unusual, both in colour and cut, with deep pleats at the sides, and Minerva was surprised to find that she liked them. And that they looked so attractive on him.

“But come in, please, come in,” Minerva said as she caught herself staring at him. The robes were also cut to emphasise his masculine figure; they must be more robes by Madam Malkin. There was a woman who could appreciate Dumbledore’s build. As long as she maintained only an artistic appreciation, Minerva thought. “I just need to get my shoes on and I’ll be ready.”

Just as Albus had done several days before, she brought her shoes out into the sitting room to put them on, toeing off her slippers and pulling on her stout walking shoes. “You know, I’m looking forward to this walk, but I’ll definitely be looking forward to breakfast when we get back!”

“You know, I was thinking something similar, so I took the liberty of asking Wilspy to prepare something for us before we left. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not, but I had wanted to get out while the dew was still on the grass, Albus.”

“We will! She’s preparing a basket for us, my dear. If a picnic breakfast would be all right with you . . .”

“Oh, that would be lovely!” Minerva’s face lit up. “Will we eat by the lake?” Minerva asked, thinking of their picnic so many years before.

“Actually, knowing how much you enjoy climbing around on the cliffs by your parents’, I know of a spot that takes a bit of work to get to, but which I think you would enjoy. I am glad to see you are wearing stout shoes!” he said with a smile. “But only if you’d like to; otherwise, by the lake would be fine.” They could always cast a few privacy charms, he thought. There were more people about the castle than usual at this time of year.

“That sounds like fun. I’ve never climbed any of the cliffs near here – they were forbidden when we were students, and although some of my classmates climbed them, it didn’t have the same allure for me, since I could always climb the ones near my home, and without breaking any school rules.”

“I’m actually thinking of the cliffs around behind the castle to the south of the lake. It’s a bit of a hike to get to them and we’ll no longer be on Hogwarts grounds. I hope your appetite can wait until then.”

“I think so. I had a few cups of tea – if we’re taking such a long walk, perhaps I should use the loo first.”

Albus smiled. “A wise precaution. I already had my ‘purple pee’ this morning,” he joked.

Minerva blushed, but laughed before excusing herself.

Fifteen minutes later, Albus was leading Minerva toward the Forbidden Forest, their picnic basket following them.

“We’re only skirting the edge of the forest, Minerva,” he explained. “It’s the most direct way to get where we’re going. Otherwise, we could take the long way around the lake, then cross the tracks over by the train station and walk east from there. That would greatly increase our wait for breakfast, however! We will actually be to the south and east of the castle.”

“All right, Albus. I don’t mind the forest. Not that I’d want to wander about in there the way that Hagrid does, but I sometimes walk along the edges of it in my Animagus form.”

Albus nodded. “I suppose I needn’t tell you to be careful, Minerva – but as an Animagus, you’re rather small. Some creature might think you would make a tasty snack.”

“I think they’d have a rather nasty surprise. I’ve become much quicker at transforming back and forth, Albus. Besides, I never do really enter the forest itself. I just walk along the edge, you know. And I’d likely sense something before it could get me. I’d be transformed before it knew what had happened.”

“Still . . . promise me you will be very careful, my dear.”

“Of course, Albus.” She smiled at him, curious. “You really are concerned!”

“Of course I am – I already have too many staff members to replace this year!” he joked. “But seriously, Minerva – I don’t want anything to happen to you, and anything that happened in the forest could be . . . quite serious.” He seemed to wince at the thought.

“Don’t worry, Albus. I won’t become some beast’s snack. I promise!” She grinned at him.

“Good!”

They had begun walking through the forest already, and they ran into the wall that extended from the Hogwarts perimeter partway into the forest.

“We’ll follow this along for a bit until it gets low enough to climb over. We could use magic, though, if you prefer.”

“No, this is supposed to be exercise, after all. Perhaps on the way back!”

Albus chuckled. “We can alway Apparate to the gates on the return trip if it gets late.”

“Yes, I suppose. But I told Melina I would be at the flat at one-thirty. That leaves us a lot of time, even if we want to take a shower and have lunch afterward. I mean,” she said, reddening, “if we each need to clean up before lunch.”

Albus was glad he was slightly ahead of Minerva at that point, for his mind went straight into the shower with Minerva, and he blushed at the unexpected thought.

He cleared his throat. “Of course. And you are sure you don’t want me to arrive until two-thirty?”

“Yes, Melina and I discussed it in detail. She and Brennan will get there sometime between one-thirty and two; we’ll talk to him for a little while, sort of prepare him for your arrival.”

“It’s bound to be a shock, the whole thing, no matter how much time we take, but perhaps you are right – ease him into it all gradually. And here we are, my dear! I haven’t done this walk in a long while, but this is where I usually crossed, I believe. Can you make it over the wall here, or would you like to go a bit further?”

Minerva looked at the stone wall. She thought if she could get a good purchase on it, she could heave herself up onto it. The top of the wall came just to her shoulder. “I think so. I may need a hand, but I think I can manage this.”

“I’ll go first, then, shall I? Then I can sit at the top and give you a hand if you need it.”

Minerva nodded. The wall was still broad enough at that point that they could sit quite comfortably on it. Albus grabbed hold of the stone at the top of the wall, one palm flat, the other hand gripping a slightly-projecting stone. Minerva didn’t have time to blink and he had pulled himself up and easily swung his legs to the top of the wall. Now he was kneeling, looking down at her.

“Ready to give it a try?”

Minerva nodded, somewhat daunted by Albus’s performance. She didn’t think she could be as graceful. Suddenly a thought came to her. She backed up a couple feet and surveyed the wall. Yes, she could be as graceful.

“Catch me, Albus!” And in a flash, Minerva transformed into a tabby cat, putting great effort into making it the smoothest, fastest transformation she could. She crouched and leapt, knowing she could make the height and having complete faith that Albus would catch her so she wouldn’t have to scrabble at the edge. And Albus did catch her. Minerva couldn’t help but hold onto his robes a bit with her claws, but she retracted them immediately as she felt secure in his arms.

“Well, now, that was an unexpected trick, Minerva! And most impressive!” His voice was warm in her ear and rumbled against her as he held her to his chest.

Albus petted Minerva’s head and neck. Minerva purred and rubbed against his beard and bumped his chin with her head. How she loved and adored this wizard! Oh, she would stay with him forever. She was his. . . . and she would be with him, wherever he might be, there she would find herself, and only so could the world be. She heard him murmuring to her, words of praise and pride. And ah! He kissed her head, her wizard did, he held her close, she felt his heartbeat, the beat of that heart which held all of her love, and she purred more strongly, giving herself over entirely to her feelings, burrowing more closely to him, her wizard, as he held her firmly, she, safe in his arms. There in the sun she could sit with him forever . . . forever his, forever in the sun, forever with him . . . .


	71. If this were a date ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Albus have their picnic, then Albus helps Melina introduce Brennan to the wizarding world; Minerva and Albus go on an unexpected outing that evening.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Melina McGonagall, Murdoch McGonagall, and Brennan O'Donald.

**LXXI: If This Were a Date . . .**

Minerva dusted off her hands and looked around. The last bit of their climb had taken so much of her concentration, she had been slightly startled when Albus had announced they had arrived and asked her what she thought. It wasn’t so much that it had been a difficult climb – compared to some of the sheer cliffs by her home, this was a walk in the park – but she had been in a bit of a daze since she had returned to her ordinary form on the other side of the wall.

After getting over the stone wall, they had crossed the railway tracks, then headed through a wood, up a slight incline. The slight incline quickly became a steeper one, though, and Minerva was glad that it was Albus in charge of the picnic basket, and not she. The hamper had continued to follow smoothly along behind them, no matter what the terrain, having only made a brief stop to settle on top of the wall beside the two as Albus had rubbed her head and held her. When Minerva returned to her ordinary form, it was all she could do to keep from blushing in extreme embarrassment. She had let herself be _cuddled_. Not that Minerva objected to _Albus_ cuddling her, of course – but that was actually the point. She was _not_ cuddly. And she normally retained more control of herself than that, but she had been so happy in his arms, she had just let herself go and given into the sheer joy of being a cat – and in Albus’s arms. Fortunately, he hadn’t said anything about it when she was back in her ordinary form; he had just smiled and congratulated her on her swift, smooth transformation and her great leap to the top of the wall.

“This is spectacular, Albus. Truly.” Minerva was, indeed, impressed. Although where they stood was only slightly above the level of the castle, their distance from it and their height above the lake made it feel as though they were far higher than that. From here, Minerva could see the lake, the school grounds, the castle, and even the Quidditch pitch on the far side of the school and Hogsmeade beyond that. The spot where they had stopped was level, with a few large, flat rocks, and surrounded by trees and bushes on three sides, so it was well-shaded.

Minerva stood at the edge of one of the large boulders and looked out at the vista before her. She could feel Albus come up behind her. For one brief moment, Minerva wished that he would put his arms around her so that she could lean back against him, but she stifled that thought quickly. It was enough to feel his warmth and his magic radiating from him . . . and the cuddle she had received while she was in her tabby form would last her a very long while. It would have to.

Albus’s voice came in her ear, very close and low. “I hoped you would like this place, Minerva. It has been a long time since I’d been here. It was one of my favourite places to sneak off to as a student, and I rediscovered it when I began teaching. It was, for a while, one of the places that gave me some rest during those years of the war. But lately, with one thing or another, I hadn’t made the time to come up here. One could Apparate, I suppose, but that never seemed quite right to me.”

“I know what you mean, Albus,” Minerva answered quietly. “There’s something about getting here, the long walk, the bit of a climb . . . you feel you’ve achieved something when you arrive.”

“Mmm. I thought you would understand, Minerva. Many who aren’t Muggle-born don’t, but I thought you would.”

Minerva turned her head slightly in surprise. “Are you Muggle-born, then, Albus?” Not that it mattered to her one way or another. He could be half-troll and half-merman, and she wouldn’t care, as long as he was Albus Dumbledore.

“No. My mother was a Muggle-born, though, of course,” he said, as though it were common knowledge. “But so many witches and wizards – even Muggle-borns, for that matter – forget the satisfaction to be gained in such things. You are never typical, though, Minerva. You never were.”

His voice was deep and warm, and Minerva could feel his breath on the back of her neck. She couldn’t respond except to nod. If this were a date, she couldn’t imagine a more romantic one . . . not even dinner at Delancie’s. But it wasn’t, and this was her Headmaster, not her beau. Yet she couldn’t help the shiver that went up her spine at the sense of him behind her, nor could she stop her heart from beating a little faster at his words. He did care about her and believe her to be special, still . . . and not just as a clever student of Transfiguration.

She swallowed. “This is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been, Albus. Thank you for bringing me.” Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper.

“Thank you for agreeing to come with me.” He chuckled softly. “I do have somewhat harebrained schemes occasionally, and I did wonder whether breakfast on top of the mountain might not be one of them.”

Minerva smiled and turned, looking up at him and saying, “Not at all, Albus.” Her breath caught in her throat. Minerva had known Albus was close behind her, but hadn’t realised quite how close. His face was only inches from her own.

Albus was smiling, but as Minerva looked up at him, his expression changed. His smile didn’t fade, and his eyes continued to look brightly down upon her, but Minerva nonetheless had the sense that a cloud had crossed his features and he had withdrawn from her, disappearing in a dense fog. Then that sense was gone, and Albus stepped back from her. It was all over in less than the flicker of an eyelash.

“Shall we eat, then?” he asked, gesturing to the basket, still hovering obediently.

“Yes! I am ravenous!”

Half an hour later, having eaten her fill and drunk two large mugs of tea, Minerva lay back with a sigh and looked up at the thin white clouds scudding across the sky.

“That was absolutely marvellous, Albus. Thank you.” She turned her head and grinned across the blanket at where he lounged, still sipping a cup of tea.

“I’m very glad you enjoyed it, my dear. That was my entire aim.”

“You succeeded completely, then. I must say, I am reluctant to leave.”

“We needn’t just yet. As you pointed out earlier, we do have the entire morning. I have nothing on my schedule until I am to meet you and Melina in London this afternoon.”

“Mm. Good. Say, Albus, do you have appropriate Muggle attire? Well, that is to say, I know you must have evening wear if you go to the symphony and such, but, well, do you need any help for today?”

Albus laughed. “I do have ‘appropriate Muggle attire.’”

“I didn’t mean to be insulting, Albus, but, well, you have seen what some folk wear. And my father, he’s fairly hopeless. Even under Mother’s watchful eye . . . it’s always best to get him in a kilt, if we can. He complains about that, too. But to get him into a pair of trousers! You would think they were some kind of medieval torture device.” She chuckled. “And he never fails to complain of ‘rash.’ Rash that no one but he has ever witnessed, of course.”

“Not to be indelicate, my dear, but . . . is your father possessed of the appropriate Muggle undergarments? They do ease the experience, I find.”

Minerva tried not to blush, wondering whether this meant that Albus generally dressed traditionally beneath his robes. “Umm, I’ve not asked. But if there’s anything you could do to encourage him to wear trousers of the proper size, we’d all be very grateful. He’s performed some kind of Transfiguration on the two pairs he owns, and they sort of . . . balloon in a most peculiar way.”

“Next time I see Merwyn, then, I shall have a wizard-to-wizard talk with him.”

“Well, it is good to know that you have some notion of how to dress.” Minerva thought he’d likely show up with some extravagantly coloured suit, but as long as everything more-or-less matched up, that was fine. “Of course, during the war, you wore that uniform. Do you still have it?”

“Somewhere, yes.”

“Do you know, the last time that I saw you in your Muggle uniform, or in any Muggle attire at all, for that matter, was that time in France.”

“Was it? Yes, I suppose it was . . . that uniform was not worth saving, of course.” Albus smiled slightly. “You were very good with me. Not to mention brave, clever, and all that, which I’ve said before. You were still so very young, but you such took very good care of me.” He had reclined against some cushions that had come from the seemingly-bottomless picnic hamper. “It was quite a relief to have you appear, my dear.”

Minerva smiled warmly at him. “It was quite a relief to find you! Waiting there at the Ministry all those hours before we could leave – that was absolute torture.” She turned back to her examination of the sky. “I think I knew even before we left that it was likely Carson was dead. And when there was no Portkey for him . . . well, I had hoped that my fear was unfounded. But I was so worried about you. What we knew of your injuries wasn’t good, either, and if you had been found by the enemy . . .” Minerva shuddered and looked over at him. Albus wore a look of great sadness.

“It had to happen in the end, though . . . it was perhaps fated that I would be taken by Grindelwald.”

Minerva did her best not to reveal her shock. She hadn’t ever realised that Dumbledore had been captured. “Is that how . . . at the end . . . was that . . .”

“Yes,” Albus replied quietly. “And perhaps . . . someday . . . I may tell you more. But not today, Minerva. Not on such a beautiful day, such a perfect day here with you.” He sighed and leaned back, closing his eyes.

Minerva wished she could go to him and hold him, but instead she said, “I am sorry, Albus. And you never need to speak of it with me again . . . only if you want to, and I will hear and listen to whatever you wish to say. And this is a very beautiful day, you are right.”

Albus opened his eyes and smiled at Minerva. “I am glad we came.”

“You are welcome to join me on my morning walks whenever you like, Albus. Not that we will always be able to make a hike of it as we did today, but I would always enjoy your company.”

“I will remember that. Thank you for the invitation.”

“When was the last time you were up here?”

“Oh, three years ago or so . . . some time before I became Headmaster. It may have been longer.”

Three years ago, and then he stopped . . . could he have brought Valerianna here? Was that why he hadn’t returned? Minerva wasn’t sure she wanted to know . . . but it would torment her if she didn’t.

“So . . . you’ve probably shared this spectacular view with many people over the years.”

“No . . . no, I haven’t. About . . . oh, my, I don’t want to think how long ago it was, now, I brought Dervilia here . . . when we were still students. Only once. She didn’t like the climb, so we Apparated from the edge of the school grounds.”

Minerva was slightly taken aback. Only Dervilia? “And after that?”

“After that, I came alone. Dervilia had enjoyed the view, of course, but we left school not long after, then I didn’t return again until I began to teach.”

“I see . . .” But she didn’t. She wasn’t sure whether this meant that he hadn’t brought many people to this spot, or that he had only ever brought Dervilia. “Was it one of the first things you did upon your return? It would have been for me, I think, if I’d had such a spot.”

“Not one of the first, but I did make the climb that first summer, before the students returned. It was good to know that my mind hadn’t enhanced the memory, and that it was just as beautiful as I remembered it.” Albus smiled at her. “Some beauty even the greatest imagination cannot enhance.”

Minerva nodded. “It’s a pity you stopped coming a few years ago, then.”

“Time passes very quickly . . . I hadn’t realised that it had been that long, actually. I’m glad you like it so much, Minerva.”

“I do . . . and I’m sure anyone else who has been here would have to agree with me. It is spectacular.”

“I like to pretend that I am the only person who knows of this spot, although that’s quite likely a conceit on my part. But no doubt any others who have discovered it also appreciate it.” Albus gazed at her and said, “It would be difficult not to appreciate such beauty.”

Minerva, slightly unnerved by the intensity with which Albus was looking at her, still managed to ask, “You mean you’ve not brought many others here, then?”

“Aside from the one visit with Dervilia . . . no.” Albus shook his head and looked away.

“Oh! Well, thank you again, then, Albus, for sharing this place with me. It is very special here.”

Albus nodded and said softly, “You’re welcome, Minerva. I am just glad that you like it as much as you do and that you found it worth the effort.”

“Very. Very.” Minerva went back to gazing at the clouds, sensing that Albus wished for a bit of quiet just then. For him to share this special little spot with her . . . it was beyond touching. Minerva wished again that she were just a few decades older. Or even just old enough that she hadn’t been his student . . . but then she wouldn’t have known him, or she wouldn’t have known him as she did. Perhaps their relationship was all right as it was, even if she did wish it could be something more. But what more could she want, really? Or, at least, what more could she reasonably expect? If he could be her best friend . . . maybe that would be more than enough. And this was lovely. She sighed, equal parts contentment and longing in her soul at that moment.

* * *

Albus stood in front of his full-length mirror and examined his reflection critically. Particularly after what Minerva had said earlier that day about wizards not knowing how to dress, he wanted to take special care with his appearance. And he was wearing his best Muggle pants under the trousers, so no need for any “balloon” Transfiguration such as Merwyn apparently performed. He would have to discuss y-fronts and boxers with the wizard. There was no need for Merwyn to embarrass his wife and daughter by using strange spells on his trousers! Albus certainly didn’t want Minerva to be embarrassed to be seen with him. At least not on account of his dress. Yes, this would do. White trousers, white jacket, white shoes – he’d done away with the spats, not remembering having seen any being worn in some years – and a brilliant sapphire blue silk waistcoat with a matching blue bow tie and pocket handkerchief. Not that one could see his tie, of course. Albus hesitated . . . perhaps that was what was wrong with his appearance, why he didn’t look more Muggle. 

He Summoned his wand and waved it in front of him. There. That was more convincing, Albus thought. A Glamour now hid the great length of his beard; rather than almost reaching his belt, his beard now barely reached his collar, and his hair was likewise trimmed. It was still longer than most Muggle men wore their hair, but now it only reached his shoulders instead of flowing halfway down his back. During his travels when he was young, Albus had stopped trimming his hair and beard, and he had never resumed.

Albus placed his wand in the interior wand pocket of his jacket, where it was handy, and Summoned his straw hat. He thought that it was still in style. A Panama hat, he believed it was called, although he didn’t think it came from Panama, and he didn’t think it was made of straw, either. With the hat on, he was quite pleased with the effect that his Muggle clothes and his Glamour had on his appearance. A wave of his hand changed the hat band from black to bright blue to match the waistcoat. Yes, most pleasing. One other thing that a gentleman of a certain age required. He smiled and made a gesture, rubbing two fingers together, and his pipe and small pouch of tobacco settled in another jacket pocket. And the final accoutrement . . . a quick Transfiguration performed on a candlestick, and the Muggle gentleman was now equipped with a smart walking stick, black with a brass knob in the likeness of a lion head. Albus nodded at himself in the mirror. He shouldn’t embarrass Minerva now!

Albus wondered if perhaps he might not look a bit younger, as well. Not that he normally cared how old he appeared to be . . . in fact, as a member of the Wizengamot, his age was definitely an asset. And there was no denying how old he was, and Minerva certainly was aware of his age, and however old he may appear, his years were what they were, and it was foolish of him to even consider it . . . but his head seemed to swarm with foolish thoughts of late. In his irritation with himself and his foolishness, Albus almost reversed the Glamour, but then he remembered that the purpose of the Glamour was not to look younger, but to blend in better with the Muggles. And, of course, to not embarrass Minerva.

On his way out of the castle, he stopped in his office and retrieved the few other tools he would need to complete the ritual. They weren’t strictly necessary, but they tended to impress upon the participants the seriousness of what they were embarking upon and added a bit of formality and drama to the proceedings. Even Brennan O’Donald would likely take it all more seriously with these props. Albus hesitated as he reached for the door handle. O’Donald was a Muggle – an Irish Catholic, from what Minerva had said. Albus thought for a moment, closing his eyes and trying to recollect the exact location of the other item he had just decided to bring along. He nodded and Summoned it. Definitely extraneous, this, but O’Donald would likely take it seriously, even if he thought they were all batty. It would be very useful for the initial stages, Albus thought as he left his office.

Hurrying down to the gates, Albus realised that he was late. It was almost two-thirty already, and he couldn’t Apparate directly to the flat because he had never been there before. He had to walk at least six streets over from his arrival point. He had fussed too much with his appearance. Not wanting Minerva to worry about where he was, he took his hat in his hand and sprinted down to the gates, heedless of the dust settling on his white trousers and the scuffs on the toes of his white shoes. A discreet charm could take care of them once he’d Apparated.

A few minutes later, Albus popped into the corner of a dark alley with which he was familiar and looked around quickly to make sure there hadn’t been anyone loitering about who may have noticed his unusual arrival. He charmed his trousers clean and his shoes shiny, then placed his hat on his head at a jaunty angle and set off at a brisk pace for Melina’s friend’s flat. A church bell tolling nearby informed him that it was two-thirty. Well, he was a bit late, but he would arrive shortly. 

As he walked, Albus thought back on the lovely morning he and Minerva had spent. He was certain that she had enjoyed herself. It had been a near thing for him, though, not to take her in his arms . . . to hold her. It was a beautiful setting and she was beautiful, even more beautiful than the view. When Minerva had turned to him after thanking him for bringing her there, it was all he could do to keep from kissing her. Her cheeks were rosy from the fresh air and the exertion of the climb, tendrils of her hair had come loose and waved about her face, and her lips looked soft and kissable . . . It was only through the exercise of great self-control and a bit of Occlumency that he was able to keep his emotions from seeping through and to keep his impulses in check. He never should have stood so close to her in the first place. Minerva had even smelled lovely . . . the nape of her neck had been dewy with perspiration and he had been so very tempted to place his lips there . . . to taste her skin, to nuzzle her hair, to put his arms around her and pull her back towards him . . . 

Albus gritted his teeth and directed his thoughts toward the serious ritual ahead of him. For Merlin’s sake, he would be seeing Minerva in a few minutes! He couldn’t arrive with such thoughts in his head – he shouldn’t even be having such thoughts! Albus felt like hitting himself in the head with the top of his cane and try to knock some sense into himself. Of course, he would look like an utter madman to passers-by, but they would be right. These thoughts and desires were not those of a man in complete possession of his faculties. Perhaps he shouldn’t have hired Minerva to teach Transfiguration – he had known that it might be difficult to have her in the same place as he, but he hadn’t imagined how difficult. But Albus also knew that he could not imagine Hogwarts without her now, and he couldn’t truly regret hiring her, nor could he regret spending time with her . . . he only wished that his love for her didn’t also have this very annoying physical aspect to it. Their friendship was growing stronger, and he felt closer to Minerva than he ever had. She certainly seemed to feel even closer to him as well – he doubted he ever would have seen her tipsy before that week. At least not under circumstances in which she would just show up at his door having had a bit more to drink than usual. And she hadn’t objected to his little kiss . . . and he was _supposed_ to be thinking about the oath and the binding, not about Minerva! Too late now: he had arrived. Albus gathered himself together and twisted the bell.

* * *

Minerva hurried down the stairs and opened the door, relieved to see Albus there. She hadn’t been worried that he wasn’t coming, but she had been slightly concerned that her directions may not have been very good and he may have become lost somewhere in Muggle Edinburgh. 

“Albus! So good to see you. Everyone is upstairs. Murdoch arrived about ten minutes ago.”

“I am sorry I am late, my dear. I am afraid I misjudged the time.”

“Don’t worry about it, Albus. I was just concerned that my directions may have been bad.”

“No, they were fine.”

“You look . . . very nice,” Minerva said, looking him up and down. She wasn’t exactly sure what she thought of it as Muggle dress, but Albus looked better than very nice. Perhaps his attire was more suited to some place other than the centre of Edinburgh, but Minerva thought he looked marvellous. With the exception of the shorter hair and beard . . . “Is that a Glamour?”

“You mean the beard? Yes. I thought it more Muggle. Is it all right?” he asked hesitantly, wondering whether he should have made himself appear clean-shaven as he had during the war.

“It’s fine! I was just surprised – I hadn’t thought about it before now.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Well, no time like the present, I suppose. Brennan is growing rather curious.”

Minerva led Albus up the narrow, creaking stairs to the first floor flat. She opened the door and preceded him into the small sitting room, which already felt crowded with the three current occupants.

“Brennan, I’d like you to meet the gentleman we told you about, Albus Dumbledore.” 

Albus stepped through the door. Brennan was suddenly on his feet, standing straight as a ramrod.

“General Dumbledore! Sir! I didn’t know . . .”

“Ah!” Albus looked at him, a glimmer of recognition now in his eye, and smiled. “Captain O’Donald. You may be at ease, my boy. I am no longer a General.”

“Major, sir. Promoted before the end of the war.” Brennan grinned, but didn’t sit down. “When they said your name, I thought it had to be coincidence, although ‘Dumbledore’ is not a particularly common name.”

“I, too, thought I recognised your name, but I couldn’t place it, and it has been a number of years. Almost thirteen, now.”

Brennan smiled and sat back down as Albus took the seat across from him. “They have been telling me something about learning more about Melina’s family,” he said with a nod toward Melina and her father, “but I couldn’t imagine what it was – I still can’t.” The Muggle hesitated. “I was somewhat apprehensive . . . but now that you’re here, I’m not as worried, more curious than anything.”

Albus nodded, then turned to the others. “Is there somewhere we may have a little privacy for a few minutes? I believe that before I ask anything of Mr O’Donald, he may have a few questions that need answering first, and he may feel freer to ask them if we were alone.”

Brennan went faintly pink, but didn’t protest. Melina insisted that the two would be more comfortable where they were and that she, her father, and her aunt would take a walk and return in fifteen minutes.

The three left the flat to Albus and Brennan, Melina hustling them noisily down the stairs and out the front door. 

“Where to now, oh daughter-of-mine?” Murdoch asked whimsically. 

“Just up to the corner and back, I think. I wanted to buy some flowers for the flat, anyway, to thank Jennie for letting us use her flat all day – again! I think I owe her more than flowers, but that will have to do for now.”

When they walked through the door of the sitting room, Minerva could tell that the Muggle – Minerva told herself she would have to stop referring to him as that – that _Brennan_ was much more at ease.

He stood and kissed Melina’s cheek. “Well, the general has reassured me that you aren’t involved in organised crime or anything nefarious like that, Mel, nor are you a member of a secret sect and already possessed of multiple husbands!” Brennan laughed loudly when Melina punched him playfully in the arm. 

“I have told you that you are the only man in my life, Brennan. But I’m glad Professor Dumbledore was able to reassure you about my general law-abiding nature.”

“Yes, and he confirmed what you said about him having been one of your teachers – although he was as evasive about the school as you and Minerva were earlier.”

“Why don’t we all sit down and Professor Dumbledore can lead us through this discussion,” Minerva suggested. “I think it will be a long afternoon as it is, and the sooner we begin, the sooner Brennan’s questions will be answered.” She hoped that he would feel reassured. It had been an incredible stroke of luck, she thought, that Brennan had somehow recognised him as “General” Dumbledore. Minerva remembered Melina mentioning that he had been in the army, but so many men had been, and she thought the chances were slim to nil of his ever having met Albus while he was pretending to be a Muggle army officer. But it was clear that Brennan trusted Albus completely, and that would make things much easier.

The first thing that Albus did was draw an old black Bible from somewhere inside his jacket – it seemed impossibly large for him to have carried in a pocket, and, indeed, Brennan’s eyebrows rose when he saw it, whether from its unexpected size or merely its unexpected appearance, Minerva was unsure.

“Brennan, my boy,” Albus said in a friendly but serious voice, “what we are about to tell you is a very strict secret. It is something about which some of those in the highest levels of the British government are aware, but it is far from common knowledge, despite the fact that very ordinary people such as myself, Melina, Murdoch, and Minerva, are raised in full awareness of it. Because of this, I would like, first, for you to take an oath on this Bible, swearing that, without the permission of one of us, you will not reveal anything of what we will tell you in this room, nor anything that you learn as a result of what we tell you or show you here, not to anyone under any circumstances. Not friend or relative, enemy or stranger, unless your own life or that of another is in imminent and clear danger. In turn, I will swear to you that what I will reveal to you will be the truth, and I will swear to you that while you are here, I will do my best to keep you from any harm that might arise because of what you learn from us. Can you agree to that?”

Brennan swallowed, looked at Melina, who was smiling at him, slightly nervous, but clearly hopeful, then he nodded. “Yes, sir. This is important to Melina. And if you are here, and her father and aunt, well, it must be something that she can’t tell me on her own. And I trust you, sir.” Without the slightest hint of any further hesitation, he placed his left hand on the Bible, raised his right hand, and said, “I swear that I will keep secret all that is revealed to me here today, under the conditions that you have put forth. So help me, God.”

Albus smiled slightly, nodded, then placed his own left hand on the Bible. “I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, do solemnly swear that all I tell to Brennan O’Donald on this day and in this place will be the truth, insofar as I know it and am able to reveal it. Anything that I am unable to reveal will be left unspoken. So I do swear.”

Thus Brennan O’Donald’s education about the wizarding world began with a Muggle Bible, then proceeded to a wizarding oath and a light magical binding of the five occupants of the room that would allow Brennan to discuss the subject with any of them, but to no others. Albus drew his wand, allowing his magic to become visible as he cast the binding, red, green, blue, and gold streams emanating from his wand and encircling each participant as each in turn agreed to the binding, leaving Brennan till last. 

In response to Albus’s prodding, Brennan numbly repeated the words, “ _Juro et concurro_ ,” and the Albus’s magic swirled about him before dissipating in a final dramatic flash of gold light.

“Brennan, what you have just witnessed is magic. Magic of a very real kind. Murdoch and I are wizards and Melina and Minerva are witches. You are what magic folk term a ‘Muggle,’ meaning simply that you do not possess the ability to do magic. One is either born magic or one is not. Through training, practice, and education, a witch or wizard’s magical abilities may be honed, strengthened, and focussed, but no amount of training or education can change a Muggle into a wizard or a witch. This is the secret that Melina has been keeping. She has recently completed her education as a Healer, which is something like a physician in the Muggle world – your world. And Murdoch is not, as you have been told, a chemist, but an apothecary – a Potions master, to be more precise – and a very good one.”

Brennan listened, wide-eyed, as Albus proceeded to tell him first of each of the individuals in the room, and their particular occupations, and then to explain something of the magical world that existed beside the Muggle world. He began his own story by explaining how it was that Brennan had come to know him as General Dumbledore. As the man’s shock wore off, he began to ask questions, intelligent, pointed ones. Minerva was pleased to see that as Brennan’s comprehension grew, so did his comfort in the situation. Some Muggles would have become increasingly fearful, but not Melina’s gentleman. He simply became more curious. Minerva detected only slight envy in the fellow, which he dismissed with a shrug of his shoulders – he’d lived without magic for his entire life. It would be like suddenly wishing to be a Michelangelo or DaVinci, he said, to suddenly wish to have a talent he had lived quite happily without before. He grinned and said it would be enough to admire it in Melina. 

When they took a break for tea between the first and the second phases of Brennan’s “education,” Brennan asked Melina if he could speak with her in private for a moment. When they emerged from the room that she had pretended was hers whenever the chemist had visited the flat, they were both wearing broad smiles.

“Murdoch,” Brennan said, “your daughter has just agreed to marry me. If you would give us your blessing, it would make us both very happy.”

Albus put down the teapot and congratulated the young couple. Murdoch clapped Brennan on the back and welcomed him to the family before turning to embrace his daughter. Minerva thought there may have been a tear in his eye, but she wasn’t sure, given the tears in her own; when Brennan turned to her to shake her hand, he hugged her, instead, and said, “I am so grateful she’s only a witch, I can’t even begin to express how happy I am!”

Minerva looked over at Albus, who was beaming, and smiled.

Over tea, they had quite a laugh over the various scenarios that poor Brennan had painted for himself to explain the mysterious disappearances and peculiar behaviour of the young woman he had fallen in love with. Now almost giddy with relief, he explained that the explanation that had passed through his mind most frequently was that she had some other man and that one day he would wake up to discover that she had run off with him. He also considered at various times that she was with organised crime, with a classified government department, or even that she was secretly married. Having been introduced to Murdoch hadn’t helped, since in some of these hypothetical explanations, he had convinced himself that Murdoch wasn’t really who he said he was, but was a friend who had been enlisted to pretend to be her father. The strain on their relationship had grown over the last few months.

Minerva suggested that they wait at least a year to be married in order to let Brennan get to know Melina, the witch, and the world of magic. While both agreed that they didn’t want to rush, neither wanted to wait simply so that he could get to know Melina better.

“I already know her completely. That she is a witch simply explains things that worried me. She hasn’t changed as a person,” Brennan declared.

Minerva thought they were being rather impractical, but forbore saying anything else, knowing that it was their decision and their lives and she could only give them something to consider, not make any decisions for them.

After tea, the stronger binding was performed between Melina and Brennan, followed by the spell that would allow Brennan to see the wizarding world. 

“You’ll probably be rather astounded, at first, by the number of things that you notice but which you have never seen before despite having passed them hundreds of times,” Albus warned him. “And although I know that you took your oaths seriously and that you swore not to reveal what you have learned today and what you will learn as a result of this, you will find that the bindings prevent you from discussing anything of the wizarding world with anyone who you don’t know to be a wizard or a witch because you were introduced by one of us. There is another spell that can be performed after you are married that will alter the binding so that you can speak freely with any magical person about the wizarding world, no matter how you come to know them, but even then, you will be unable to discuss the rituals you have undergone today without the permission of one of us. You will, however, be able to explain to a witch or wizard that you are married to a witch, and that should suffice. You may, indeed, find it difficult at first to even discuss ordinary Muggle magicians and magic tricks until your mind has thoroughly sorted out the difference between real magic and Muggle tricks – which are quite fascinating, by the way. It shouldn’t cause you too much difficulty, however.”

Brennan was so eager to get to know Melina’s world – and especially to see Murdoch’s apothecary – that Albus and Minerva were the unexpected recipients of two tickets to a chamber concert that evening.

“I was going to bring Melina – provided, of course, that she hadn’t brought me here to break up with me or inform me that she had five husbands or something,” Brennan explained with a laugh, “but it would be a pity for them to go to waste. Please, take them and enjoy yourselves!”

And so Minerva and Albus found themselves alone in Jennie’s flat, thinking about supper and where to have it, and what to do about suitable clothes. Minerva was wearing a blue calf-length dress that with a minor spell or two could be altered to suit an evening out, but had nothing else with her – and a lady out without her purse, hat, and gloves would be most unusual, even if she were to forego some kind of evening wrap. Albus performed a simple colour-change charm on his trousers, jacket, hat, and shoes, altering them from white to black for evening, but keeping the brilliant blue waistcoat and tie. If the tie made Minerva smile, she made no objection to it. 

“A flower, for you, my dear, would make an admirable handbag,” Albus said, removing a rose from the bouquet Melina had bought for Jennie. He waved his hand and the rose was transfigured into a soft silk evening bag. Borrowing another rose, he created a pair of white gloves and a small hat, and presented them to Minerva with a bow. “May I have the pleasure of your company this evening, Professor McGonagall?” he asked, smiling.

“That would be lovely, Professor Dumbledore,” she replied.

“Dinner in a Muggle restaurant? Or would you prefer something in McTavish Street?”

“Wherever you like – Muggle is fine, especially now that we are properly dressed for it.”

“Very well, my dear, then let’s be off!” 

Minerva smiled warmly as she took Albus’s arm and left the flat, wondering whether it would be a terrible mistake for her to imagine that this was a date and Albus was more than just a friend . . . and she decided that she didn’t care if it was a mistake, she was going to enjoy herself and Albus’s company for the evening without worrying about it. Perhaps the day would end as wonderfully as it had begun.


	72. Not a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Albus spend an evening together, during which Minerva learns something new about Albus. At the end of the evening, Albus does something unexpected.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore.

**LXXII: Not a Date**

Dinner was superb, and other than remembering not to use magic, Minerva almost forgot they were in a Muggle restaurant. The service was smooth and the food was excellent. She and Albus talked about everything under the sun; Minerva almost felt as though they were just Albus and Minerva, out for dinner. The tension that had been between them since she’d begun to teach at Hogwarts seemed to have completely dissipated. Now, though, Minerva felt a new tension, but it was within herself, she was sure. Her acknowledgement of “It,” of her love for Albus, her intense attraction to him, her devotion to him, and her need to have him close, all that had only left her lost as to how to now behave. When they had seen each other sporadically, it had been easy enough to pretend they were friends, former teacher and student, and that her feelings went no further. But now that she had acknowledged to herself what her feelings were, and had partially acknowledged them to Quin, Minerva wasn’t always sure how to act around him.

As much as Minerva wanted to imagine that this were a date and Albus was more than just a friend, she was having a hard enough time controlling herself around him, second-guessing her words and actions, without pretending it was a date, too. She was beginning to read into Albus’s every word and gesture meanings that weren’t there. Every glance from him seemed to hold more significance than any reasonable person would see. She wasn’t even sure anymore whether she should take his arm as they strolled down the street. But she did. It was innocent enough, and having done so in the past, it might seem odd of her not to do so today.

When they passed a street vendor selling flowers, Albus stopped abruptly, startling her.

“Flowers for your lady, mister? None so beautiful as she, but pretty ones I still have for you,” the swarthy, mustached man said, gesturing at the buckets of cut flowers.

Albus turned toward the roses, his hand hovering over the yellow ones, creamy with a blush at the base of their petals. 

“Ah, no, mister! For this lady, only the deepest red will do!” the man protested. The short, dark Muggle turned a warm glance to Minerva. “Yes, certainly, for her heart, she needs red roses – no, one single rose will be enough.” He plucked a single red rose, petals still furled, from amidst them all and held it out to Albus.

Minerva had never heard a street vendor try to sell fewer flowers rather than more, and the man’s gaze seemed sharper and more perceptive than she would expect from a Muggle. He rather unnerved her, and she wasn’t sure she liked him.

Albus nodded and smiled. “You are right: none so beautiful as she, and one blossom sufficient to demonstrate that truth.” Generously, he pressed a pound into the man’s hand, then said something to him in a language Minerva didn’t understand.

The man’s smile grew, and with a laugh, he responded in the same language, trying to return the coin. Albus just shook his head, insisting the vendor keep the money, and said a few more words to the man. The vendor looked at Minerva, then made a comment to Albus. Albus shook his head again, looking down with a smile, and responded in the man’s own language, but then he said in English, “Well, my friend, it is best not to hold extended conversations in the company of others who do not understand the language spoken, hmm?”

“Yes, yes, sir! But wait! I have something for you, for you both.” He turned and rummaged in a small wooden chest behind him. “This for you, lady, and this, for you,” he said, handing each of them a small object. 

Minerva looked at it. It was a bit of mirrored glass set with a small blue stone which had a natural variation in the veins, creating something that looked like an open eye. She had never seen anything quite like it before. Minerva knew that some superstitious Muggles believed in some kind of evil eye talisman, but the few examples she had seen had always been painted or otherwise artificially created. This was different. Albus’s charm, from what Minerva could see, was similar, but the stone was a blue-green and slightly larger. Each charm was strung on a bit of cheap cord.

The man’s smile didn’t fade, and Minerva did her best to thank him politely. Albus’s thanks were warmer, and he took Minerva’s charm from her hand and tied it about her neck before doing the same to his own. He tucked the charm inside his shirt and thanked the man again, then led Minerva away down the street.

“What is this, Albus? And what was that language you spoke with him? I didn’t even recognise it.”

“It was a Roma dialect, Romani – it sounded to me as though he may be from somewhere near Turkey, although I cannot be sure.”

“The man’s a Gypsy?” Minerva twisted her head to look behind her, trying to find the street vendor, but they were already around a corner and, with all of the pedestrians between them, Minerva could no longer see the short fellow.

“Mmhm.” Albus nodded.

“And this thing he gave us – it looks like some of the evil eyes I’ve seen, but it’s different.”

“They are special. The eye is naturally formed in stone, not painted on or inlaid; our friend referred to it as a naturally-occurring nazar. The mirror is to help repel evil. I have not made a particular study of it, but I did travel some with the Roma, once upon a time.”

“Oh . . . after Dervilia died?”

Albus’s hesitation was palpable. “Yes, it was after that. But several years later.”

Minerva didn’t know what to make of Albus’s reticence. “I see.” She fingered the charm and its cord. She wanted to ask him what he and the vendor had said, but he had withdrawn somewhere within himself again. “Well, I’ll visit the WC before the concert and take it off, put it in my bag.”

“No!” Albus said sharply, looking at her, drawn back into the present by her words. “No, not tonight, Minerva,” he added more mildly. “Leave it on for tonight. I am not particularly superstitious, but I do think it better that you leave it be for this evening.” Albus made a discreet gesture with his fingers. “The cord is longer now, my dear. You can just . . . tuck it in.” 

Minerva thought Albus blushed as he indicated the front of her dress, and in her mind’s eye arose the unbidden vision of Albus tucking the small charm under her dress, his fingers brushing her breasts as the blue stone dropped into her cleavage. But she suppressed her own blush, with the thought that she would soon become quite an accomplished Occlumens if she continued this way; she reached up and dropped the talisman down the front of her dress, carefully tucking the cord in so that it was hidden by the garment’s neckline.

“And here is your flower, my dear,” Albus said with a smile, now seemingly perfectly at ease, not a trace of discomfort or reticence in his demeanor. “Perhaps in your hair?”

Minerva laughed. “The stem is too long, Albus, and I think that cutting it without scissors might be a bit obvious on a public street.”

“Ah, but a gentleman is always prepared!” He paused again, and Minerva took his arm to move him out of the way of the pedestrian traffic to which he seemed so oblivious. 

Albus fished around in his inner jacket pocket and, as Minerva looked on curiously, pulled out a pouch. He took out a small tool that Minerva recognised from her father’s study, and her eyebrows rose. 

“You smoke, Albus?”

“Hmm? Yes, occasionally,” he answered distractedly. “A pipe. Not cigarettes. Disgusting things. And not cigars – dreadful.” Albus proceeded to trim the stem of the rose, and he used his thumb to push off the few thorns still on the short stem, then handed it to Minerva with a twinkle in his eye. “Not really sharp enough for the job,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper, referring to the tool which he was now putting back in his pocket with his pipe and tobacco, “but I helped it along just a little.”

Minerva smiled. “Thank you, Albus. I’ll have to check a mirror – ”

“Allow me to be your mirror, then, Minerva.” Albus took the rose from her hand again, indicated that Minerva should remove her hat, and, touching her cheek with his left hand, he gently inserted the rose into her hair just above her left ear.

Minerva did blush at that, both at his unexpected touch and at his solicitude. “I don’t know, Albus. I must look a sight,” she said, thinking of how outlandish she must appear to the Muggles on the streets of Edinburgh.

“A beautiful sight, Minerva,” Albus replied, quickly looking away from her. “We must hurry now, or we will be late and miss the first part of the concert.”

With that, the two set off briskly down the street, Minerva holding her hat in one hand, her other resting lightly on Albus’s elbow, glad of the silence in which to collect her thoughts. 

It seemed that with each day, _It_ grew, despite her best attempts to rein _It_ in. His sweet words and actions couldn’t have been more romantic if he were courting her. And yet Minerva remembered Melina’s words that winter, “still the same sweet, gallant Professor Dumbledore,” and they annoyed her again, this time because she wished he _weren’t_ the same sweet, gallant Professor Dumbledore. His warmth and his chivalry only served to inflame her feelings all the more, and knowing that it was simply his nature, that it meant nothing . . . that caused her heart to contract painfully. How she wished she could believe that his words and deeds were especially sweet and gallant for her in particular, that his attentions meant more when they were directed toward her, that his manner with her was different, that she was special to him . . . 

But Albus _had_ brought her to his special spot on the mountain overlooking Hogwarts. He had only ever brought one other person there, after all. She had felt so special that morning. Albus had made her feel so special. Then he did it again with the rose. Minerva was convinced she looked ridiculous walking down the Muggle street with the flower in her hair . . . a red rose. She sighed slightly. But Albus had thought her beautiful. She snuck a glance at him as he walked beside her. Surely he didn’t tell every woman she looked beautiful. And the way he had said it . . . she actually _felt_ beautiful. Come to think of it, it was not the first time he had said such a thing, nor the first time he had made her feel beautiful with just a word or a look. Minerva chased that thought away – next thing she knew, she’d be imagining that he loved her, that his gestures were romantic, not merely polite and friendly, as she knew they must be. Yet walking here beside him, she felt her longing turn slightly toward hope, and her contentment turn toward happiness. And she didn’t chase those feelings away, despite her misgivings.

The program that night was a pleasant combination of Classical and Romantic pieces, including two piano concertos, one just before the interval. Minerva enjoyed the music, but enjoyed sitting beside Albus even more. She could feel Albus’s magic flowing through his arm as it rested next to hers; she imagined that she could feel subtle changes in its rhythm as the music changed. A subtle rippling in his magic, as though something were rising up out of deep water and gently breaking the surface, caused her to turn her head to look at him. Albus seemed utterly relaxed, his eyes were closed, but a slight dampness shimmering on his eyelashes betrayed his emotion. His tears did not overflow their brims, however, and when the piece ended, Albus opened his eyes and smiled slightly as he joined in the applause.

During the interval, Minerva and Albus stretched their legs and he fetched her some apple juice. 

“You are enjoying the music, my dear?” Albus asked as he handed her the small glass.

“Very much. And you seem to be, as well. That last piano concerto, the Chopin, was very movingly performed,” Minerva replied.

“Yes, it was. It reminds me . . . it reminds me of all of the good in the world, and of the value of sacrifice to ensure this goodness and beauty their place in the human heart,” Albus said softly. “To know that love and human compassion are as alive and stronger than dark deeds, selfish desires, and cold indifference . . . and that there is still room in the universe for the human soul to create something sublime . . . it gives some meaning to sacrifice and suffering.” He smiled and continued more brightly, seeming to shake off his sombre mood, “And it is simply lovely to listen to on a Saturday evening in your company!”

“And in yours, Albus.” Minerva returned his smile. “I shall be sure to thank Brennan and Melina for the tickets.”

“I shall do the same.”

The lights flickered and the couple returned to the small hall for the second part of the concert. When they emerged close to an hour later, it was still light out, but dusk was settling in rapidly, and heavy clouds were gathering, further darkening the sky. 

Minerva sighed and looked at the sky. “I think it might rain, Albus – we had better find a convenient spot to . . . leave from.”

“Yes, indeed. Would you care to stop for a drink before returning to the school?” Albus asked.

“That sounds nice,” Minerva responded, happy not to have the day end just yet.

“McTavish Street, my dear, or someplace else?”

“McTavish Street,” Minerva said promptly, thinking it would be nice to have Albus remove his Glamour. He looked fine, as he always did, but Minerva missed the long beard and hair – though she would admit they would likely look somewhat out-of-place on a Muggle street. She wondered if he wore a Glamour every time he dressed as a Muggle, or if he had done this for Brennan’s benefit today. She wanted to ask him about it – not that it was her place to suggest that he not use a Glamour, of course, but she thought he would merely look a bit eccentric without the Glamour, and there was nothing wrong with that.

“Shall we meet in front of your brother’s shop, then?”

Minerva nodded. There was no reason for him to offer her a Side-Along Apparition, and certainly not for her to request one. It was a short hop, after all, and she had done scarcely any magic at all that day, so she could hardly claim fatigue.

The two rounded the corner into an alley. From the street, a bystander might think that the rainstorm had begun and that lightning had struck somewhere in the dark alley – but there had been no flash of light, only one sharp crack followed by a softer pop. Minerva arrived in small park near Murdoch’s apothecary and turned to look for Albus. He was approaching the shop from the opposite direction. Minerva waved at him as she walked toward the apothecary. Sudden fat drops of rain began to fall, and Minerva felt for her wand. Blast! It was in her Muggle handbag. She undid the clasp on the Transfigured purse, wondering when, if ever, it would revert to the flower it had started out as, and she felt a small tingle of magic skitter over her. Looking up, she saw Albus smiling as he neared her.

“I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of casting a little _Impervius_ for you, my dear,” he said.

“Not at all, Albus. I was just trying to find my wand.” The rain was coming down more heavily now, and even Albus’s _Impervius_ wouldn’t keep them completely dry if they stood out in it for too long, and the slight creeping damp one got through an _Impervius_ was almost as uncomfortable as getting sopping wet. 

Albus took Minerva’s arm and they hurried down the street toward the café where they had once treated young Melina to ice cream on a hot summer’s day. They entered the small establishment, Albus removing their _Impervius_ Charms, and looked around for a table. In the evening, the atmosphere was quite different from what it was during the day, though still cozy. Albus led Minerva to a small round table in the back.

“Will this do, my dear?” he asked before pulling out a chair for her.

Minerva nodded and took the seat he offered her, removing her gloves and placing them in her purse, and a cheery older witch approached the table to give them a menu. They perused the menu together, and Minerva agreed that a cheese board would be nice to share.

“You know, don’t you, that you still have your Glamour, Albus?” Minerva asked after the witch had come and gone again, promising them their wine and cheese would be there promptly.

“Oh, yes, so I do,” Albus said, touching his beard.

“Do you always cast that Glamour when you are out amongst Muggles, Albus?”

“No, only occasionally. I thought today . . . Brennan might be less likely to look at me as a crazy old coot if I appeared more Muggle, for one thing.”

“It was fortunate that he recognised you from the war.”

“Yes, wasn’t it? I had thought the name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. And it’s not an uncommon family name.” He chuckled. “I do wonder what he would have thought if he had seen me with the long hair and beard after having known me as a clean-shaven Muggle general, though.”

“Your hair is still somewhat longer than the usual . . . wouldn’t you be more comfortable removing the Glamour?” Minerva asked, not wanting to tell him that she thought his long hair and beard were among his most attractive features, but hoping that he would lift the charm that concealed them.

“I don’t really notice it, myself. However,” he said, looking around the room and at the few patrons, “I suppose I should.” Albus pulled his wand from his jacket’s inner wand pocket and waved it swiftly. The Glamour melted away and Minerva smiled to see the familiar hair and beard emerge. 

Their food and wine appeared on their table, and the two set about tasting the cheese and sipping their wine. Minerva wasn’t sure how he could drink a sweet wine with such nice cheese, but didn’t say anything, merely sipping her own dry Riesling, remarking to Albus that it was surprisingly good, considering where they were. They talked about the concert briefly, then the conversation turned to the subject of Melina and Brennan.

“I do hope they don’t rush into anything, Albus. I know they think they are in love, but there are so many differences between them – I’d hate for Melina to be hurt. Or Brennan, for that matter.”

“Whether they marry or not, Brennan is now tied to our world. And to Melina, and Melina will remain responsible for him until the day he dies, whether they marry or not. That is why I had hoped that this was not some passing fancy of Melina’s.”

“She told me that you wrote to her, asking her all kinds of questions.” Minerva laughed. “I think if I had tried to ask her so many questions, I would have received an enraged ‘Aunty Min!’ from her and a refusal to talk about any of it.”

“Your niece was quite forthcoming with me. Of course, I told her that I could not participate in this without her cooperation. I believe that may have motivated her to withhold any protests,” Albus answered with a smile. 

“Yes, well, it is a very serious business. I am glad that you were able to impress that upon her. And she said that none of your questions were – how did she put it? – impertinent? She said that she was afraid you were going ask if . . . um . . . that is,” Minerva stuttered, and blushed.

Albus raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

“Well, if they had, um, been intimate,” Minerva said.

Albus laughed. “That was not a consideration. Although I rather think . . . they are very attached to one another. Quite devoted. It was a great relief to Brennan to learn that the woman he loved truly loved him and that he was not mistaken about her.”

Minerva, thankful that the conversation had not turned toward what intimacies her niece may have shared with her future husband, nodded. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right about all of that . . . and I do hope they are happy together.” She looked at Albus’s brilliant blue eyes. “I just worry that she will have her heart broken.” And in that moment, Minerva felt her own heart crack just a bit, seeing Albus’s warm gaze upon her, yet knowing that the one thing she desired in life was the one thing that was impossible for her to have. Albus was good, kind, caring, loving . . . and completely devoted to the school and the wizarding world. If there was any room for a witch in his life, she was likely already there, by his side. He and Gertrude had been together for so long, and now they were running the school together; there was no question that Gertrude was loyal and devoted to him, whether they were involved in any other way or not. And Albus Dumbledore was out of her reach; even Quin would recognise that if he knew who it was she loved – “the great Albus Dumbledore,” he had called him. 

Albus, sensing Minerva’s sadness, but mistaking its origin, reached out and patted her hand, gently leaving it to rest there. “She will be fine, Minerva. And the two young people must make their own choices in this matter, as you have said yourself. But I do believe that their love is mutual and strong. Don’t worry about her.” He squeezed her hand, and Minerva felt her heart pound painfully, its aching throb echoing throughout her body. She swallowed hard and struggled to control herself.

“Of course, you’re right. And I’m happy for them.” But the smile Minerva forced felt anything but happy. It had been wrong to even consider imagining that this were a date or to entertain the notion that Albus might ever return her feelings for him. The sparkles of hope and happiness that had effervesced in her during their walk earlier in the evening evaporated at that moment, and Minerva reached up and touched the flower, still fresh from the discreet charm Albus had placed on it. It was a bud, barely a blossom, and would likely die before it ever opened its petals. 

“Are you all right, my dear?” Albus asked, concerned by the expression of sadness on her face.

“I’m fine . . . it’s just been a very long day.” Then, looking at him and worried that he might mistake her meaning, she added, “But a lovely one . . . very lovely. I don’t know that I can think of one I’ve enjoyed more, from beginning to end, in a very long time. Thank you.”

Albus smiled. “I am glad you enjoyed it, Minerva, but perhaps we had better get you home. It is getting late. I believe the rain has stopped.”

At Minerva’s agreement that it was time to leave, Albus paid their bill and they walked out onto the damp pavement.

“Thank you again, Albus. I didn’t mean to put you at expense this evening – ”

He waved his hand at her. “Please, don’t mention it. I enjoyed myself very much. I should thank you. I, too, had a lovely day.”

They strolled slowly down the street toward the park.

“You know, if you’re tired . . . we could find a Floo, or I could Apparate us both.”

Minerva hesitated. She would love to accept another Side-Along Apparition from him. The experience in itself was . . . exquisite, which was a strange thing to say of a Side-Along Apparition, but beyond that, his closeness stirred feelings in her that she was trying to contain and control.

“No, I’m fine to Apparate, Albus,” she said truthfully and smiled. “The fresh air is invigorating, don’t you think?”

“It is, quite,” he answered, and Minerva thought she detected a hint of disappointment in his face, but, she told herself, it was only her own disappointment that she was projecting onto him.

“Very well, then, we’ll meet at the gates,” Minerva said. 

She held her purse to her and Apparated away, hoping too late that it wasn’t a mistake not to hold her wand in her hand as she Apparated. When she landed at the gates, she checked herself for signs of Splinching. There was a slight pop behind her.

“All right, Minerva?” Albus asked.

“Fine, just . . . checking,” she answered with a blush.

He smiled at her. “You didn’t Splinch,” he reassured her. “I would have noticed at the other end.”

“Oh, of course. It’s just that I usually like to have my wand a bit closer when I Apparate more than a short distance, and I forgot it was still in my purse.”

Albus nodded understandingly. “Yes, these Muggle things can be confusing, and switching back and forth between worlds – I know some people do it on a daily basis, but I think I would have trouble with it, myself.”

“But during the war – ”

“I had a little mental checklist I would go through every time I got ready to go out as a Muggle,” he answered as they began the walk back up to the castle. “I still managed to sit on my wand once and break it because I put it in my back pocket instead of in my coat. Fortunately, it was my spare and my main wand was in Amiens. Of course, getting it back to London after I was injured was quite a process, since I had warded it there and was the only one who could retrieve it. And I wasn’t up to Apparating that far and had to wait for the Ministry to arrange a Portkey.”

“I don’t understand – why didn’t you have your own wand? Or, more to the point, why did you have two wands at all?”

“During the war, I occasionally carried two wands in case I was disarmed, you see. But on this particular mission – it was supposed to be a short one, and we weren’t going to be interacting with other wizards, only Muggles – I decided to take just the one. I don’t know why I decided to take my spare wand rather than my primary wand.” Albus shrugged. “It never worked quite as well for me . . . . Perhaps it was a premonition of a sort. It was not my normal habit to carry that one in preference to my other, although . . . .” Albus hesitated.

“Although what?” Minerva asked, intrigued. She had heard that Dark Wizards and criminals sometimes had two wands, one unregistered, so that they could use Dark spells and be undetected. She couldn’t imagine that that was the reason for Albus to use a second wand, however.

“I had used the spare at school on occasion, as well. When teaching. Perhaps it was that habit that saved my primary wand from the fate that befell my spare,” he said with a smile.

“Well, you are fortunate, then. Do you still carry two wands?” she asked – she so often saw him perform wandless magic, it was quite incongruous to imagine him carrying more than one wand.

“Rarely, though I do have another in my desk in my study.” He drew out his wand from his jacket and performed a nonverbal Lumos. “This one I’m rather attached to . . . as most wizards and witches are to the wand which chose them.” 

Unexpectedly, he thrust the wand toward her. “Like to have a look at it, Minerva?”

One didn’t usually handle another’s wand without permission, and it was also unusual to simply offer it up for inspection casually, as Albus seemed to be doing. Minerva took the wand in her hands. She had seen it before, of course, many, many times . . . especially during her school years when they were doing her Animagus training. Although that may have been his spare, she now thought. 

The wand was warm, perhaps from being carried so close to his body, perhaps from the spell he had just cast. It didn’t prickle as her brother Murdoch’s did when she touched it, nor did it feel like a dead stick in her hand, as Melina’s did. It felt more like her own wand – alive and waiting for her to use it. Even her parents’ wands, which she had used a few times, didn’t have that vitality of her own wand. Fascinated now, Minerva ran a finger over it.

“You may try it, if you like,” Albus said softly.

Minerva looked up at him. “I might . . . do something to it.” 

She didn’t know what she could do to his wand, exactly, although she of course knew to be false Murdoch’s claims to her when she was a child that if she used another’s wand, she would burn out the core. At the age of eleven or twelve, it hadn’t occurred to her that she had occasionally seen her parents use one another’s wands with no untoward effects – although her mother’s wasn’t very cooperative to Merwyn’s touch – and Minerva had believed Murdoch that it was dangerous to a wand for it to be used by anyone other than its rightful owner. She soon learned that a wand might not respond well to anyone but its owner, but that using the wrong wand was more likely to backfire on the user than to do anything to the wand itself. He just hadn’t wanted her touching his wand.

Albus chuckled. “It might not behave itself very well, but I doubt you can hurt it – unless you plan on putting it across your knee and breaking it!”

Minerva gently swished the wand through the night air and a few sparks fell from it. “ _Lumos_ ,” she whispered, softly but articulately. The wand glowed a lovely blue. Rather than the usual mild _Nox_ , Minerva said, “ _Finite Incantatum_.”

She looked around them and found a round, white stone a little larger than a Galleon. She set it in the middle of the path and pointed Albus’s wand at it. “ _Geminio!_ ”

Her magic didn’t flow through this wand as easily as it did through her own, but the stone shimmered then duplicated itself neatly. Minerva laughed and handed the wand back to Albus, then bent and picked up the two stones and examined them.

“I’ve never used another wand that responded half as well as my own, but that one – I wouldn’t mind using that one in a pinch,” she said.

Albus smiled. “Well, if ever you are ‘in a pinch,’ my dear, you have my permission to use my wand.”

Minerva blushed, unsure what she was blushing about. Changing the subject slightly, she said, “You used my wand a few times when I was a student. I was always very impressed. Especially the first time.”

She remembered how, during her fourth year, he wanted to demonstrate something to her about organic-organic Transfiguration of a living creature, and he had simply picked up her wand from the table and used it, seeming to realise only as he cast the spell that he was using her wand. He had handed it back to her with a slight apologetic smile. But the spell had been perfectly executed. Minerva had thought it just one more sign of Dumbledore’s magical power and incredible abilities. He had borrowed it a few more times after that, always asking permission first. By her sixth year, Minerva had thought it slightly odd that Albus didn’t simply Summon his own wand from his office where it lay on his desk, but he was her professor and it wasn’t her place to question him – nor to deny him anything. At least nothing as reasonable as the brief loan of her wand for demonstration purposes.

Now, however, Minerva wondered if there was more to it than just Albus’s skill at play. She was about to ask him about his wand and why it might be that she could use it so easily when they arrived at the doors of the castle and were, unfortunately, greeted by Peeves. Peeves usually went into a kind of hibernation during the summer, becoming more and more lethargic as the weeks passed, but he would have occasional spurts of liveliness, and this was apparently one of those occasions. He did nothing more than swoop and laugh and sing a dirty rhyme about witches who wore short robes and wizards who wore none, before disappearing, but he distracted them both so that Minerva didn’t remember her questions about their wands until she got ready for bed later that night.

Albus walked Minerva to her room and bade her a quiet good night, nodding and smiling gently, his hand just grazing her arm in an affectionate gesture, before he turned and left for his tower. Minerva told herself that she should not be disappointed that he hadn’t kissed her cheek or embraced her, or even taken her hand in his. But she was nonetheless disappointed. Still, they had had a lovely evening, and the morning had been even more exquisite, and they had helped Melina and Brennan find love . . . the day had been a good one, and she shouldn’t want more from it. After all, it wasn’t a date, she thought as she removed the cheap talisman from around her neck and hung it by its cord from the corner of her mirror. It wasn’t a date; it was just a very nice day with a friend. Yet as she lay in bed remembering the sensation of his fingertips on her cheek as Albus placed the rose in her hair, the vibration of his magic as he sat beside her at the concert, the teardrops on his eyelashes as the music moved him, and the warmth of his hand on hers as they sat together in the café, Minerva wished it had been more than just a nice day, and that it had ended with a kiss and an embrace and not a nod and a smile. . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, please don't take this story as your source for any information about the real world, however, there really are such charms as the "evil eye," an evil eye actually is called a "nazar" in Turkish (according to a Turkish friend who once gave me one), they are often (perhaps always) blue, and they can be found in many cultures. Beyond that, anything in the story about evil eye talismans is made up, particularly the bit about "naturally-occurring" nazar, and any resemblance to "real life" superstitions is coincidental. There are also Roma ("Gypsies") in real life, but I know very little about the actual Roma, beyond the fact that they were among those people who were persecuted and murdered by the Nazis. They also have a reputation for being suspicious of outsiders, so it would be highly unusual for an outsider such as Albus to travel with them. If you are interested in the history and lives of the Roma, I'm sure there are many sources available on the Web.


	73. A Tale of Two Wands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus tells Minerva an interesting story.
> 
> **Beginning of Part Twelve.**
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore.

**PART TWELVE**  
 **LXXIII: A Tale of Two Wands**

Minerva woke early the next morning and stumbled into the shower. In this, she was more like her mother than her father. Although she could sometimes sleep late mornings, once she was awake, she generally couldn’t fall asleep again unless she was truly exhausted, and so six-fifteen found her in a warm shower, her eyes still closed, but trying to think about the day ahead. Instead, her mind kept turning to the previous day, the lovely picnic Albus had brought her on, the kind and yet authoritative way that he dealt with Brennan and Melina, and then their evening together. It had been so lovely, and yet, standing there in the shower, Minerva found herself feeling empty and wistful. She should be much happier than she had been a few weeks before, when it seemed that Albus had forgotten her presence in the castle, their friendship, and all that they had shared over the years. And, on a certain level, she _was_ happier. The time they had spent together over the last few weeks had been lovely, even though it had been punctuated with Albus’s occasional and uncharacteristic moodiness. Minerva felt closer to him than ever she had felt before; he had even begun to tell her something of his past, though she was sure that there was far more that he hadn’t told her – about both the defeat of Grindelwald and about his relationship with Valerianna, as different as those two stories were likely to be. And it seemed that he might tell her something about Grindelwald, eventually.

The history books told of Dumbledore’s final mission with a handful of Aurors, how they had set out to find the Dark Wizard and take advantage of his weakening position and the distraction of his increasingly failing grip on the Muggles whom he had thought he could exploit for his own purposes. 

The Muggles had made their own choices over the previous ten or fifteen years, there was no doubt about that, but Grindelwald took advantage of those choices, particularly those in Germany. When the Weimar Republic slid away into the Third Reich, Grindelwald had believed that he had his best opportunity to insinuate himself into the affairs of the Muggle world. It had never worked precisely as he had planned. Muggles were far more independent and single-minded than he had anticipated, even those in the authoritarian Nazi regime. While he was able to manipulate certain people and events in the Muggle world in order to make things easier for him to obtain a crushing grip on the German and, later, European, wizarding world, he never achieved the level of control over the Muggle government that he had desired. Nonetheless, believing that a war-ravaged Europe and an authoritarian Muggle state would eventually enable him to take full control of the European Muggle world once he had established himself as sole ruler over the wizarding world, Grindelwald assisted the Nazis and the German army in discreet and not-so-discreet ways, from providing intelligence on the movement of Allied troops to eliminating “obstacles” – usually individual Muggles – to the Nazi campaign. And although Grindelwald cared nothing about ethnicity, “race,” religion, or any of the other Muggle prejudices that drove much of the Nazi agenda, he saw their mass murders as further weakening the Muggle world, and so was happy to assist in finding people who were in hiding. 

It wasn’t long, however, before Grindelwald found that he couldn’t spare many wizards on his operation to undermine the Muggle world, and although he maintained a small network of spies and manipulators within the Nazi war machine, he devoted most of his resources to obtaining and maintaining control over his ever-expanding corner of the wizarding world. It was harder than he had anticipated, particularly once Dumbledore was enlisted to work against him. Not merely a believer in the superiority of wizards over Muggles, Grindelwald also believed in the superiority of wizards over witches; nonetheless, as a pragmatist, he found himself having to recruit witches and treat them as more than mere chattel in order to maintain his grip on wizarding Europe. Unlike some pure-bloods, Grindelwald didn’t care about parentage; what mattered to him was power and intellect. Muggle-born, half-blood, pure-blood, he didn’t care; if you were powerful, intelligent, well-trained, and were willing to devote your power to his cause, he would have you. Woe betide any who stood against him, however – they were quickly eliminated, as were any whom Grindelwald came to perceive as a rival within his own sphere. He didn’t hesitate to dine with a wizard one day and kill him the next.

The history books were weak on the details of Grindelwald’s defeat and capture, and in the immediate aftermath of the war, the wizarding world was so giddy with relief, they asked few questions about it. Later, it was done and over with, and the wizarding world was eager to move into the future, with even greater international co-operation and stricter rules governing the secrecy of their world. All that Minerva knew was that a small party had set out with the aim to find Grindelwald in his stronghold and put an end to him. The Ministry had worried when nothing was heard from any of them for more than three days. When the bodies of one of the witches and two of the wizards were found, expectations were grim. But then the wards fell around Grindelwald’s secret headquarters; a short time later, an Auror who had been with Dumbledore reported that Grindelwald had been captured, and within hours, a team of international Aurors was swarming over the ancient castle Grindelwald had called home. All reports were consistent that Dumbledore had single-handedly defeated Grindelwald in a duel while a few of the Aurors who had been with him kept any of the Dark Wizard’s followers at bay. Minerva had seen Scrimgeour quoted, and while he seemed happy to play up his own role in the battle, he had said nothing of Dumbledore other than that, without him, Grindelwald would still be safe in his castle.

Minerva stepped from the shower, dried her hair, and dressed quickly in a set of lightweight robes that her parents had given her the summer before. The skirt was a soft, muted tartan of green, brown, and blue, and the bodice and sleeves were a heathery green. There was also a light shawl that matched the skirt. The colours reminded Minerva of the robes that Albus had worn on their hike the morning before. But it seemed that almost everything reminded her of Albus. She sighed and looked at her vanity.

She was in danger of creating a small shrine to Albus, Minerva thought glumly, yet she felt no desire to change or remove a thing. Before she had gone to bed, she had cast a quick Siccus spell to dry and preserve the rosebud, then she stuck it to an upper corner of the small frame holding Albus’s photograph. She then placed the two white stones, the original and its twin, on the vanity in front of the picture. The evil-eye talisman hung above it from the corner of the mirror. 

Minerva picked up the photograph of Albus and looked at it. Even though it was black-and-white, she could see that he had more grey in his beard and less white than he did now. Over the last twelve years, the auburn had turned almost entirely to grey and the grey to white. Minerva could envision the day when his hair and beard would be entirely white; she hoped that she would still know him then, that they would still be friends, that she wouldn’t ruin their relationship by doing anything foolish. 

Touching the delicate bud that she had so carefully preserved and attached to the frame, Minerva thought of the old meanings for various flowers. Albus had been drawn to the flowers and had wished to purchase some for her, she thought, but his hand had hovered over the yellow roses, which she believed denoted friendship, though her memory was hazy on that point. It was the vendor who had drawn Albus’s attention to the red roses, and the vendor who had suggested just the single flower. Albus had agreed with the choice, of course . . . but it did not have the same meaning as it would have had Albus, unprompted, simply presented her with a single red rose: you alone hold my heart, I love you. But he _had_ said that there was not a rose as beautiful as she . . . . Minerva blushed at the memory. He had simply been agreeing with the street vendor who, no doubt, was merely trying to get Albus to buy a flower. And yet, Albus had placed the rose in her hair so lovingly and had told her she was beautiful . . . and he had told the portrait of Paris that she was beautiful . . .

Minerva shook herself. No, Albus had only ever agreed with someone else when he’d said she was beautiful; well, that wasn’t precisely true. He had told her on other occasions that she looked lovely, that her hair or her eyes – no, this was not what she should be thinking about. And whatever compliments Albus paid her, appreciating someone’s appearance was a far cry from declaring love. After all, if that were so, she’d be in love with Quin, who was certainly one of the most handsome wizards she’d ever seen. Or even with Minister Tapper, for that matter, who was quite good-looking and distinguished, but for whom Minerva could barely conjure any feeling beyond friendly courtesy. Still, some purely emotional part of Minerva ignored those rational protests and rejoiced in the knowledge that Albus found her beautiful, even as that emotional part of her simultaneously despaired that Albus would ever find her attractive . . . or that he would love her the way that she loved him. 

Minerva sighed and set the photograph back in its place. She grabbed her shawl and set off for her walk. As much as she needed a cup of tea, she didn’t want to call Blampa for one, and she didn’t want to take the time to make one herself. She was eager to get out into the fresh air. Tea could wait.

Her footsteps echoing in the near-deserted castle, Minerva hurried down the stairs. Tomorrow there was another committee meeting scheduled, and several people would be returning to the school for it. At the moment, though, Minerva was pleased enough with her solitude and did not anticipate meeting anyone on her morning walk, especially as it was not yet even seven o’clock. That suited her just fine. She might even be able to get in some time in her Animagus form without any audience.

Minerva was quite startled, then, to encounter someone as soon as she stepped out through the great front doors. Albus was sitting near the bottom of the stairs on the low wall that ran along beside them. 

He only turned his head slightly at the sound of the door opening, but he cheerily greeted her. “Good morning, Professor McGonagall!”

“Good morning, Professor Dumbledore!” 

Although she had looked forward to a solitary walk, Minerva was not at all displeased to find Albus sitting there . . . smoking his pipe? She had almost thought that the pipe and tobacco he had carried the day before had been mere props for his trip to the Muggle world, yet here he was, dressed in sky blue robes with silver piping, a matching brimless hat on his head, smoking his pipe. And Minerva had to admit that it suited him, and the tobacco he was smoking had a chocolatey aroma to it. She supposed it was not up to her to point out to him that even wizards were not entirely immune to the negative effects of tobacco smoke, although her mother had always said that pipes weren’t as bad as cigarettes, and she tolerated it in Merwyn as a minor and infrequent vice.

Minerva came and stood beside Albus where he sat comfortably, leaning back against the end of the upper wall that rose up beside the top few steps before it became the low wall on which he was perched.

“You’re up quite early,” Minerva remarked. She did not believe that Albus was normally an early riser, despite the fact that he was burning the candle at both ends of the day lately.

“I had a task to do this morning. I had started it a few days ago, but the days have been too hectic for me to finish it. I thought if I rose early, I could finally get it done.”

Minerva looked up at him from the base of the stairs. “I know you don’t like me to fuss, Albus, but remember what Poppy said about getting enough sleep – and I’m sure that whatever it was could have waited a bit longer if it had waited this long already.” 

“Perhaps, my dear, but this was a favour to a friend, a promise I had made to someone very dear to me, and I didn’t want to leave it undone any longer, lest my friend believe I had forgotten or was being neglectful of my promises.” Albus stood and stepped down to her, banishing his pipe as he did so.

“Well, if this person is a friend, they’d likely understand that you have many duties that call upon your time,” Minerva answered, thinking that he was likely speaking of Gertrude . . . or perhaps of someone whom she didn’t even know.

“I am sure you would be very understanding, Minerva, but I felt it was important. I wanted to make the time for you . . . perhaps to make up for my earlier neglect.” He took her arm and they began to walk around the castle toward the lake.

“Me? I mean, I was the friend?” 

Whatever could Albus have been doing for her so early in the morning? Then, just as Minerva was remembering the way that he had looked at her little newspaper photograph of him and promised her a better picture of himself, Albus pulled a flat, brightly wrapped present from his pocket.

“For you, Minerva. I did not forget,” he said, handing it to her.

“The photograph. Oh, Albus. Thank you! But you could have taken your time; I know how very busy you’ve been. And you just did me and my family a very big favour yesterday – ”

“But this is just for you, my dear. And I hope that it is all right. I wasn’t sure . . . after I did it. But have a look!”

“Here, let’s go sit on that bench so I can do this properly,” Minerva replied, indicating a bench near the edge of the lake.

As they sat down together, Minerva thanked him again.

“Well, wait until you’ve seen it. But I hope you will like it.”

Minerva pulled the bright purple and gold wrapping paper from the present and turned the photograph over to look at it. Not only had he given her a copy of the picture that he must have shown Robert and Thea, but he had framed it, as well. The frame was gold with a narrow silver band running along the inside next to the picture. It was all Minerva could do not to gasp when she saw it, not because it was lovely, which it was, but because in the upper left hand corner, there was a single rosebud, exquisitely done in gold, each petal carefully defined, a single small leaf on its thornless stem, looking for all the world as though the rose that he had presented her the night before had been somehow affixed to the corner, turned to gold, then melted into the frame. The rest of the frame was adorned with an interesting bas relief of climbing vines against a subtle pattern that resembled the bark of a tree.

The photograph itself startled Minerva, as well. In it, she was in the act of turning away from a few well-wishers who stood in the shadowy background; just as the photo was being taken, she caught sight of Albus, and her smile widened as she saw her mentor. Minerva had not taken in Albus’s expression very clearly at that moment, she had been so elated with her victory, and then, seconds later, she had been rushed off by the French Minister and the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, but now she saw that Albus was smiling, his full attention on her, his eyes warm, and when Minerva turned and smiled at him in the photograph, it seemed that his smile brightened more. There was such pride and affection in his gaze. . . .

Minerva’s eyes filled with tears as she looked wordlessly at the present that Albus had given her.

“Is it . . . is it all right, Minerva?” Albus asked softly, somewhat hesitantly.

“Oh, it’s beautiful, Albus. Simply – ” Minerva’s voice broke and she couldn’t continue. 

“I’m very glad you like it, my dear,” Albus said quietly.

“I love it, Albus, I just . . . it’s just . . .” Minerva was so overwhelmed, she could not even feel embarrassed by the tears that now ran down her face. She blinked, and a few fell on the picture. There was some kind of charm on it, however, something in lieu of picture glass, and the tears simply rolled right off.

Albus placed a hand on her arm and looked at her in concern. “Are you sure? The frame . . . I wasn’t sure about the frame. I could get a different one for you, or have it framed professionally, if you prefer.” 

Albus was uneasy with Minerva’s reaction. Had he chosen badly? He had other pictures of himself, of course, but this picture had always been special to him and was the first one he had thought of giving her, never even considering any others. And the frame . . . he was no artist, and the frame had given him a devil of a time before he was pleased with it. He had used some old Muggle money, old gold and silver pieces that hadn’t been in circulation in decades – or even centuries, for some of them, collected and forgotten by several generations of Dumbledores. They had lain about, shifted from drawer to drawer over the years, largely forgotten, and when Albus was thinking about how to frame the photograph, he drew the bag from its current home and removed the heaviest and purest of the coins. Albus had finished the frame just that morning, making some subtle changes to the vines and their backdrop, but he still hadn’t been completely pleased with it. Then, on a sudden impulse, he pulled out some old gold sovereigns and Transfigured a gold facsimile of the rose he had given to Minerva the night before. He was pleased with the result, although a part of him was uneasy with its potential symbolism, which only occurred to him when he was looking at the finished frame. Despite that, Albus couldn’t bring himself to remove the rose, without which the frame seemed strangely incomplete. Besides, he did love her, even if he could never tell her.

“No, Albus! No, the frame is perfect.” Minerva brought her hand to her face and smudged away some of her tears, the beginnings of embarrassment creeping up on her. “I just didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect anything this special. And I love the frame. I would never consider changing it.” She took the lilac-coloured handkerchief Albus offered her, and she wiped her tears away. 

“Where did you ever get it?” she asked, wondering whether it was some chance find somewhere in one of Hogwarts storerooms. 

“I, um, made it. From some old coins I had. It gave me a little trouble, but then I finished it this morning.” He relaxed and smiled. “I’m glad it’s all right.”

“Oh, it’s _wonderful_ , not simply all right. And it’s even more wonderful knowing that you made it yourself. Thank you, Albus!” 

Minerva held the picture to herself, then reached out one arm and put it around him in a joyful embrace. When she felt Albus’s arms go around her, she leaned her forehead on his shoulder and relaxed. All of the tension and emptiness that she had felt earlier that morning seemed to melt away to nothing. But then Albus patted her back and pulled back slightly. He smiled down at her, and Minerva gathered herself together and sat up straight.

“Would you mind some company on your walk, Minerva? And then perhaps some breakfast? Unless you’ve already eaten . . .”

“I would enjoy your company very much. And breakfast, as well,” she answered. “Would you mind keeping this for me until we return to the castle? The pockets in this robe are not very roomy, and I don’t want to have anything happen to it.”

Albus nodded and accepted the picture, tucking it back into his pocket. 

“Along the lake, my dear?” he asked.

“That would be nice, yes.” 

Minerva had been going to exercise in her Animagus form in the stand of trees near Hagrid’s cabin, but after the way she had behaved with Albus the last time she’d become a cat in his presence, she wasn’t going remind him of it, nor did she want to risk losing control of her emotions again. It had been nice, though, she thought wistfully, to let go and allow him to hold her and cuddle her. Turning her thoughts to the gift that Albus had so thoughtfully made for her, she asked, “Where did you get that photograph, Albus? It was all such a blur to me at the time . . .”

“There was a photographer there from the _Voyant-Clair_ ,” Albus replied, mentioning the French-language counterpart to the _Daily Prophet_ , “and I asked him if I might not have a copy of one of the photographs, explaining that you had been a student of mine. Later that night, he found me at the dinner and very kindly gave me that one and wouldn’t hear of payment.” Albus chuckled. “He said he received payment enough in observing you in the Challenge, and this was his way of thanking me for having taught you well. Of course, it was your skill and dedication that he admired, Minerva, but I was quite happy to have the photo.”

Minerva blushed slightly. “Well, I’m glad he gave it to you. It’s nice . . . that it’s of us both. Fitting, I suppose.”

Albus nodded.

“And the frame? I had no idea you had such artistic skill, or such ability with metals.”

“I’m not particularly artistic – that’s part of what took me so long to get it done – but I did have a design in mind, and I had done a lot of work with metals when I was young . . . as a part of my study of Alchemy. I’d never done anything quite like that before, though. I am glad it was satisfactory.”

“More than satisfactory, Albus – it is beautiful.” At Albus’s shake-of-the-head and slight noise of dismissal, she added, “It is, truly. I would appreciate it anyway, because you gave it to me, but it really is wonderful. I was wondering . . .” She paused and Albus looked at her inquiringly. “Well, just, the rose . . . how did you come to make that?”

Minerva thought she detected a slight twitch from Albus before he responded, as though he were uncomfortable with the question.

“I needed to finish the frame this morning. I had duplicated the photograph a few days ago and begun work on the frame, but I wasn’t satisfied with it, and even after I worked on it again today, it needed something more. I just . . . remembered your flower from last night. Just an idea that popped into my head. So I added it. If you don’t like it, I can remove it easily,” Albus said, looking at her.

“Oh, no, I think it is perfect. The rose was perfect.” Tears threatened her eyes again, but Minerva subdued them. “It’s just that – you’ll no doubt think me silly, Albus,” she said, shrugging and giving him a rueful smile, “but last night, it had been such a nice day, and I took the flower from my hair . . . I dried it to keep it. That’s all.” She felt peculiar enough without adding that she had fixed the dried rosebud to the corner of the small frame holding his picture, in much the same way that he had incorporated the rosebud into the design of the frame – it was one thing to have him think her sentimental, and quite another to have him believe her overly attached to him and to the gesture he had made when he gave her the flower.

Albus smiled. “It was a very nice day, wasn’t it? And I enjoyed our time together. That must be what inspired me to add the rose – the frame just seemed to be missing something until I added that.”

Minerva nodded. “And the rest of the design?”

“Climbing vines against the bark of a tree. I had you in mind,” Albus answered. “Your wand, to be more precise.” He paused and gestured toward a rock, Transfiguring it into a stone bench. 

Minerva sat, unquestioning, on the bench beside him.

“May I see it a moment, Minerva?”

She drew her wand from her pocket and handed it to him, arranging her shawl about her shoulders. The breeze off the lake was cool. Albus smiled and held her wand between his hands, balancing it on his index fingers, then he took it in his right hand and cast a Warming Charm over them both.

“Tell me of your wand, Minerva,” Albus said, handing it back to her.

Minerva raised her eyebrows. What was there to say of a wand? “It is, as you have indicated, of vinewood, with a dragon heartstring core.” What else might he want to know? “It is an Ollivander wand, of course.” She remembered the day when her father had brought her into Ollivander’s to get her wand. She had been so excited, she’d barely been able to speak to the peculiar man who had handed her one wand after another, merely squeaking at him like a tongue-tied mouse. Come to think of it, there was more to say about her wand; she simply hadn’t thought about it in a very long time. Minerva looked out over the water, her eyes losing their focus as she called to memory that morning over twenty years before. “My father brought me to his shop a few weeks before I started at Hogwarts. I remember it felt as though I had waited forever to finally get my wand. I was dreadfully impatient with everything back then – I was the youngest in my family by far, and it always seemed to me that I would never catch up with them. Murdoch finished his seventh year when I was only six, and I felt I would never get to Hogwarts myself.” 

Minerva laughed slightly. “I was quite a melodramatic child, I’m afraid. Even more so than Melina was at that age. And then I turned eleven, and it was still months before my parents would agree to bring me to get my wand. Finally, when my Hogwarts letter came, Dad agreed to bring me to Diagon Alley the very next day for my schoolbooks and my wand. I don’t think I slept a wink the night before. The books weren’t nearly as exciting to me as the prospect of getting my wand – I had already read or tried to read just about every book in our library, including all of the old schoolbooks. But the wand! Well, that meant I was finally growing up, I thought. And then when we got to Ollivander’s and he began to hand me one wand after another, and they all seemed to reject me and he plucked them from my hand, discarding them to shove another wand toward me, I’ll confess to you now that I cried, Albus. I thought I wouldn’t be getting a wand that day, after all. I knew I was a witch. There was no question of that. But I thought that no wand wanted me and that I would never go to Hogwarts. And Mr Ollivander, who was a peculiar fellow, anyway, and a little frightening to a child, became impatient with me, though I see now that he was trying, in his own way, to reassure me. Every witch or wizard, he said, would get a wand if they didn’t cry about it. It was simply important that they get the _right_ wand.”

Minerva sighed and, despite the Warming Charm, pulled her shawl around her more closely. “He started muttering about the wands of my parents and brothers, then he measured me again, taking more time and more measurements than he had before, then he disappeared into the back of the shop and came out several minutes later with an old brown box in which there lay three wands on a dark green cloth. He took out one, put the others under his counter, then came around, squinted at me for what seemed ages, and finally, he handed me this wand.” Minerva held up the unremarkable-looking brown stick. “He had long before stopped saying what the various wands were made of, we had gone through so many. But when he handed me this wand, he said, ‘vinewood, of a special sort, dragon heartstring core, unusual source.’ I took it, it was warm, it practically vibrated in my hand, and I completely forgot my tears. I waved the wand and the most glorious shimmers and sparkles flowed from it . . . if he hadn’t declared that that was my wand, I would have run from the shop with it anyway!” Minerva laughed slightly and looked at her wand. “I’m afraid I’ve grown to rather take it for granted. I’d almost forgotten how much time it took to find it.” 

She looked over at Albus, who had listened to her story with a small smile on his face. “I’m sorry, Albus, that must have bored you. But I didn’t know exactly what it was you wanted to know.”

“Did Ollivander ever tell you, or did you ever learn, anything more about the components of your wand?”

Minerva shook her head slowly. “No . . . no, although I suppose I was a little curious at the time, I was more excited and relieved, and it didn’t occur to me to ask any other questions, then once I began using it, it just became . . . my wand. What it was. I hadn’t really thought much about it again.” She looked at him curiously. “Why do you ask? And does this have anything to do with the fact that I could use your wand so well last night? And why did you have me try your wand at all?”

Albus chuckled. “Well, I see that I have reignited your curiosity. It _does_ have to do with my wand and the reason I had you try it. As to why . . . it is perhaps too long a story to tell in its entirety right now, but I will tell you some of it and answer the questions you just asked.

“Many, many years ago, I required a new wand . . . someday I may tell you of the circumstances that led to that, but it is too long a story for this morning. I went to Ollivander’s, as most wizards in Britain do, to see about this. The current Mr Ollivander was barely middle-aged at the time, and it was his uncle with whom I spoke about my needs. We discussed the matter and made certain arrangements. Three weeks later, I returned to his shop to try the wands he had crafted specifically for me to try – something that he rarely attempted, and which I understand the current Mr Ollivander does not do, or that he has not done, at any rate. This wand,” Albus said, drawing his wand from his pocket, “was the wand that chose me. There was another, very much like it, that I tried first. It felt warm in my hand and did my bidding, but its lacklustre response did not satisfy Mr Ollivander, and when I tried this wand, I agreed with him about the unsuitability of the other.” Albus quirked a smile. “If you think the current Mr Ollivander is peculiar and off-putting, you should have met his uncle. It was of no consequence to him how I felt about the wands; he knew his art and he knew when a wand had not chosen its wizard – or witch – and was quite contemptuous of my opinion in the matter,” he said with a nod at Minerva. “My wand has a core of dragon heartstring. The other wand of which I spoke, the one I had tried but which did not choose me, had a heartstring core from the same dragon which provided the core to mine.”

Minerva sat, her attention rivetted. She anticipated what Dumbledore was about to tell her, but she waited for him to finish his story.

“I assume that you know something of wands and their construction, Minerva, that wands with both core and wood from the same sources are called twins and those with cores from the same source are called brothers. The Ollivanders have never made twin wands, for reasons of their own which they do not deign to share with others, although you can find other wandmakers who do that, but they have made the occasional brother wands over the years. Of course, there are a good many wands that might be classified as ‘brothers’ given the loose criteria I just laid out, but to be a true brother wand, there may be only two wands with the core provided by the same source. With each wand that is made using a core from the same source, the effect of the matched cores decreases exponentially, although no one but a wandmaker could tell you why that is, and they do not share this information . . . although I do have some ideas about it myself. One unicorn, for example, may provide dozens of tail or mane hairs over its life, and, because the brother-effect is diluted to such a degree as to be completely inoperable in actual use if even only one additional wand is made using such a core, it is impossible to discern that they have matching cores except through special tests. When, however, there are only two wands with near-identical cores, cores from the same source . . . the effects are most interesting. At this point, I should say that it is very rare for there to be more than one wand with a dragon heartstring from the same animal. Wandmakers almost invariably extract only one heartstring from each organ. There are reasons for this, Ollivander told me, although he would not say what it was. It may be mere superstition or long-held tradition . . . I do not know.”

Albus took a breath and looked at the wand in his hands. “As I said, there are brother wands and there are twins, and the Ollivanders have never made twins. There exists something even rarer still . . . while twin wands have their cores from the same magical creature and their wood comes from the same plant, usually a tree of some kind native to the area, brother wands are two wands, and only two, that have virtually identical cores, since they originate from the same creature, but whose woods are different. The Ollivanders have made several sets of such brother wands over the last few centuries.” Albus paused again and seemed to be considering his words carefully.

“This third category of related wands, rarer than brothers, and rarer even than twins, shares similarities with the other two types. As with brother wands and twins, their core material comes from the same source and there may be only two wands with cores from that source, or the effect dissipates completely. Unlike twins, their wood is not from the same source. So what, you may ask, is the difference between brother wands and these others? It is this: the woods are related. I do not mean that in the sense that the parent plant is the same – but that they are related in some other manner. It is unusual to find two such plants, and even more unusual for wands to be made from both of them, and then for those wands to contain cores from the same magical source . . . as I said, it is very rare. 

“My wand,” he said, holding it out in front of him, “is of dragon heartstring and yew wood. The wand that I had tried, and that was somewhat responsive, was of dragon heartstring and vinewood from a variety of magical ivy, _Hedera pythonica_. The dragon heartstrings in the two wands were from the same heart. The woods were related . . . the ivy from which Ollivander made the other wand was taken from a vine that had grown up and around the yew from which this wand was made. Both had thrived together. These wands were the first mated wands that the Ollivanders had made in four centuries.

“Some years later, several decades, in fact, I received an owl from the current Mr Ollivander, informing me that the mate to my wand had just chosen a witch. I inquired further and learned the identity of this witch. A year later . . . I met her. I met you, Minerva. I was very pleased to discover that the other wand had gone to such a delightful owner. And that is how I came to sometimes use my secondary wand while teaching. You needed to learn to use your wand and to focus your magic without the effect of my wand being nearby. The effects of mated wands are not as well studied as those of brothers and twins simply because they are so rare, and even when there are mated wands, the persons to whom they have attached themselves may never meet, although . . . they usually do. I was unsure whether carrying my wand in your presence might have some effect, positive or negative, on your own wand-use, particularly as you were so young and still learning to use it, and I,” Albus said chuckling, “I was far from young, very well-practiced, and, if you take no offense at this, rather more powerful. It was conceivable to me that the strength of my magic combined with the presence of the mated wand would keep you from reaching your full potential. I didn’t carry my secondary wand all of the time, of course. Sometimes I would simply leave my wand in my office, particularly as you became more skilled. And during our project after your sixth year, I used my primary wand exclusively. I do think that there was some . . . amplification of its effect when I used my wand and you were nearby with yours. And the few times that we cast a spell together to test a ward, I was certain of it.”

It seemed that Albus had finished his story, and he looked at Minerva, seeming to anticipate a barrage of questions. Minerva, however, sat and considered what he had told her, and it was several moments before she asked her first question, and when she did, it was not a question he expected.

“The first time you used my wand, that wasn’t an accident or a mistake, was it?” she asked, looking at him.

“No . . . it was rude of me, but I didn’t plan it, even though it wasn’t an accident that first time. I had wondered for a while what it would feel like to use it, now that it had chosen its true owner, whether it would respond well to me, whether it would feel anything like my own wand. I don’t even remember exactly what we were doing at the time, but I remember needing to demonstrate something and seeing your wand there. I simply picked it up and used it, knowing it was yours . . . my only excuse for my rudeness, other than my somewhat unrestrained curiosity, is that the idea popped into my head and, in that moment, I did it without reflecting upon it.”

“We were doing organic Transfigurations – Transfiguring one living creature into another living creature, I believe. It was my fourth year, in my tutorial, not in class. I later surmised that you were having me work on such exercises because you were already considering asking me if I wanted to try to become an Animagus.”

Albus nodded. “Yes, I was thinking you might have the aptitude for it, and your ability to perform advanced organic Transfigurations convinced me it was worth offering you.” He looked uneasy. “I am sorry that I hadn’t told you about the wands before this, Minerva. When you were a student, it seemed inadvisable at first, and then . . . later, I just thought it better to wait. There was no need for you to know about them – it would have been an interesting fact, but little more. It was useful for me to be aware of, of course, both to avoid using it while teaching you and to benefit from it when working on the wards that year. And after you left Hogwarts . . . it’s not as though I forgot about your wand, but it seemed irrelevant and it never occurred to me to tell you about the relationship between our two wands. It would have been peculiar teatime conversation, at any rate, and it never came up. But now that we are working together in the same place, there may be times when it may have some practical application or effect – or there may not be. And last night on the walk up to the castle, it just occurred to me, and I wondered whether my wand would work at all well for you; not knowing its origin, you wouldn’t have any preconceptions about it.” Albus shrugged. “There was a time in my life when studying these two wands would have intrigued me, compellingly so. At one time, I may not have even considered you and any possible effect it might have on you, but insisted on researching the properties of the wands even when you were a student, a child still developing her magic.” 

“I can’t imagine that – ”

“I can,” Albus said abruptly, interrupting her. “Perhaps my better nature would have won and I would not have, I can only hope so and can never know, but it was not even a temptation by the time I taught you. My only temptation was to try your wand without your permission; I gave into that temptation, and I am sorry. My apology comes many years too late, but it is sincere, and you have it, for whatever it’s worth.”

Minerva laughed softly. “The only reason you are apologising all these years later, and that you even remember it, Albus, is because you were curious about that particular wand. I can’t count the number of times that one of my brothers or a friend or Melina has just picked up my wand because it was close to them and used it, knowing full well it wasn’t theirs, and without asking my permission first. And after that first time, you always did ask. I wondered why you would use my wand rather than Summon your own, but I suppose I see now. And you haven’t done it in a long time. So, you’re forgiven your moment of slight rudeness.” Minerva shook her head, wondering whether that moment had actually bothered him for so many years. Albus was a strange and complicated wizard, but she didn’t love him any the less for being so.

“Now, I have many more questions, Professor Dumbledore,” she said briskly, “but they must wait. I am more hungry for food at the moment than I am for answers.” Minerva reached out and rubbed Albus’s upper arm reassuringly. “And it will be good to get in out of this wind, as well. As nice as your Warming Charm was, I think it’s time to go in and find our breakfast.”

“Very well, Professor McGonagall, breakfast it is! If I may be so presumptuous, perhaps we might eat in your sitting room?”

“That would be lovely.” Minerva smiled and took his arm as they stood. “And I can put my wonderful present in where it belongs, as well. Thank you, Albus, for everything.” She squeezed his arm slightly.

“You are very welcome, my dear.” He smiled down at her. “It is the very least I can do to express my appreciation for your putting up with me.”

Minerva laughed in response, and they headed up to the castle to find their breakfast.


	74. Ever Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Albus have breakfast; she learns more about her wand.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Johannes Birnbaum, Filius Flitwick, Rubeus Hagrid, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, and Blampa.

**LXXIV: Ever Green**

Blampa quivered, bobbed, nodded, and bounced on her tip-toes in excitement when Minerva and Albus returned to Minerva’s sitting room and requested Blampa provide them with breakfast.

“Just a standard breakfast, please, Blampa,” Minerva said. “Soft-boiled eggs – no, medium-boiled for me – toast, marmalade, fruit, and tea.” She turned to Albus. “Would you prefer soft or medium eggs, Professor? And would you care for porridge? Or anything else?”

“I will have exactly what you’re having, my dear! Although some elderberry preserves wouldn’t be amiss. If possible!” He smiled genially down at the little elf as she practically hopped up and down, so thrilled was she.

“Oh,” Blampa squeaked, “it’s possible, Professor Headmaster!!! I, Blampa, make possible elderberry preserves for the Professor Headmaster and his Professor Minerva! Yes, yes!”

“Thank you, Blampa,” Minerva said.

After the house-elf Disapparated and Albus had excused himself to use the loo, Minerva waved her wand, Transfiguring the small round table by the window to be larger, more suited to breakfast for two, then moved another chair over for Albus. She waved her wand again and added cushions to the seat and back of his chair, taking the time to charm them with a floral pattern, clusters of elderberry flowers on a creamy background. Minerva had thought to use a pattern of ivy and yew, but, for a reason she couldn’t articulate, she decided against it.

When Albus returned to the sitting room, he removed the framed photograph from his pocket and held it out to Minerva. 

“Thank you, Albus!” Minerva said as she took the picture from him. “It really is a wonderful gift.” 

It was one of the best presents she’d ever received, Minerva thought as she looked at it, taking in the expression on Albus’s face again, how he looked on at her so fondly and how his smile deepened when her gaze met his. She remembered that she had been thrilled he had come to witness the Challenge, and how happy she had been to see that he had stayed afterward, and this joy was reflected in her expression in the photograph. 

Minerva’s perspective on the photograph shifted abruptly, and for the first time, she seemed to take in the picture as a whole. Whereas before, her attention had been focussed on Albus, and then on herself, she now saw the photograph not as a picture of Albus in which she was also present, nor as a picture of herself, with Albus as onlooker, but as a photograph of them both. Of course, it had always been a photo of both of them, it was one of the things that had made it special, after all, but now she saw the picture as one of Albus and Minerva together, and in that moment, their expressions seemed to her to take on a new meaning. It looked for all the world like a photograph of a couple . . . of a couple – how dare she even think it? – of a couple in love. Or at least, of a couple who loved one another.

“Is everything all right, Minerva?” Albus asked as Minerva went quiet and seemed to look in shock at the gift he’d given her. “As I said, I can change anything you wish . . .”

Minerva took a deep breath. No, it had just been a figment of her imagination, she thought, looking first at Albus’s moving image, and then at her own. It was a trick of the timing of the photograph, that was all.

Distracted, she looked up at Albus. “What? Um, no, no, everything is fine. I was just remembering . . . I was very pleased you had come. That’s all. I don’t want anything changed about it at all.”

She placed the picture on her desk. “I’ll put it with the others later. Breakfast should be here soon. I’m just going to use the loo. If the food arrives, feel free to start eating.”

“All right, my dear. But I would prefer to wait for you.”

“That’s fine . . .”

After Minerva had left the room, Albus went over and picked up the picture. The strangest expression had crossed Minerva’s face when she was looking at it. Was there something wrong, something he hadn’t seen? He hadn’t much practice in duplicating wizarding photographs, but after all of his work in Potions and in Transfiguration, it was a simple task for him, rather like a low-level Alchemy exercise, actually. But perhaps he had done something wrong. He was sure that Minerva had been looking at the photograph itself, not at the frame. The longer he looked at the picture, scrutinising the details, even examining each of the obscured figures moving in the shadowy background of the picture, trying to detect some aberration in the movement or in the colour, the more he was certain that the duplicate was as identical to the original as it could possibly be; there was nothing technically wrong with the photograph. Perhaps it was one of the onlookers in the background? Someone whose appearance disturbed her, perhaps? But even the people who were offering Minerva their congratulations were somewhat out-of-focus, and the few individuals in the distant background were scarcely recognisable, and he had never really looked at them before. Just as he began to examine the indistinct figures in the background, Minerva emerged from the loo.

“You really didn’t need to wait for me, Albus.”

Albus set the photograph down on the desk. “I hadn’t really noticed it had arrived, actually,” he said honestly. “I was looking at the photo again – making sure that I hadn’t made an error in its duplication.”

Minerva smiled. “It’s perfect, Albus. Perfect. And I’m glad to hear that you duplicated it rather than giving me your only copy. I’m happy you were able to find it after all these years.”

“Yes, well, I’d kept it with some other photographs, so it wasn’t difficult to track down.” He pulled out a chair for Minerva, then sat in the one she had arranged for him. “Thank you for inviting me for breakfast, Minerva. Or, I suppose, for allowing me to invite myself!”

Minerva laughed softly. “I believe you did suggest breakfast, but I am more than pleased to have you here. And it’s not as though I had to make it myself, and this is far preferable to either of us sitting in our separate corners of the castle, eating our lonely eggs and toast!”

Albus smiled at her as he placed his napkin in his lap. “It is, indeed – far preferable!”

As they ate their breakfast, Minerva asked him a question that had been rolling about just beneath the surface of her consciousness since he had told her of the relationship between their wands. “Albus, you mentioned that mated wands have not been very well studied, but you also mentioned that there were special effects associated with them. I only know a little of brother wands, are the effects similar? And if they are, what are they?”

“Hmm.” Albus swallowed a bite of toast and paused before responding. “It is surmised that the wands could not be persuaded to work against one another, although it is unknown whether the resulting side-effect of this would be the same as it is with brother wands, or whether it would be a different sort of effect altogether.” He chuckled. “A very good thing I wasn’t your Defence teacher, Minerva, or we may have had quite a time of it! But beyond that, it is believed that mated wands . . .” Albus paused as if searching for words. “Mated wands are believed to enhance the strength of any spells cast in common effort. If we were both working toward the same ends and casting spells simultaneously, the wands would . . . recognise each other and the strength with which the spell was cast would be amplified. I certainly did notice that effect when we worked on the wards together, on those few occasions when we tested the wards together . . . perhaps I ought to have told you about the wands at that time, but I did not wish to influence your participation in the project by creating any further sense of obligation in you. Aside from that, it would not have been of any practical use for you to know of it, and would have benefited only me.”

Minerva pondered his words. She was actually grateful he hadn’t told her about their wands at the time, though not for the reasons he had articulated. As a teenager, she would have been tempted to read more into the relationship between their wands than was there, and imagine that it was somehow significant to their own relationship, and given the difficulty and pain she was already dealing with at the time, she would likely have wallowed even more in her despair over her unrequited love. It would not have been at all healthy. Bad enough that she should now, at her age, wish she had been born decades earlier, but as a teenager, she would have no doubt been convinced that fate had played a nasty joke on her and that she’d been meant to have been born many years before, to have met him and been mated to him as their wands were . . . But that did raise the question in her mind: what _did_ this mean, if anything, for them, and not just for their wands? It had taken so very long for Ollivander to have found the right wand for her, the wand that chose her, and even though he had not been the Ollivander to have made the wand, he clearly knew how special it was, and he had written to Albus and told him. But he had made no mention of it to her at the time . . . Of course, she had been sniffling and snuffling in his shop just minutes before he had presented her with the wand, hardly an impressive sight, she was sure. She had been just a crying child to him.

“Albus, I’ve been thinking . . . it took so long for a wand to choose me, and considering that witches and wizards can use almost any wand to some degree, it seems very odd that another wand did not choose me first. Or at least perform well enough that we might have stopped after a while and just . . . settled for one that didn’t blow things up when I waved it.”

Albus laughed. “No Ollivander would ever let you ‘settle’ for a wand, Minerva.” He looked at her fondly. “You should know that . . . How many wands do you think you went through?”

“We arrived at his shop when he opened at eight-thirty. When we left, it was almost lunchtime.”

“Oh, my dear! No wonder you were in tears!”

“I don’t believe Ollivander was particularly happy, either. At about ten, he locked the door and put up a closed sign. Everyone had received their Hogwarts letters the day before, and there was a regular trickle of customers. After being interrupted several times in his search for the correct wand for me, he became frustrated and just closed up, said everyone could come back later. That was one of the awful things. Five or six other children had come in and they received their wands in minutes, and we just tried one after the other . . . and they were all disasters. But today, I can pick up most any wand and get it to behave for me, at least for simple spells.”

“Well, you are now a fully qualified witch, Minerva – more than that, you are a Transfiguration mistress! I would hope you could perform basic spells with most any wand. You were only eleven and not yet trained.”

“Still . . . there must be a reason for it.” She pulled her wand from her pocket again and looked at it. “That _this_ wand chose me . . . and you possess its mate. It just seems . . . it should mean something, I guess.” Minerva shrugged.

“It does, Minerva. It means that the quality of our magic is similar. It is that simple.”

“Surely not, Albus!” Minerva looked at him disbelievingly.

Albus laughed. “My, Minerva! You asked me, and now you don’t believe me?”

“It’s not that . . . it is just . . . our magic is nothing alike. You are very powerful, Albus. Sometimes I think you overestimate me, but even if you were not overestimating me, you must still see that your statement is absurd. You are so much more powerful than I, I doubt the difference could even be quantified!”

Albus shook his head, still smiling. “You mistook my words. I said nothing about our relative magical strength, merely that the _quality_ of our magic is similar. You are very accomplished with Transfiguration, you were able to become an Animagus after a truly remarkably short time of study, you have a magical signature that is somewhat similar to mine . . . no, not similar, precisely . . . how to explain this . . . Our magic resonates well together, Minerva. It is as though . . . as though each of us were playing an instrument in the same key, if you understand what I mean by that. Our magic is very easily harmonised. The wands are an indication of this resonance and harmony.”

Minerva nodded. “Yes, yes, I see that . . . and I understand what you mean by that. I have often thought . . .” Minerva fought a blush that was creeping upon her.

“Yes? What have you often thought, my dear?”

“Well, you used the musical metaphor; it’s just that I’ve sometimes used the same metaphor, in my mind, when thinking of . . . of what your magic feels like to me. That’s all. I understood the metaphor.” She was _not_ going to tell him that his magic felt to her like an orchestra playing a symphony. To the extent that she was able to sense other wizards’ or witches’ magic, when they were casting a spell, or when they were particularly physically close to her, the best she could say of any of them was that they might resemble a quartet or possibly a chamber group, but most of them felt like single instruments, sometimes out-of-tune instruments, at that.

Albus nodded. “It is a pity that it took so long for Ollivander to think of that wand, though.”

Minerva rolled her eyes. “He could have spared us all a lot of grief if he had.”

Albus chuckled. “Well, it worked out well, in the end. The wand found its witch!”

“I wish I knew more about them – mated wands in general, I mean. Do you know of any books . . . ?”

“There are some books on wandlore in the library, although I doubt you will find very much about mated wands in them, aside, perhaps, for a few superstitions and myths.” Albus finished his cup of tea and poured another for each of them. Changing the subject, he said, “I presume that there will be staff returning to the castle tonight for tomorrow’s committee meeting. Do you think that I should arrange breakfast for everyone in the staff room? We don’t usually do that in the summer, even if there are several people here, but perhaps . . . do you think it would be a good idea, or do you think everyone would prefer to breakfast on their own at the time of their own choosing?”

Minerva forgot her questions about mated wands as the conversation turned to the arrival of the other staff members, the upcoming committee meeting, and the committee’s decision to try to draft a proposal that day.

“I do not think that your proposal will be incorporated, Albus. I am sorry . . . perhaps I am wrong. But I don’t want you to be disappointed if the committee’s decision is not the one you had desired.”

Albus sighed and shook his head. “Perhaps it was a foolish hope . . . perhaps Gertie was correct when she said I should have come to them with this as a decision for which I wanted their support and their suggestions on how to best carry it out. She reminded me that the school is not a democracy and that I can make unilateral decisions without being a dictator . . . I should have thought more of Robert and his needs, and just done what I thought best for him.”

“Albus, you couldn’t do that. You had to consider what was best for the school, not simply what was best for Robert. Although I must say that I do agree with Gertrude in principle here. You cannot present every important decision to the staff for them to have the final say. You are the Headmaster, and, in most things, anyway, you should have the final say. Of course, without the staff’s full support, I doubt that you would have had very much success in this instance . . . I don’t know if there was any better way to have gone about this than the way you chose.” Minerva sighed. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think that they want to throw Professor Pretnick out on his ear, either. I think they will try to create a compromise, and since the rest of the staff agreed to abide by the decisions of the committee . . . you will have their support.”

Albus nodded sadly. “I do not relish telling Robert of the decision, though.”

“He may be pleased with it, Albus. He does not seem to believe it is advisable for him to come back as Defence teacher, anyway.”

Albus pushed back from the table and placed his napkin next to his plate. “That is his despair speaking, Minerva. I am sure of it. If he had reason to hope for a normal life . . . I had hoped I could give that to him.”

“You did what you could, Albus. Don’t berate yourself about it. You aren’t responsible for the situation, after all. It’s nothing of your creation, and you are doing the best you can to deal with the aftermath.”

He just nodded and stood. “Well, Minerva, this has been a delightful morning, but I do need to be going, I’m afraid.”

“Of course, Albus. I’m sure we’ll see each other later. Thank you once again for the lovely gift. It is a wonderful picture, and its frame will make the others look quite plain in comparison!”

“Perhaps I might see it in its new home?” Albus suggested before realising that he was requesting entrance to Minerva’s bedroom. It sounded like a bad pick-up line.

“Well, um, I need to move things around a bit . . . I just . . . emptied my pockets last night. It’s not very neat. Um, but I suppose, if you would like . . .” Minerva fumbled for a way in which to refuse his request; she truly did not want him to see the way that she had arrange his other picture with the dried rose on its frame and the two stones in front of it. If she couldn’t discourage him, perhaps the excuse of saying that she had just emptied her pockets might at least explain the sentimental placement of the twinned stones, but a dried rosebud did simply leap up from its place and affix itself to a picture frame all by itself.

“I am sorry, Minerva, I forgot myself. It was rude of me. I’ll just . . . let myself out.” Albus felt his cheeks grow pink; he deserved a bit of embarrassment, he thought, and to have the grace to allow his embarrassment to show. Just because he had been in her bedroom on other occasions for pragmatic reasons did not mean that he could just invite himself in whenever he wanted. What Minerva must be thinking of him at that moment, he could only imagine.

“No, Albus! Really, it’s all right – not rude at all.” Her hesitation and reluctance had clearly made him uncomfortable. He no doubt believed that she was reluctant to have him in her bedroom, and he never would have had any inappropriate intentions, Minerva was certain of that. Albus must believe her either a persnickety old maid or mistrusting of him in particular. 

He had begun to back toward the door. Minerva rose from her seat and stopped him, putting a hand on his arm. “You needn’t go yet, Albus.”

Albus hesitated. “I just thought . . . I hadn’t thought . . .”

“You spent a good deal of time on the picture and the frame. It’s a natural curiosity to want to see it in place. It’s just that, well, to be honest, Albus, I don’t know as I’d want anyone to see my room at the moment . . . I’m a bit of a secret sentimentalist.” Minerva smiled slightly and shrugged. “But that’s hardly a crime, and I suppose you know me well enough . . . come on, help me decide where to put the new picture.” She brightened with her invitation. If she didn’t make too much of a fuss, perhaps her little shrine wouldn’t strike him as anything peculiar, after all.

“It was still very forward of me, Minerva – ” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Albus. We’re good friends.” Minerva paused, remembering the difference in their ages, backgrounds, and positions. “You may not be Poppy Pomfrey, but please don’t feel that you need to stand on ceremony with me. That’s not like you, anyway.”

“Perhaps not, but I hope that it’s also not like me to be rude and lacking in consideration for common decency and the feelings of others.”

“Not at all! Really, Albus! You are always a gentleman – Melina always calls you ‘gallant,’ and I couldn’t disagree with that description.”

Albus’s cheeks grew pinker. “Well, that is no doubt an exaggeration. She was always a warm-hearted girl.”

Minerva laughed. “Nonetheless, come and help me rearrange things, hmm? Unless you need to go right away.”

“All right, my dear.” Albus smiled. “Although if you would like a moment . . .”

“Oh, it’s just my silliness – just don’t laugh at my sentimentality, at least not too loudly!” Minerva smiled at him. 

“I promise to restrain myself, my dear.” He chuckled. “I have my own little quirks, you know – we all do.”

Minerva picked up the photograph and looked at it again, smiling. “It really is a wonderful picture of you, Albus. Thank you!”

“I am just happy that you like it, Minerva.”

“Very much,” Minerva said as she opened the door. She wished in that moment that she were adept at wandless nonverbal charms so that she could discreetly remove the rose from its place on the picture frame, but given that it was Albus who was with her, he’d likely detect her casting the spell, in any case. 

“Let me just move a few things here,” she said as she hurried over to her dressing table. 

Before she scooped up the small picture of him and the round white stones, and deposited them unceremoniously on her bed, Albus caught a glimpse of the frame. He blinked, but Minerva had put the picture on her bed, face down, and tossed the stones next to it. He thought that he noticed the dried rosebud attached to the upper lefthand corner of the frame . . . but he must have been mistaken. She had simply gathered it up with the rest of the things. 

“Now, we need to rearrange the different photographs – this one is somewhat larger than the others. I like there to be . . . balance. I think perhaps just placing it here, on this side, and putting the others over here . . . no . . . you know, there’s another photograph somewhere . . . I never really unpacked the way I should have in December. Where would it be?” Minerva went over to her wardrobe, knelt, and dragged out a small wooden chest and set it aside, then reached into the back and pulled out a small cardboard box. She Levitated it over to her bed and replaced the wooden box back in the wardrobe.

“In here, somewhere, I have a picture of Poppy and me, taken in London when she came down for a visit last summer.” 

Minerva flipped through the folded parchments, papers, and envelopes until she found the photograph, which had been tucked into a folded parchment to protect it. She drew it out and looked at it. She had been meaning to frame it and do something with it, but never took the time before she had moved from London. It had lain here in the box with assorted documents and old family letters, almost forgotten.

“I think that if I frame it, this would look nice to one side of the photograph of my parents and brothers, and I could put the picture of Melina and Murdoch next to the one of you. That would balance it quite well, don’t you think?” Minerva asked, turning to Albus. “In the meantime, I’ll just put your picture here, and the other three in a little grouping over there. And if I move some of these other things around . . .” Minerva waved her wand, rearranging the various items on her vanity.

“That’s a nice picture of you and Poppy,” Albus said, picking it up and looking at it. Minerva was laughing, and Poppy had a puckish expression, as though pleased that she could make her friend laugh.

“Mmm. A friend from the Ministry took it – Claire Philbottom, you may know her, as she works in the Minister’s office.” Claire was an older witch who had become something of an ally to Minerva, giving her news and gossip about anything that might affect her, and even some things that wouldn’t. 

“Ah, yes, Madam Philbottom. I am acquainted with her.”

“It’s a better picture of Poppy than it is of me, I’m afraid – which may be one reason I never did anything with it. I look like a braying donkey.”

Albus laughed. “You most certainly do not, Minerva! I think it is a delightful photograph of you. You look happy and full of life.”

Minerva raised her eyebrows. “If you say so, Albus.”

“I do,” he declared with a grin. “Now, why don’t we do something about a frame for it now – that way I can see everything in situ, so to speak.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“If you wouldn’t mind sacrificing a few of your hairpins, I think I could do something quickly for you, if you like. It wouldn’t be as ornate as the other, of course . . .”

“Oh! That would be fine! The hairpins are charmed, though, Albus . . . that might affect the Transfiguration.”

“I’m sure it will not prove a problem.” 

Albus emptied the small porcelain dish of its hairpins, drew his wand and cast several spells in quick succession. It was rather a blur to Minerva, and as he was doing it nonverbally, she wasn’t entirely sure what spells he was using – or even if he was using any actual spells at all. First, he must have removed the charm from the hairpins, and they glowed faintly, but briefly, then the hairpins seemed to gather themselves together, merge, then reform to create a simple picture frame. It was nothing Minerva couldn’t have done herself, of course, but it was a pleasure to watch him work.

“Now if I may have that bit of parchment,” Albus said, indicating the parchment in which the photograph had been enclosed.

He created a backing to hold the photograph in place in its frame and slipped the picture into its new home. 

“I seem to have forgotten a small detail,” he said, frowning at his work. He waved his wand once more, and a small stand emerged from the picture-backing, creating a prop for the frame. 

“Is this all right, my dear?” he asked, holding out for Minerva’s inspection.

The frame was simple, but he had put little curlicues in each of the corners, and it certainly was an improvement over having the photograph sitting in a box in her closet.

“That’s fine, Albus. I like it,” she answered with a nod. She liked the simple design, in fact, and although the picture frame he had made for the other photograph was fairly highly-decorated by comparison, the pattern of ivy was pleasing, somehow simple, natural, and ornate all at once. There was something rather Art Nouveau about the gold and silver frame, she thought, and it was certainly an original design, not merely a copy of something remembered, or the result of happy chance, as many such Transfigurations are. But she would not have expected less of something done by Albus Dumbledore.

One more wave of his wand, and Albus sealed the Transfiguration, making it permanent, then he cast a charm to protect the photograph. He handed Minerva the finished product.

Minerva smiled. “Thank you, Albus . . . you know, I am beginning to feel quite indebted to you. I hope you know how much I appreciate everything you do for me.”

“It is entirely my pleasure, my dear,” he said with an answering smile. “Now, let’s see how everything looks when you have it the way you want it!”

Minerva placed the photograph of herself and Poppy next to the one of her parents and brothers, then moved the picture of Melina and Murdoch to sit slightly behind and to one side of the picture of Albus and herself. She nodded.

“I think I like that. I may move things about more, but for now . . . that will do.” She moved the small porcelain dish to the back of the vanity. “Now, of course, I’ll need to go into Hogsmeade for more hairpins,” she said with a laugh.

Albus grinned. “Well, you do have a few left.” He motioned toward her hair, which Minerva had place up in a French twist that morning.

Minerva laughed again. “Thank you for your help, Albus. And your time. I know you had wanted to be on your way some time ago.”

“Yes, I’m afraid that a number of owls arrived for me while I was away yesterday, and I must deal with them before they accumulate unmanageably.”

“I could help you with that, Albus, if you’d like.”

“No, no, that’s fine, Minerva. You enjoy your day! And Gertrude will be here tomorrow. She can take on some of it, if need be.”

“Of course.” And that was more appropriate, as she was his Deputy. “Let me show you out.”

A few minutes later, Albus had left, and Minerva was standing in her bedroom looking at her dressing table. She shook her head. She liked the symmetry, but it still seemed somehow out-of-kilter to her. With a quick wave of her wand, she moved Albus’s picture to the side of the vanity closest to her bed, moved the pictures of her family to the other side, and then hesitated before moving Poppy’s photograph across the room to sit on a small plant table that had served no purpose, but which had been there when Minerva took possession of the rooms. Having done that, Minerva lovingly picked up the small framed picture of Albus that she had tossed so carelessly on the bed. She breathed a sigh of relief to see that no damage had been done to the little rose. 

Gazing at the photograph that she had had for so many years, Minerva couldn’t bring herself to part with it, despite the wonderful new picture that Albus had given her. She carefully placed it on her bedside table, pausing before setting the little white stones in front of it. Now, she was pleased.

Before she left her bedroom, Minerva once again lifted Albus’s gift from her dressing table. It had been an excellent choice, she thought. It was wonderful to be able to pick it up and see Albus directing a proud and affectionate gaze at her, his blue eyes bright and warm. A few minutes later, Minerva shook herself from her reverie, reminding herself that the photograph would be there for her any time she wanted to look at it, and she stepped out into her sitting room to find the book that she had started while at the Gamps but which she had been unable to find the time for since returning to Hogwarts.

Blampa had efficiently cleared away the breakfast things, but her small round table was still a bit larger than usual, so Minerva returned it to its usual size before going into her tiny kitchen to make herself a pot of tea. Calling Blampa for tea might be more efficient, but Minerva enjoyed making her own tea, and Blampa had begun to make sure that Minerva always had fresh milk and a well-stocked tin of ginger newts in her kitchen now that they had reached their new understanding. Blampa was actually shaping up to be a fairly good house-elf, if a bit annoyingly enthusiastic about everything. But that was better than having a gloomy elf, Minerva supposed. 

She brought her tea with her out to her little table, sat in the chair that Albus had vacated earlier, and read _Pnin_ , drank tea, and munched on ginger newts for the remainder of the morning. Because Wilhelmina and Hagrid had both informed the house-elves that they would not be present for lunch today, she and Albus were going to make-do, as he had said. Likely for him, that meant lunch at his desk. After all of her ginger newts and a rather late breakfast, Minerva didn’t feel hungry, so after she read for as long as she wanted, she decided to begin moving her things from her old Transfiguration classroom to her new one, calling Blampa to help her. When Blampa heard what Minerva wanted, she snapped her fingers and Disapparated, to reappear a few minutes later with three other house-elves. 

“They’s all bored, Professor Minerva. Blampa asks if Polky, Stanga, and Kreffent can helps.”

“That would be fine. Many hands make light work!”

Blampa looked puzzled at that, but her Professor was always saying peculiar things, so she and the other house-elves Disapparated, leaving Minerva to follow in a more pedestrian manner, literally.

With the house-elves cheerful assistance, Minerva soon had all of her things moved down to the first-floor Transfiguration classroom. Deciding what to leave of Professor Dumbledore’s and what to remove was more troublesome, and then what to do with what she removed posed a question, as well. He hadn’t had time to clear out his office completely, so Minerva left her own things in boxes on the floor of the office, but had the house-elves carefully pack up everything from the classroom that she wasn’t leaving in place. She would have to ask Albus later what he would like to do with his things, and make arrangements to move into the office. If she were to become Head of Gryffindor, she would also have a study in her rooms in the Tower, so some of what she normally kept in her office she could move up there. She would have to speak with him about that soon. No doubt he hadn’t forgotten, but was just trying not to pressure her for her decision.

By the end of the afternoon, Minerva was looking forward to supper and felt warm, dusty, and sticky after arranging her new classroom, so she took a fast shower and changed her clothes before heading to the staff room. When she arrived, Hagrid and Johannes were already there, discussing an infestation of some sort, and when she sat down and joined them, she was disappointed to see the food appear on the table. That meant in all likelihood that Albus wasn’t coming to dinner that evening, although he could just be running late and had asked the house-elves to serve supper as they usually did lunch. 

Despite her disappointment at Albus’s absence, Minerva enjoyed the conversation around the table. Wilhemina took a seat between Minerva and Hagrid; fortunately, Johannes steered the conversation away from any of the nauseating topics that seemed to fascinate the other two. Flitwick puffed into the staff room a few minutes after the meal appeared, asking if they would mind if he joined them. They teased him a bit about his question, telling him he was practically on the staff already, and he was already working without compensation, so the least they could do was feed him. 

In a lull in the conversation, Minerva turned to Johannes. “Professor Birnbaum, do you suppose I might have a word with you after dinner? I have a few Herbology-related questions, and I thought I might pick your brain, if you don’t mind.”

Johannes laughed warmly. “Of course, Minerva! You make pick away all you like! I am always happy to discuss my subject.”

Not long after that, Albus came in and took the free seat across from Minerva. 

“Busy day, Albus?” Wilhelmina asked.

“Mm, quite,” he responded, loading his plate with red cabbage, mashed potatoes, and sausages. 

As he began to eat, Minerva Levitated the bowl of French beans toward him. “There are green beans, as well, Professor.”

An almost imperceptible grimace crossed Albus’s face before he smiled and took the offered bowl, helping himself to a small, one might say, minute, portion of the vegetable. He looked up to see Minerva watching him, and added one more spoonful of the beans to his plate. Minerva quirked a smile and resumed eating. He could call her “Mother McGonagall” all he wanted; Poppy had said he should eat more fruit and veg. He couldn’t eat it if it wasn’t on his plate. Whether he ate it once it was, that was up to him, but he should at least make an attempt, Minerva thought.

“Had you wanted your pudding tonight, Minerva?” Johannes asked her as he finished his meal. “I do not think that I will indulge. I was far too spoiled by my friend’s mother the last few days! English cooking may be . . . well, English cooking, but your sweets! Ah!” Johannes made a blissful expression. “Ausgezeichnet! And she insisted on a full tea every afternoon. I ate so much cream and butter, I thought I would begin to mooing!”

Minerva laughed. “No, I’m finished, as well. I have a house-elf who, for better or worse, insists on providing me with a steady supply of biscuits. And not just any biscuits, mind you,” she said as she stood up from the table, “but ‘happy-tasting’ biscuits! That is what she insists they are, and I won’t contradict her.”

“Then come for a walk with me, Minerva, and we will talk!”

Before following the Herbology teacher out of the room, Minerva stopped by Albus. “Do you suppose I could have a word, Professor? Tonight, or tomorrow morning?”

“Of course, my dear. Perhaps tomorrow morning . . . here in the staff room? Ten o’clock?”

The committee meeting was scheduled to begin at eleven o’clock and go for as long as necessary; the committee would have lunch served to them in the staff room. Albus was scheduled to answer a few final questions before the committee began its work on the proposal. 

“That sounds fine. I will see you then!”

Minerva joined Johannes in the entrance hall, and they both departed the castle through the great front doors and began to stroll in the direction of the greenhouses.

“So, Minerva, you wished to poke my brain a bit in hope of extracting some information?” Johannes asked with a barely suppressed grin.

“I do, indeed. Ivy, specifically _Hedera pythonica_. What do you know of it?”

“A great many things, Minerva . . . if I knew whence sprung your interest, I could better respond to it.”

Minerva drew her wand from her pocket. “I always knew that my wand was of ivy, but I recently learned some other rather interesting and intriguing things about the nature of this particular wand, and learned, too, that it was not of ordinary English ivy, as I had previously believed, but of magical ivy. I became curious about it.”

Johannes held out his hand. “May I see it?”

Minerva handed him her wand. He held it in front of his face, just inches from his eyes and examined it closely. He then ran it across his palm in both directions, turning it slightly as he did so, and finally, he held it up above him, squinting at it against the backdrop of the pewter-coloured sky.

Returning the wand to Minerva, Johannes said, “Very nice specimen. And most certainly, as you say, _Hedera pythonica_ and not common ivy. If it were not your wand, I could perform tests upon it to confirm this, but I have no doubt.”

Minerva smiled. “Thank you. And ivy?” Minerva had taken Herbology through her NEWTs, but could remember little other than the most basic facts about ivy, and nothing about magical ivy; indeed, she was unsure that she had even learned about magical ivy as a student, although its Latin name hadn’t sounded entirely unfamiliar when Albus had used it. She simply couldn’t place it in any context.

“Well, since you are asking me, I will tell you and begin at the beginning, presuming you know nothing; that way, you may learn whatever it is you are seeking. Please excuse me if I repeat what you know.”

“That’s fine. I remember little enough, anyway, and it may not be correct or relevant.”

They reached the greenhouses, but rather than go in, Johannes led Minerva to a wooden bench outside of Greenhouse Three. 

“It is too warm in there for comfortable conversation. This is more pleasant.”

Johannes stretched his long legs in front of him and leaned his head back against the side of the greenhouse, lacing his fingers behind his neck, beneath his long, sandy, greying hair, and stared off into the distance.

“Efeu. Treue, Unsterblichkeit, ewiges Leben, und Liebe. So we learn in first-year Herbology when I am a boy. You know the meaning, Minerva?” he asked, not turning his head.

“Yes, of course, ivy, fidelity, immortality, eternal life, and love.”

“Richtig. These are, of course, folk meanings, but they are not without their own truth. In this country, I teach more concretely that the ivy vine spirals about a plant, climbing it, being supported by it, embracing it. The ivy vine may appear delicate, but it is powerful; in the absence of trees, it may climb a brick wall and, in time, cause it to crumble. Ivy can reach great heights when it has a support, to the top of the tallest oak it can climb. And yet, without the tree, the ivy can content itself to creep along the earth, spreading widely and vigorously.

“Ivy is not a parasite, you know. It coexists quite peacefully with its tree. But just as ivy can crumble masonry, it can also bring destruction to the tree through its mere existence. Magical ivy, however, is different in this regard. It, too, will grow to the top-most branches of a tree. It, too, may blanket the tree entirely, its own leaves obscuring those of the tree. But magical ivy, rather than inadvertently starving its friendly host of sunlight, provides extra nutrition to the tree the more thickly it covers it. And where a mighty oak will fall when the common ivy permits strong winds to knock over the tree by growing so densely that the air can no longer move freely through the tree’s branches, magical ivy, through an as-yet unstudied mechanism, absorbs the power of the winds, allowing the tree to be buffeted, but not to fall.

“ _Hedera pythonica_ , the magical ivy, also provides a very positive protection for the tree that plays host, not merely off-setting its own potentially deleterious effects, by repelling harmful insects, beetles, and parasites that might otherwise infest the tree. And where common ivy ordinarily confines itself to deciduous trees such as the oak, the magical variety is found most often on the yew tree, which is also an evergreen, like the ivy itself.

“An interesting, though perhaps meaningless and purely coincidental, observation I have made, is that Muggle cemeteries in England often host yew trees, and in Germany, ivy is often a motif on Muggle gravestones.” Johannes shrugged. “In both the Muggle and the wizarding worlds, the two plants are associated with life, death, and immortality, yet the quality of their woods is quite different – both the yew and the magical ivy are resilient and long-lived however.

“I can tell you more of its botanical properties, if you wish, and its use in potions, but perhaps that is sufficient to your purposes? Your curiosity about your wand?”

Minerva nodded. “Yes, I think so . . . essentially, I wanted to know more about magical ivy and its differences with common English ivy. Come to think of it . . . isn’t magical ivy used in a clear-seeing potion of some kind?” Minerva furrowed her brow.

“It is. Though its efficacy is debatable.” Johannes chuckled. “Personally, I believe it is ineffective when taken by anyone who is not already possessed of divination talents. It would not help someone like me, who is hopeless in that regard, to see any more in the crystal ball than he already fails to see! But I do not think that means that it is not a potent potion. It simply has to have something to work with!”

“Is it used much in other potions?”

“There are several potions of which I am aware that call for magical ivy, but it is a fairly rare plant these days, and therefore expensive and not often used if something else may be substituted. Your brother may be able to tell you more. I believe it is the leaves and berries that are the parts most often used in potions.”

“And for wandmaking?”

“I am no expert in wands, Minerva, but yours is the first wand of which I am aware that is of _Hedera pythonica_ rather than _Hedera helix_ , the common entwining ivy we see everywhere and which, itself, has interesting properties. You could probably find more information on the use of different woods in wandmaking in the library, if you are interested.”

“I think that for now, this answers all of the questions I have – if I think of any others, may I ask you?”

“Of course, Minerva.” He smiled at her. “It is pleasant to sit and talk with you. I worried some about you. Not greatly, but you seemed so . . . preoccupied these last few months. You were more serious than serious, and I worried you were unhappy. You are all right? You do not mind my saying this, I hope . . .”

“No, no, I don’t mind. It is good of you to be concerned, but I am fine. I was under some stress; I suppose it has not gone away, but it has changed, and I am dealing with it better, I think.”

“If there is ever anything that I can do for you . . . or if you wish to speak to someone,” Johannes offered, shrugging one shoulder. “I know we do not know each other well, but Gertrude and Albus always spoke highly of you, and I would like to think I might be a friend to you for the short time I am here.”

“I do think of you as a friend, Johannes. Thank you. I will miss you when you leave, you know.”

“I will be happy for visitors, if you like to take a holiday in Germany. I will be in Dossenheim – do you know it? It is a small village, but a friend has procured me a place with land enough for a large greenhouse, and it is close to Heidelberg. You studied there, yes?”

“Yes, I did my apprenticeship in Heidelberg, and I am familiar with Dossenheim.” She smiled. “And will you be growing any of the other sort of vine there, Johannes?” she asked, referring to the winemaking the region was so well-known for.

“Perhaps, one day, after I have established my primary livelihood,” Johannes answered with a grin. “My friend’s cousin is an Apotheker, very successful, and he believes that his cousin will be happy to buy herbs and other potions ingredients from me.”

“Really?” Minerva asked. The world really was too small sometimes, she thought, the wizarding world in particular. “I may know this wizard. What’s his name?”

“Rudolf Brauer.”

“Rudolf . . . when you see him . . .” Minerva paused. “When you see him, will you give him my warm regards? Tell him . . . tell him just that.”

“I hear a story in the words you do not say, Minerva.”

She shrugged. “We knew each other in Heidelberg. I . . . I haven’t heard from him in a long time. I just hope he is well.”

Johannes nodded. “I will tell him this for you.” He stretched. “You know, I was going to work in the greenhouses tonight, but I think I will retire early in anticipation of that meeting tomorrow. I can look over all of the reports again, as well. Shall we walk back to the castle now?”

“Thank you, Johannes, but I think I will take a walk first. Clear my head before sleeping.”

The two stood. 

“Good night, then, Minerva. I will see you in the morning!”

“Good night. Thank you for explaining _Hedera pythonica_ to me, and for the company!”

“You are very welcome,” he responded warmly. 

Minerva headed around toward the east side of the lake, strolling with no particular destination in mind. It was odd, she thought, that Albus had not told her more of the qualities of Hedera pythonica, given that it was so entwined with the yew, both literally and figuratively, and his own wand was from the yew tree around which her ivy wand had once grown. Perhaps he thought it sufficient explanation to say that the wands were mates. Still, the relationship between magical ivy and its host tree was an interesting one, and one that required more consideration, she believed.

Dusk began to fall rapidly, and Minerva turned from the lake and from her musings, and headed back to the castle, to her rooms, and to her new picture of Albus, in its frame of gold and silver with a design of climbing ivy . . . a single thornless rose in the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, do not take my story as your source for accurate information about the Real World; I strive for verisimilitude, and if it is also accurate, that’s great. However, if you are curious about scientific, historic, cultural, or sociological details mentioned in RaM, I have no doubt that there is a wealth of accurate (and inaccurate!) information on the Web! 
> 
> That said, English ivy, also known as common ivy, is found on oak trees and other trees in that family, and ivy really is carved on grave markers as a symbol of immortality, and the yew is also associated with eternal life. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	75. Collision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva informs Dumbledore of her decision, but before she does that, she stumbles into something she doesn't understand. More than one person at Hogwarts is having a very bad day.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Gertrude Gamp, Johannes Birnbaum, Filius Flitwick, Hafrena MacAirt, other Hogwarts staff.

**LXXV: Collision**

Minerva rose early, took breakfast in her rooms – she and Albus had decided the previous day that people might prefer breakfasting at the time of their own choosing – then left for her morning walk. She encountered no one but a rather dreary looking Bloody Baron, which was somewhat unexpected, since the ghosts were rarely to be seen during the summer. She wondered idly what they did during the summer, but then, she really wasn’t entirely sure what they got up to most of the time, anyway. Peeves, of course, was a different story, and it was lovely that he began to lose his energy and his interest in harassing folk within a few days of the students leaving for the summer. He’d occasionally perk up and cause a little minor mischief, but then he would disappear again until he’d finally emerge on the first of September, thrilled and filled with renewed zest and a compelling desire to make an utter nuisance of himself.

After exercising in her Animagus form in the little knot of trees near Hagrid’s cabin, Minerva took a stroll, still in her tabby guise, down to the lake, careful to avoid the edge of the forest, as Albus had requested. She wouldn’t be overly cautious, but he was right that it was better to avoid danger than to have to deal with it once encountered. Minerva sat, front paws tucked neatly beneath her chest, and watched the ripples on the lake, becoming almost mesmerised by them. Finally, with a bit of reluctance, knowing that she had a long and possibly unpleasant meeting ahead of her, she returned to her ordinary form and headed back up to the castle. It was almost time for her meeting with Albus. 

Minerva wanted to inform him that she would take the position of Head of Gryffindor House. She was worried, now more than before, that she was being asked only because she was the only Gryffindor available. It seemed that was how Wilhelmina had ended up in the position, despite the fact that she herself felt ill-suited to it. Minerva had later learned that the reason Wilhelmina had left the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match was to take care of a very ill creature Hagrid had just rescued from the forest, not because she was uninterested in the results of the game or didn’t care to be supportive of her House. Still, it had been bad timing and reinforced the image she had of being an uncaring Head of House, which Minerva no longer believed was true. She was simply better with creatures than with people, though she was a very good teacher of her subject.

Minerva believed that, in time, she could become a good Head of Gryffindor. She had an excellent role model, for one; although Albus had been very preoccupied during the last few years in which she had been a student, he had always cared about his House and his students, and they knew it. Of course, she and Albus were temperamentally quite different. She didn’t think she should force herself to behave just as Albus had, but she could still approach it with the same sort of attitude, she thought. She certainly cared about the House and students, and it was important to her to do a good job. All of that would carry her a long way, even if she were only the best candidate for the job because she was the _only_ candidate for the job. She hoped she didn’t let down Albus – or the Gryffindors. 

It was ten minutes to ten when Minerva entered the castle. It would take her almost that long to return to her rooms and walk back down to the ground floor, so she went directly to the staff room to wait for Albus. When she got there, the door was ajar and she could hear the Headmaster speaking with someone, saying something about being sorry. When the other person answered, Minerva realised that Gertrude must have returned to the school that morning. Unsure whether to enter, to knock, or to leave, Minerva stepped toward the door. Through it, she could just see Albus and Gertrude on the far side of the room; they were standing close together, and he was in partial profile, although his back was to the rest of the room, and it appeared that his left hand was on Gertrude’s arm. Gertrude was facing him, and Minerva could see the soft, caring expression on the older witch’s face. Knowing she should leave, but feeling compelled to stay, Minerva heard Albus speak again.

“You cannot know what this means to me, Gertie, my dear. Especially today. I know I do not deserve – ”

Gertrude lifted her hand to his face, quieting him. “Hush, Albus. That’s so much nonsense, and you know it. And you know I am not doing this for you alone.”

“But – ”

“No ‘buts,’ Albus,” Gertrude said softly, stroking his cheek. “After . . . everything . . . neither of us should speak of what is earned or deserved, nor of what is given or owed. The main reason I hesitated was not because of what I felt or what I wanted myself, but because I was seeking the right thing to do for you.”

“I hope this, too, is not a sacrifice for you, my dear,” Albus said hoarsely. “I would not want to think you went against your own wishes.”

Gertrude’s expression grew even fonder, Minerva thought, if that were possible. “This _is_ what I wish, Albus. You know my wishes. . . .”

“I have not forgotten what you have told me, although I may forget other things at times. That is why I hesitated to ask so much of you . . . and though you do not want to hear me say it, I am very grateful and know well how fortunate a wizard I am,” Albus replied. 

Gertrude’s hand, which had remained resting on Albus’s cheek, moved to the back of his neck; her other hand came up and settled in the middle of his back, and Albus’s arms went around Gertrude. Minerva could no longer see Gertrude’s face, as she rested her head on Albus’s shoulder, her face turned toward him and away from the world. Albus had bent his head as he had embraced the witch, and Minerva could not see his face, either. She backed up, carefully, quietly, shuffling back toward the stair. When she reached the staircase, she popped into her tabby form and raced up four flights of stairs and down the short corridor to her rooms. 

Minerva almost forgot that she had to return to her ordinary form and give her password as she stood staring at the Silent Knight and his dog, who seemed particularly inquisitive about the cat looking up at him. Shaking herself, she returned to her ordinary form and whispered, “ _Alvarium album_.”

The door clicked open and she stumbled into her sitting room. She would be late to her meeting with Albus, she thought hazily as she collapsed onto her settee.

“Blampa!” she croaked.

The elf Apparated in with a loud snick. “Yes, Professor Minerva! May I, Blampa, serve?”

“Yes,” Minerva rasped; she cleared her throat. “Could you please inform the Headmaster that I am somewhat delayed but will meet him shortly.”

“That will be all, Professor Minerva?”

Minerva nodded, and when the little house-elf still stood there, looking at her with great eyes, she said, “Yes, just go, please.”

Minerva leaned back. She had no idea what to make of what she had seen and heard. She closed her eyes; they felt hot. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. She should know better than to listen at doors; an eavesdropper deserved whatever she heard and should not expect to hear anything good. Minerva let out a shaky breath. Is this how Albus had felt when he’d overheard her with Poppy that morning a few weeks before? No . . . Albus had said nothing nasty about her, she thought, remembering her own words and Poppy’s description of Albus’s expression. “Like a little boy whose pet Crup had died.”

No, this felt more as though a part of her had died, Minerva thought hazily. She drew a breath. She had to pull herself together. She still had to meet with Albus, then with the committee. She could not engage in any pitiful self-indulgence. Besides, she thought as she stood and headed to the loo, they could have been talking about a great many different things. And they embraced, but there was nothing odd in that. Albus had embraced her, after all, and she herself had embraced a good many people. But that had not been a brief embrace . . . but had it been . . . passionate? Minerva didn’t know how to characterise it – loving, certainly, on both sides, perhaps comforting . . . .

As she washed her face with cold water, Minerva reminded herself of her mantra: _I do not run the school, Albus’s private life is his private life and none of my affair, Gertrude is Albus’s deputy, Gertrude is Albus’s friend, I do not run the school and Albus’s private life is none of my affair_. Looking in the mirror, she decided that, although she looked slightly pale, she didn’t need a Glamour. Besides, it seemed that Albus could see through her Glamours, and he was the only one she really cared to hide from at the moment. Since that was not possible, she would simply have to behave in a businesslike manner. There was no question of her refusing to become Head of Gryffindor simply because of her feelings, her _unjustified_ feelings, about what she had seen in the staff room a few minutes before. She should not have even been . . . spying on them. She should have either announced her presence or left immediately. Or walked in after what she’d seen . . . perhaps received an explanation of what she’d interrupted. It may have been embarrassing, for all of them, but now Minerva wished she had. Now she had no reason to even mention it to Albus without it appearing that she had been lurking in the corridor and spying on him. Which, she supposed, she had been. She had always been too curious . . . it was one of the reasons Albus thought they should have guessed early on that her Animagus would be a cat.

Minerva made her way back downstairs. She was only about ten minutes late, although it felt as though an eternity had passed since she had witnessed the exchange between Albus and Gertrude and their comfortable embrace. That was, perhaps, what bothered her most about it, on reflection. How very comfortable they had seemed with each other. And Minerva was well-aware that Gertrude was not a particularly physically demonstrative person, although she had greeted her own son warmly, and had even, somewhat to Minerva’s surprise, given Quin a kiss before he left. But to have been so free to give and accept the embrace from Albus, to have felt comfortable enough to place a quieting hand upon his face then leave it there . . . Minerva cleared her throat. It would not do to think about this now; she needed to have her wits about her when she spoke with Albus.

Minerva stepped into the staff room. Albus was standing, looking at some of the books in the bookcase at the far end of the room. Gertrude was still there, but was seated at the table at the other end of the room, going through a file of parchments. Gertrude looked up as Minerva entered, and smiled at her.

“Good morning, Minerva! Good to see you,” the older witch said, still smiling, as she pulled a quill toward her and wrote something on one of the parchments. She cast a blotting charm on the ink then closed up the file. 

Minerva just nodded in response, giving what she knew must appear to be a stiff smile, but it was all she could manage at the moment.

Gertrude pushed the file in Albus’s direction as he turned and walked toward them both. “There you are, Albus. I will see you for lunch, then.” She stood, nodded at Minerva in a friendly manner, and left the room. 

Minerva, remembering that she had been able to see and hear quite well through the partially opened door, closed it behind the older witch.

“I am sorry I am late, Professor.”

“You aren’t very late, my dear, and Gertrude and I had some business to finish up,” Albus said, picking up the folder that Gertrude had left for him. “Thank you, though, for sending your house-elf to let me know. That was quite considerate.” He smiled warmly at her.

Minerva simply nodded. “Well, to get down to our business, then – ”

“Won’t you have a seat, Minerva?” Albus asked gesturing toward the armchairs by the fireplace.

“Yes, thank you,” she said, but she pulled a chair out from the table and sat there.

Albus smiled and cocked his head, “Ah, so we are down to business, then . . . quite right.” He took the chair across from her. “You had asked to see me, Professor McGonagall?” he asked, his expression more serious.

“Yes. It is about the request you made of me a few weeks ago regarding Gryffindor House.”

“Ah, yes! I was hoping you were giving that some thought. Have you come to any conclusions, my dear?”

Minerva hesitated slightly, but knowing she really had little option, she forged ahead. “I have. I have decided to accept your offer. I will become Head of Gryffindor House, if you still wish it, and will endeavour to do my best for Gryffindor.”

“Splendid, my dear! Simply splendid! And of course I still wish it! And I know you will do very well, indeed.”

“Yes, well, it’s not as though we have other options . . . but I will try to . . . to live up to your legacy, sir.”

Albus looked at her quietly for a moment. “Minerva, it would not matter if we had a staff filled with Gryffindors, you would always be my first choice for the position. And although you say we have no other options, if you yourself do not wish to do this . . . I can find another way, I am sure. I do not wish you to feel you must do this only because either you believe yourself to be the only option or out of mere loyalty to me. I do . . . _appreciate_ loyalty in my Heads of House, but I do not want that to be the reason you take it on if you truly do not wish to. It is a tremendous commitment, and could quickly become a burden if you were doing it for the wrong reasons.”

“No, no . . . if you were to offer it to me under other circumstances, I would want to be Head of Gryffindor very much.” For some reason, Minerva was having a difficult time meeting Albus’s gaze. “I just thought, perhaps I was not suited to it.”

“I think you will do well, and so does Gertrude. She said that to me again recently. And Wilhelmina also voiced her support for you. She said that she believes that you will always have the students’ best interests in mind and do what you must to take care of them.” Albus paused, gazing at her with a slightly concerned expression. “I hope you will be happy with this decision, Minerva. And if there is anything that I can do – ”

“There’s nothing. Nothing at the moment, Professor. Although I had begun moving into the first-floor Transfiguration classroom yesterday, and although I had the house-elves pack up anything from the classroom itself that I did not wish to keep there, I did not know what to do with the things in your office and didn’t want to disturb them.”

Albus nodded. “Thank you. I will have the office cleaned out tomorrow and have everything removed that you had packed up from the classroom.” He looked at her quizzically. “Is everything all right, my dear? You seem very . . . sober.”

“Everything is fine. There is simply a lot going on right now. A lot of changes. And the committee meeting begins in a little while.” She quirked a small grin. “That prospect is enough to make anyone sober. And don’t hurry with the office; take care of it when it is most convenient for you. I told my parents that I would be coming for my visit as soon as my business at Hogwarts was concluded. I will likely leave tomorrow, perhaps the day after. They had been expecting me Saturday, actually.”

“I’m sorry, my dear. I have monopolised you, just as I feared . . . you could have gone to your parents’ this weekend instead of returning to Hogwarts with me, and simply returned for the meeting this morning.”

“I was pleased to stay . . . I enjoyed it.” Minerva’s voice came out in an unexpected rasp.

“My dear, are you certain you are all right?” There was obvious concern in his voice, and he reached across the table to touch her arm gently.

“Fine, Professor,” Minerva said, clearing her throat. “I was out in my Animagus form for a long time this morning. Perhaps the damp . . .” She trailed off.

Albus nodded. “As you so often remind me, you must take care of yourself.” He sighed and looked at the many-handed clock on the fireplace mantle. “Almost time for the meeting, but we have a few more minutes. Wilspy!” he called.

Wilspy popped in immediately. “Yes, sir, Professor Dumbledore. May I serve?”

“Yes, peppermint tea with honey for Professor McGonagall, please, and a cup of Assam with milk and sugar for me.”

“Professor – ” Minerva began to protest, vainly, as Wilspy simply popped away to retrieve tea for the two.

“Professor McGonagall,” Albus said with mock sternness, “I cannot have my Heads of House making themselves ill in the damp, chilly morning air. If you insist on running about in it, then I insist on a cup of peppermint tea for you afterward!”

Minerva smiled slightly. “All right. Thank you.”

“Speaking of Gryffindor House once more, I think it best, if you don’t mind, if you were to take up the position immediately after the warding. Wilhelmina spoke to me a few days ago and said that she would prefer that, as well. But, of course, if you’d rather not . . . .”

“That would be fine with me, too. I suppose I should speak with her about moving into the rooms in Gryffindor Tower.”

Albus nodded. “I’m sure we can work out a suitable arrangement. It would be advisable to do so before the warding, however, as we make most of the changes to the castle layout at that time, too, so if there is anything special you would like done – to have your bath and loo duplicated, for example – ”

Two cups of steaming tea appeared in front of them, and Albus took a sip of his.

“I will think about it. I would like to keep the Silent Knight and Fidelio, though, if that is possible. I’ve grown rather fond of them, odd as the Knight is.” She quirked a little grin, thinking of her peculiar pair of door wardens.

Albus smiled. “Done! We will do it on the second, when we make the other changes, all right, my dear?”

Minerva nodded. “Thank you.” 

“You are welcome.”

She breathed in the stimulating aroma of the peppermint tea and took a sip. Good, not too much honey. Knowing how sweet Albus liked his tea, Minerva was unsure how Wilspy would have prepared it for her, but she must have filed her preferences away in that little house-elf brain of hers. Minerva took another sip. It did seem to soothe her throat. She hadn’t even been aware that it had required soothing. It had, though, and so did she. Albus was being kind to her, as he always was, and, after all, it had been her decision to sit at the table and not more comfortably by the fireplace, but she still wished that he would say or do something special . . . something other than ordering her a cup of peppermint tea. But that was ridiculous of her, she recognised; he had just given her the most beautiful framed photograph, the frame of which he had designed and made himself; he had taken her on a picnic breakfast, then out to dinner, accompanied her to the concert, then brought her for drinks afterward. What more could she possibly expect from the man? She was being unreasonable and she knew it. But what she had seen between him and Gertie – for her, it was the stuff of nightmares. And she didn’t even really know what it was she had seen. It simply made her ill because of her fears that the two were involved somehow and that she didn’t know it.

As they drank their tea, Albus watched Minerva. He had the sense that she was unhappy about becoming Gryffindor Head – but she had declared that she wasn’t, so what could he say? If he told her he didn’t want her to take the position, that he would somehow work something else out so that she wouldn’t have to do it, she would be dreadfully hurt, he was sure, and take it as a sign that he didn’t believe her competent. He sighed softly and finished his tea. He had already told her that she didn’t have to take it and had expressed his belief that she would do a very good job; there was nothing more he could think of to say at that moment.

Minerva looked up from her tea as Albus sighed. Probably worried about the outcome of the committee meeting. At least she had forewarned him and it wouldn’t be a surprise. Although she could hardly believe it would have come as a surprise to him even if she hadn’t said anything – it certainly _shouldn’t_ be a surprise to him. Minerva felt a momentary annoyance with the wizard sitting across from her. He was not naive, but sometimes he certainly did a good impression of it. And if he had been more reasonable from the very beginning, proposed something that the staff could have lived with – even Madam Perlecta, with her dread of werewolves, had assented to the committee’s proposal, and she had even gone and paid the poor man a brief, though kindly, visit in hospital the week before – they wouldn’t have all wasted their time in meetings, research, debate, and occasionally, cross words. He could have made it all easier on all of them. But, Minerva thought with a sigh, he had wanted their participation. He believed it valuable . . . and perhaps he was right.

“You know, more applications for Wilhelmina’s job have come in over the last several days. Would you like to pick them up sometime today? You needn’t, of course . . . I know that you will be going on holiday, and you’ve already spent more time on Hogwarts business than anyone would expect you to – ”

“I would be happy to, Professor Dumbledore. As I said before, I am very pleased to be able to help, and I promised that I would assist you with this. It is neglectful of me not to have inquired about the applications before this.”

“No, not neglectful, Minerva. I could have brought them to your attention earlier. And although there is no immediate hurry, I would like to have your recommendations by the twelfth of August so that we can interview before the children return on the first. I do realise this is your holiday, however, and if it is inconvenient – ”

“Not at all. I would not have agreed to do this if I did not believe I would be able to, and I knew I would be visiting my parents . . . I can return to the school regularly if you like, perhaps every other day, and retrieve any that have arrived.”

“No, no need for that, my dear. They tend to come in a few at a time with none at all for days. Why don’t I simply send them on to you by owl as they arrive? You can, of course, choose to review them in whatever way you find most convenient for you.”

“Very well. That would be suitable.”

“In case for some reason I am not in my office when you are able to come by for them, I will leave the applications on my desk this afternoon if I need to leave. Please feel free to come in and retrieve them.”

Minerva nodded. “I will do that, then, either this afternoon or this evening, depending on how the committee meeting proceeds.”

“Yes, the committee meeting . . . I suppose we should open the door, lest folk decide to be polite and wait out there indefinitely. But first . . . Minerva . . . is everything all right? If you are nervous about being Head of Gryffindor, I am sure that Wilhelmina will be more than happy to help you while she is still here, and you can count on me to help, too. You merely need to ask, my dear, and I will help you in whatever way I can.”

Minerva looked up from her tea. He was looking at her seriously, concerned, and perhaps even slightly confused, about her reticence. She forced herself to smile.

“Thank you, Professor. And I will be sure to call on Wilhelmina for assistance if I need it.” Seeing his expression flicker, Minerva added, “And I will ask you for advice, as well, I am sure. I am actually looking forward to it. Truly.”

Albus nodded. “That’s good to hear, Minerva. . . . Minerva, have I done anything – ”

Just then the door opened, Johannes and Filius had arrived for the meeting, and Albus was unable to complete his question. Minerva’s cool attitude disturbed him; it was one thing to be professional when discussing Hogwarts business and another to be so distant and detached. He felt as though he were watching Minerva dealing with a near-stranger, not with him. Granted, they had agreed to keep school business and their personal relationship separate, but perhaps he had said or done something that had affected their friendship. He was clueless as to what it could have been, however – unless it was his inviting himself into her bedroom the day before. She had seemed fine when he’d left, however, and even yesterday during dinner she had treated him as always. Or perhaps it was the picture itself – perhaps the effort . . . perhaps she found his gift odd, an inappropriately intimate gesture. She had accepted the offer of a photograph of her former mentor, after all, and what she had received was more than just a copy of a picture of him. Albus could feel an ache in his heart as he contemplated the possibility that his relationship with Minerva was destined to be as it was in this moment, forever. No more picnics on the mountainside, no more concerts, no more private dinners, no more walks, no more breakfasts . . . but if that was what Minerva wanted, a purely professional relationship between them, he would live with it and honour her wishes. He had no claim on her, after all, for anything more than that, and it wasn’t as though he had been a particularly good friend to her during her first several months at the castle. He had no right to anything more. It was not as though any of his gestures of friendship could be those of a suitor; no, he had no claim on her. The pain of separation from Minerva seemed almost physical, but there was a meeting to be held, and he was Headmaster of Hogwarts, and he had done far more difficult tasks under far more difficult circumstances than attend a meeting and answer questions when he imagined his heart was breaking.

* * *

When Minerva stepped out of the staff room at five-thirty, she felt drained. They had finally hammered out their proposal by about three-thirty, but then they had Flitwick, who had been charged with recording everything, read the entire proposal back. This meant that at several points, one person or another had stopped him and declared that _that_ wasn’t what they had agreed to or meant at all. This led to more discussion, occasional bickering, and more revisions. Fortunately, Flitwick’s charms did a very good job at keeping track of the discussion on one set of parchments and the committee’s proposal on another set, and so the changes, once agreed upon, were easily made. Then at five o’clock, after the new Charms teacher had duplicated the proposal so that each person had a copy, they had sent for the Headmaster. Dumbledore had come down, listened to Johannes summarise their proposal, then perused a copy of it. He graciously accepted the committee’s proposal, saying that he might make a few additions to it, but that he would inform them of any changes before the full staff meeting, scheduled for early August, at which they would present the proposal to everyone, and they would have the opportunity to respond to the changes before then. 

Minerva hung about in the entry hall, watching as the committee members wandered by, drifting off to occupy themselves for the short time before dinner would be served. She wanted to catch Albus. Despite his accepting demeanor in the meeting, she was sure that he must be disappointed. Whatever she felt about anything else at the moment, she wanted to speak to him and make sure he didn’t feel he had failed Pretnick, as he had expressed the previous morning, nor that he felt that she had failed him. Finally, after it seemed that everyone else had left, Minerva was beginning to wonder if Albus had Flooed back to his office, and she was heading back toward the staff room to look for him, when Albus and Johannes emerged from the room, speaking in subdued voices.

“ . . . difficult time of year,” Birnbaum said soberly.

“Yes, it is, this one more than others, I think . . . but perhaps your idea might help,” Albus replied. “Merlin knows, I thought I had succeeded, but when I left . . .” Albus shrugged, but then saw Minerva standing near the stairs. “My dear Professor McGonagall, were you waiting for us?”

“I just thought I’d see . . . how you are.”

Albus smiled, eyes brightening. “I am fine. And you? It was a very long meeting.”

“Yes,” Johannes added, “it was. Thank you for participating, Minerva. It was most helpful.” The German Herbology teacher smiled at her warmly.

“I was glad to be of help – Professor Dumbledore, would you like to meet? About the proposal, I mean,” Minerva said, trying not to be distracted by Birnbaum’s presence.

“Perhaps later, Professor McGonagall, but at the moment, I need to be elsewhere.” He turned and looked at Birnbaum. “I told Gertrude I would fetch her for dinner.”

“Very good, Albus! I look forward to seeing you both there. Now, I need to see if the elves did as I asked today in Greenhouse two. Would you like to come with, Minerva?” he asked.

“No . . . thank you.” Minerva was not the slightest bit interested in whatever the elves might have been doing in Greenhouse two, although she recognised that Johannes was only asking for her company. “Perhaps some other time, later.”

Birnbaum nodded as Albus began up the stairs. “Yes, good. I see you later!”

Minerva turned toward the staircase as Johannes headed toward the front doors. “Albus, are you sure you don’t want to discuss it?” She heard the great oak door thunk shut behind her.

“Not at the moment, Minerva. As I said, I’m fetching Gertrude for dinner – she didn’t eat very much lunch and I don’t want her to miss her supper.” He paused, standing on the third step, looking down at Minerva. “Come with me, though? I am sure Gertie would be happy to see you. You can help me persuade her to come eat a decent supper.”

From what Minerva had observed, Gertrude never required any urging to eat, though the witch was far from plump, and Minerva certainly had no desire to see her at the moment, let alone fetch her for dinner with Albus. Still, it might be an opportunity to speak with him. . . . Perhaps he was disappointed in her, believing that she hadn’t represented him well on the committee; but she had believed she was there merely to present his position, not to advocate for it. Perhaps that was what he had wanted from her, and why he didn’t want to discuss it with her now.

As she stood there noncommittally, Albus took another step up, still looking down at her. “You needn’t, of course, Professor. We can meet more formally, if you prefer – later tonight, if you plan on leaving for your holiday tomorrow.”

“No, I don’t – I mean, I have decided to wait until Wednesday to leave.” She had just made the decision at that moment.

“Good, then . . . I do have business in London tomorrow, but I will be in the castle much of the day. I . . . I will let you know when I have returned?” Albus took another slow step up away from Minerva, seemingly reluctant to leave their conversation.

“That sounds fine. I hope you are all right, though, Albus,” Minerva said, allowing a little of her concern to creep into her voice.

Albus smiled slightly. “Yes, I am and will be fine, if you are referring to the proposal. I suppose this was not unexpected, as you reminded me yesterday.” He shrugged slightly. “Perhaps I could have been more persuasive, but I cannot second-guess everything. I appreciate your concern, though, Minerva. Thank you.”

Minerva nodded, considering asking him if he would care to join her after dinner for a leisurely stroll, not to discuss business, when he took one more step up.

“I really must be going, Minerva – as I said, you are welcome to come along!”

Minerva thought that Albus looked hopeful, but she shook her head. “No, I will see you both in the Great Hall in a little while.”

If he was disappointed, Minerva couldn’t tell, for he simply nodded, turned, and began to hurry up the stairs. She sighed and looked at the doors to the Great Hall. Dinner was being served early that evening, at six o’clock, to accommodate those who wished to stay for dinner with their colleagues, but who wanted to leave for home that evening. Nonetheless, Minerva didn’t particularly want to be the first – and only – person there waiting for it, so she decided to step outside.

As she lowered herself onto one of the stone steps that led up to the front doors, Minerva let out another sigh. She felt exhausted. The meeting had been enervating, as so many such meetings are, but more than that, she had never adequately dealt with her feelings about what she had seen that morning, and they had festered quite nicely untended. Looking back on it, aside from the fact that she had been witnessing something that she hadn’t been intended to see, Minerva found that, rationally, she had no justification for her feelings. And it wasn’t merely her mantra speaking, telling her that Albus’s life was his own and his relationship with Gertrude was none of her business. No, whether Albus and Gertrude were in some way intimately involved or not – or perhaps had been at one time in the past – truly was none of her business. Even if it were, she had no cause to complain or object – not as Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration mistress, nor as Minerva McGonagall, friend of Albus. If it had been only a friendly embrace she witnessed – though heaven only knew why they would be embracing in the staff room on a Monday morning – she certainly had no cause to resent it. And if it were more than friendly . . . well, perhaps she might wish that Albus would tell her of his involvement with Gertrude, or that Gertrude had mentioned it when they had discussed Valerianna, but as Albus’s friend, she had no right to object if he had a relationship with a witch. As she had told herself before, Gertrude was far preferable to Valerianna. And she did seem genuinely devoted to him. . . . Despite her logical arguments to herself, Minerva still felt vaguely ill about it. 

What was it they had said? Minerva had become so fixated on the embrace, she found it difficult to recall what they had been talking about. Gertrude had apparently agreed to something that Albus thought was a sacrifice for her. It could have been anything, and given the way that Albus seemed prone to carrying on as though he were responsible for everything, it could have been something quite small. But if it were something small he had thanked her for doing, what was that tender embrace for? And Minerva was back where she had begun, telling herself that it was none of her business. If she hadn’t been lurking outside the door like that, she would be perfectly happy right now – perhaps even with Albus as he retrieved Gertrude for dinner.

Minerva stretched. Albus did seem unduly worried about the witch, though. She was quite certain that Gertrude could manage to get to dinner without the Headmaster fetching her. Now she was being petty. If it had been anyone else he was fetching for dinner, she was certain that she wouldn’t have given it a second thought. In fact, if it had been anyone else who had been with him that morning in the staff room, she wouldn’t have been nearly so bothered. She may have warmed some to Gertrude during her sojourn in Cornwall, but not sufficiently to overcome a long history of repressed jealousy for the witch. Well, it wasn’t so repressed any more, Minerva thought ruefully. Perhaps it had been better left unexamined.

Still, what did she really have to be jealous of? Minerva couldn’t change the fact that they had been acquainted for more than thirty years, after all, nor the fact that they had taught side-by-side at Hogwarts for close to twenty years. And they hadn’t been mere colleagues and friends; she had been one of the very few people who knew about the wards and had worked with Albus on them. Not only that, but Gertrude would be unusual, indeed, if she weren’t grateful, even after all these years, to Albus for rescuing her son.

And Minerva had her own friendship with Albus. It wasn’t as long, of course, but she had been a child when they’d met twenty years before. In that time, they had shared a good deal. And it had been she, not Gertrude, who had saved him from that filthy hole in France. And Albus had been grateful to her, even if he had been dismissive of her attempts to comfort him when he felt responsible for Carson’s death. And according to everyone – even that cow, Valerianna – he spoke of her often. He had come to her Challenge at Beauxbatons, and she had made him proud of her, to such an extent that he had asked for that photograph and had kept it all those years. 

If Albus had been slightly distant with her just now, her own behaviour that morning had been far worse. What had she expected, after having treated him like a near-stranger, and him not having a clue as to why? She probably should have accompanied him to Gertrude’s rooms. At the very least, she might have learned more about what was going on, if anything, between the two. It couldn’t be anything too . . . intimate, if he had invited her along. But then, she doubted they’d fall into a passionate embrace if they had an audience, no matter who that audience was. Especially not Gertie. But not Albus, either, she thought. He was affectionate, but he didn’t seem the type to hang off of a witch he was involved with – not like Valerianna and her barnacle. Minerva chuckled. She wondered whether Valerianna had tried to keep Albus attached to her in that way, and how he had responded. Whenever she thought about the two of them together, it seemed more absurd and unlikely. Valerianna certainly must have kept up quite an act for Albus’s benefit. And Albus had been rid of her as soon as he was aware of her true character.

On the other hand, the longer that she and Albus knew each other, the closer they became. And he might not hang off her like a barnacle – which she would detest in a wizard, anyway – but he had always spoken of her fondly to others; everyone from Robert Crouch to Valerianna Yaxley had confirmed that. And when they were out in public, he treated her with respect, always introducing her when they met people he knew, and never allowing her to be left feeling like a mere accessory. He brought her flowers he had arranged himself, despite being the Headmaster of Hogwarts and a very busy wizard; he placed a single red rose in her hair and told her she was beautiful, right there on a public street. A Muggle street, but it was still in public. And he held her closely during Side-Along Apparitions. Albus was more wonderful to her than she deserved, Minerva thought, and he couldn’t be more wonderful if he were a true suitor.

Feeling more cheerful now, Minerva reminded herself of some other things they had done together recently. Of course he may have embraced Gertrude that morning, but he had held Minerva in his arms, comforting her as they sat together on his sofa. And he had kissed her on the cheek. And he walked her down his secret stair. And it had been she, and not Gertrude, whom he had brought to his special place on the mountain, the place where he had only ever brought one other person, and that had been one hundred years ago. Minerva shoved aside the thought that arose along side that one, that she was much too young for Albus, and she continued to think of all of the wonderful things he had done for her lately. By the time that Johannes returned from the greenhouses for dinner, Minerva felt quite cheerful, indeed. Whatever was going on between Gertie and Albus, Gertie didn’t have the relationship that she had with him. What they had was very special, Minerva was sure – even their wands were connected. It was a waste of time to be jealous of Gertie. Minerva would never trade places with that witch and give up what she had with Albus. She might never have the relationship with Albus that she longed for, but what they did have was wonderful.

Despite that thought, when she entered the Great Hall with Johannes, Minerva was glad to see that Gertrude hadn’t arrived yet – although that meant that Albus hadn’t either. Hafrena MacAirt was already there, standing beside the large windows and looking out at the grounds, waiting for others to arrive, and Johannes went over and began to speak quietly with the older witch. This reminded Minerva of her speculation that they might be a bit closer than most colleagues were, but although Hafrena occasionally lifted her hand and touched his arm as they spoke, Minerva saw no gestures that would indicate that they were anything more than friends.

Minerva sat down at the large round table and waited for more people to arrive. Hagrid and Wilhelmina arrived. The witch’s collar was turned in, and she looked somewhat flushed. Minerva could only imagine what they’d been doing. The two sat down at the other side of the table, both looking more cheerful than was decent. Minerva tried to catch Wilhelmina’s eye – which was difficult, given her preoccupation with Hagrid – but she finally did and indicated with a gesture to her own neck that Wilhelmina needed to straighten her clothing. The other witch blushed, but mouthed, “Thank you,” and turned her collar out, then checked the buttons on the front of her robe.

As Flitwick and a few others came in – also flushed, but apparently from indulging in a little aperitif and not from the activities in which Hagrid and Wilhelmina had evidently been engaged – Johannes and Hafrena joined them at the table. Minerva considered getting up and changing places to move closer to the others, but there were exactly ten chairs at the table, the number of staff present for dinner that evening, so she remained where she was, and as a few more people came in, the table filled around her. The others didn’t seem to notice, they were so engrossed in conversation, but it was five minutes past six before Albus and Gertrude finally appeared in the Great Hall.

“Isn’t this lovely!” Albus said brightly as he held Gertrude’s chair for her. “So pleasant to have dinner with friends, isn’t it, my dear?”

Gertrude took the seat beside Minerva, and as Albus sat down next to her, dinner appeared on the table. Conversation flowed around her, and she answered a few remarks directed at her by Madam Perlecta, but Minerva felt awkward, sitting next to Gertrude after her thoughts about her, and her jealousy. The other witch didn’t help matters any, sitting almost silently beside her, pushing her peas about. Albus kept making inane, one-sided conversation until Johannes and Hafrena joined it. Their conversation seemed to Minerva to be equally inane. Madam Perlecta had given up trying to engage Minerva in conversation and had begun discussing modern book-binding with Flitwick, who seemed as knowledgeable about that as he had been about everything Minerva had heard him discuss.

“. . . and perhaps Minerva would also like to come. So, would you like to do that, Gertrude?” Minerva’s ears pricked at the mention of her name.

“I don’t know, Johannes,” Gertrude began. 

Minerva looked over at the taciturn witch, typically dressed in grey and . . . more grey. She must leave her fashion sense in Cornwall, Minerva thought. And layering a charcoal grey robe over a steel grey one did nothing for the witch’s complexion. 

“Oh, come, now, Gertrude! A quick turn about the gardens, a visit to the greenhouses . . . maybe a trip down to the paddock to see the Thestrals – ” Johannes suddenly hesitated mid-speech. “What I mean is, Wilhelmina said that they had foaled. But perhaps a visit to the Jarvey Hagrid found in the forest last week. He is quite amusing! He swears like a drunken Auror!” Minerva thought Johannes sounded unnaturally cheerful. 

Gertrude smiled slightly. “Perhaps tomorrow, Johannes. Thank you, though.”

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea, Gertie,” Albus said. “And I’m sure Minerva would enjoy it as well.”

Much as Minerva might be intrigued by the prospect of seeing a Jarvey that swore like a drunken Auror, particularly as she wasn’t entirely sure how a drunken Auror swore, Minerva was in no mood for a friendly walk with Johannes and Gertrude.

“I don’t think so, Professor,” Minerva said, speaking more to Johannes than to Albus. “But thank you.”

Hafrena spoke up. “I would enjoy that, Johannes. Come, Gertie, let’s go visit Hagrid’s Jarvey and take a walk in the gardens. It’s a lovely evening.”

Gertrude seemed to waver a bit, but said, “I think I’ll make an early night of it, Haffie, but I appreciate the thought.”

“It is bad, then, this year, Gertie?” Johannes asked, so softly that Minerva almost couldn’t catch his words.

Gertrude nodded. “Shouldn’t be,” she said tersely.

“There is no ‘should be’ or ‘shouldn’t be,’ Gertie,” the gentle Herbology teacher responded. “But I do think you would enjoy the Jarvey.”

Minerva narrowed her eyes. She was getting sick of listening to this conversation, but the one that Flitwick and Perlecta were having was dense and boring, and she couldn’t hear enough of the conversations on the other side of the table to listen to them, let alone participate in them. No one was trying to convince _her_ to go on a walk. She had declined and that had been that. An afterthought. That’s all she was to these people. Even if she was going to be the new Head of Gryffindor, she was still a newcomer and a youngster to these people.

Gertrude was just opening her mouth to respond to Birnbaum’s latest attempt, when Minerva jumped into the conversation.

“Although this year I find myself here at Hogwarts and not in London, I have no complaints about it.” Her statement sounded empty and foolish to her own ears. “Of course, those of you who have been here for a longer time than I have probably have a different perspective on things. But, um, it seems that the gardens are the same today as they will be tomorrow, more or less, and the Jarvey, too.” She realized then that she had no idea what the conversation had been about and no idea what to say. There was a subtext that she had missed, and she was only just now aware that she had missed it because she was no longer focussed solely on her petty annoyance at not being cajoled to come on the walk with Johannes and Hafrena – and Gertrude. A walk she didn’t even want to go on.

But Johannes took the opening that Minerva had unintentionally presented him. “We should see whether that statement has truth! Let us go for that walk and visit that Jarvey, the four of us, and do the same once more tomorrow.” Again, Minerva thought he sounded peculiarly loud. “It will cheer us all up after a long day!”

Gertrude shook her head again; this time, though, she stood. “I hope you will excuse me, but I have a headache – and I do not believe the fresh air would help,” she said, giving Johannes a sharp glance.

Johannes nodded. “All right, Gertrude. I will see you tomorrow. Perhaps we can have breakfast together?”

This time, Minerva thought the wizard sounded more tentative.

“I . . . that would be nice. Thank you. I will join you in the morning,” Gertrude responded. Johannes looked pleased, though his smile seemed to dim slightly when Gertrude continued. “Perhaps Minerva and Hafrena would also care to join us, and we could take that walk then?”

Minerva was completely uninterested in taking a walk with Gertrude. And she associated her morning walks with solitude or with Albus. She really didn’t want to begin sharing her morning constitutionals with everyone in the castle, let alone with Gertie. 

“I don’t think so. Thank you for thinking of me, though.” Somehow, although Minerva hadn’t intended it so, her response sounded sarcastic, even to her own ears. She winced and tried to think of something pleasant to say to gloss over her accidental rudeness, but too late: Gertrude simply nodded and rapidly left the table and was out of the Great Hall before Minerva could even open her mouth again. 

Albus, who had been quiet for some time, turned to Minerva and said, very softly, so that the others might not hear, “I do believe she was thinking of you when she asked for your company, Minerva. It sounded – ”

“I know how I sounded,” Minerva replied, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “I didn’t intend it to come out quite that way, and I certainly didn’t mean to give her offense. But it’s not like her to be so sensitive – it’s not as though someone died, or something.”

Albus’s face was unreadable at that moment, but Hafrena, who was rising from the table, said, “There is no reason for you to know this, Minerva, but someone did die. Not recently perhaps, but this is the anniversary of her husband’s death, and it’s been an unusually difficult one for her. Now, Honnie,” the Divination teacher said, turning to Johannes, “I will go find her. I’ll bring her up to my rooms, and you can join us in a little while. The fresh air in the tower will be almost as good for her as that of the gardens, though I don’t boast a Jarvey!” The witch spoke lightly, but she did not wait for Johannes to respond before hurrying out of the Great Hall.

Unfortunately, as soon as Gertrude had made her rushed exit from the Hall, all other conversation had ceased, and Minerva found herself turning red. She was just wondering whether she should say anything, or whether it would be better to stay quiet lest she put her foot in her mouth again, when Flitwick spoke up.

“Gertrude lost her husband?” the small wizard asked.

“Yes,” Johannes answered. “It was, as Professor MacAirt stated, not recently, but some years are harder than others for her.” The German shrugged. “Who can say why.”

Flitwick nodded. “Yes, I understand that. My Dora died twenty years ago, and some days, it’s as though it were yesterday, and others . . . . And it’s true about the anniversaries, as well. I have noticed that a few years can go by relatively peacefully, I note the date, but am not unduly distressed by it, yet other years . . . it is as though I grieve anew.”

“Yes, I have experienced the same that you describe, Professor.” The Herbology teacher swallowed and seemed to be gathering himself. “My family . . . everyone . . . they all died the same day in nineteen forty-one. And sometimes I feel that I never grieved them properly, they were all taken from me so suddenly, and all of them at once.” Tears rose in the wizard’s eyes. “And I feel guilty, having survived, almost by chance, and I feel guilty, thinking that I have grieved no single one of them properly because it was such a massive loss, and because I was also trying to escape the same fate that befell them. And there are so many anniversaries . . .” Johannes choked slightly. “How can I forget my little Clara’s birthday, even though she never celebrated even one birthday while she was alive? Or those birthdays of my parents, my brother, my dear wife.” His choke became a strangled sob.

Minerva sat and watched as Albus put his arm around Johannes and guided him from his seat. “Come, old friend. Let’s take a bit of a walk together, then you can join Hafrena and Gertrude, hmm?”

Johannes nodded, tears trickling down his face, his own grief reignited by the recalled grief of another, and allowed Albus to lead him from the room. Minerva’s own eyes were far from dry, and she was embarrassed by this until she observed Filius weeping openly and Madam Perlecta holding her napkin to her face, blowing her nose rather indelicately. Hagrid, who was sentimental, anyway, was crying great tears, and Wilhelmina, apparently unconcerned with what anyone might think of her behaviour, was wiping them away with her own napkin. The others around the table may not have been moved to tears, but they looked stricken, nonetheless.

“I am sorry,” Minerva whispered, to no one in particular. “I had no idea . . . that is . . . I knew that her husband was killed, but I just didn’t know. . . . I didn’t mean to cause her . . . or anyone . . . more pain.”

Minerva excused herself from the table as soon after that as she decently could. The others were barely talking, and it looked as though no one had the desire to finish their dinners. She certainly didn’t. 

After leaving the Great Hall, Minerva stood outside the doors, at a loss for what to do. She felt the urge to do something, anything, to apologise to Gertrude. She had clearly misread everything from the time she came in and saw Gertrude and Albus together right through to the conversation in which Johannes had been trying to cajole Gertie into going for a walk with them that evening. It was the height of hubris for her to have taken offense when they hadn’t tried harder to urge her to take a walk she hadn’t wanted to go on anyway. When had she become so . . . self-absorbed?

And Gertrude . . . Gertrude had noticed that something was bothering her when she came to lunch that day a few weeks before, a Glamour covering her puffy face and red eyes. Gertrude had noticed and had invited her for a holiday in Cornwall. On the other hand, Gertrude had sat beside her that evening, clearly not herself, and Minerva had thought only of herself, of her own needs, of her own jealousy. She seemed constitutionally incapable of viewing Gertrude as an individual. Minerva knew this was not her normal way of dealing with others, and she vowed to try harder with Gertrude – not necessarily to try to become friends with her, but to truly try to see Gertrude as an individual apart from whatever prejudices had grown up around her jealousy of the witch. Her behaviour had been as poor as that of the old biddies who had been so “interested” in the McGonagall name, and what that meant about her origins, and Minerva was ashamed of herself. 

On the other hand, as Professor MacAirt had said, there was no way that she could have known it was the anniversary of Gertrude’s husband’s death at the hands of Grindelwald – the older witch had never said precisely how her husband had died or when, but she had spoken of him proudly and lovingly. Yet if she hadn’t been so preoccupied with _It_ and her jealousy of Gertrude and the witch’s friendship with Albus, there would now be no need for her to apologise. Minerva doubted she would have even bothered to eavesdrop on the two of them if she hadn’t felt so insecure, and perhaps she would have viewed the embrace as what it now apparently was: an offer of comfort, perhaps mutual comfort, but comfort between two old friends who had shared a long history. And had they ever shared more than friendship . . . Minerva didn’t know and decided not to speculate on it – not at that moment, anyway. 

She still didn’t completely understand the end of the discussion she had overheard outside the staff room. That conversation hadn’t to do completely with Gertrude’s husband’s death, Minerva was sure. Although something that Gertrude had said about neither of them owing the other anything – that could have referred to Albus saving young Robert. Minerva wished she could remember it more clearly. If only Poppy were here . . . she had a small Healer’s Pensieve; not one of the rare, extremely expensive ones that could hold hours of memories, but the twenty minutes or so that this Pensieve held would be more than sufficient for her to be able to view the memory again. And this time, she’d see more, and not just from the biassed perspective from which she had first judged what she had seen. There were so many memories that she would like to view, now that she thought about it, although it was unlikely that Poppy would just hand over the Pensieve to her for her indefinite use. Even a small one like that was expensive and difficult to replace. And technically, it wasn’t Poppy’s, but the school’s. But perhaps, if she asked the right way, Poppy would loan it to her for a while. She would write to her and ask, Minerva decided. And since she’d never even told Poppy she was being considered for Head of Gryffindor, she would tell her that, as well. Suddenly, amidst all her other confused emotions of the day, Minerva felt a small spark of pride. Head of Gryffindor House. That was an achievement – and Albus had told her that even if they had a staff filled with Gryffindors, she would still be his first choice. Perhaps it was something to enjoy, or try to enjoy, on this otherwise dismal day.

She was still standing indecisively in the entry hall when Albus and Johannes came in through the great doors. 

“Ah, my dear! You finished your dinner, then,” Albus said, smiling.

“Yes – as much as I wanted, anyway.” She took a deep breath. “Professor Dumbledore, Albus, I am sorry. I had no idea. And regardless, I wish I had said something different or had said it in a different manner. I didn’t mean to insult Gertrude when she’s already having a bad day – or _especially_ when she’s having a bad day, I should say. I didn’t even mean it the way it sounded.”

“I know that, Minerva. You would never intentionally hurt anyone, and I am sure that Gertrude knows that, as well. It was merely unfortunate. She has probably already forgotten it. Don’t worry yourself!” Albus’s tone was kind and his gaze warm, but Minerva was unassuaged. 

“I feel badly, though. I was having a bad day – of the ordinary sort – and I just . . . ” Minerva shrugged. “I was not at my best,” she ended lamely.

“We all have days like that, my dear Minerva. Your bad day collided with her bad day . . . and I likely wasn’t much help, either.” He sighed. “That’s why I had wanted you to come with me to fetch her for dinner. I know that Gertrude enjoys your company; I had thought if I explained on the way up why it was that she was . . . in an unusual mood today, you could help us jolly her out of it. And perhaps more subtly than I’m afraid we did. I should have simply explained that when I invited you to come up with me.” He shook his head. “That I was distracted by a number of things is the only excuse I have. So you have my apology, my dear. Had I told you earlier today about how Gertrude was feeling, you never would have had the opportunity for accidental rudeness.”

Minerva shook her head, then looked at Johannes, who was quiet, but otherwise seemed as though he had recovered from his earlier tears. “I am sorry to have raised something that required explanation from you, as well, Professor, and that caused you distress.”

“Do not think of it, Minerva. It is fine. I have shed tears before with no lasting harm!” He smiled gently. “And Albus is right. Gertrude will forget this quickly.”

“Perhaps, but I also embarrassed myself in front of several colleagues.”

“Again, that is my fault, Minerva. I should have said something to you. When I saw you this morning, though, I thought that Gertie was going to be all right today. But I’m afraid it was a only a momentary brightening in her mood and a brief respite from her sadness. And later . . . I was distracted, as I said, and I was also finding it difficult to speak to you, to know what to say – you seemed preoccupied. No doubt with your own ‘ordinary bad day.’ But I do apologise for causing your embarrassment.”

Minerva stared at Albus a moment, trying to comprehend his apologies. It was the end of a very long day, a day which, unlike those that had recently preceded it, Minerva would not care to repeat. Ever. And yet, somehow in that moment, Albus’s repeated apologies struck her as simultaneously arrogant, amusing, and charming. Only this complicated wizard could possibly manage all three at the same time with the same words. Her love of this complicated wizard caused Minerva to be more amused and charmed than annoyed, however.

“Do you believe this?” Minerva asked Johannes with a shake of her head. “I do not know how he manages, it Johannes, but he always takes the credit for other people’s poor judgment, errors, accidents, calamities, whatever it is that happens that is bad – there is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore! Ready to shoulder the responsibility! I think if there were no Albus Dumbledore, we would have no more troubles in the world! It would be all sunshine and ginger newts! Why, he’s probably responsible for all sorts of things, from the declining value of the Galleon, to the invasion of Hungary, to the abolition of the Toddlers’ Truce. Don’t even _ask_ me what _that_ is – some Muggle thing that Melina seems to think heralds the beginning of the end of Muggle civilization!”

Minerva took a deep breath and turned to Albus. “Albus, you are a dear wizard, very dear, indeed, but sometimes you have to let other people say they were wrong without immediately jumping in and saying that you were _more_ wrong. It can become quite tiresome. That said, thank you, and I do accept your apology – as long as you don’t repeat it.”

By the time she had finished, Johannes was grinning ear to ear, Albus was looking bemused, and Minerva herself was feeling a good deal better. As much as she felt she was right in what she had said to Albus, and in being both annoyed and amused by him, Minerva was glad that he had explained things to her. And anyone can have a distracted day, even “the great Albus Dumbledore.” She should know that about him better than anyone.

“And another thing, this whole business about jollying Gertrude out of her mood. You may mean well, but if she’s anything like me, she doesn’t _want_ to be jollied out of it. It can be quite annoying. Not that you want to let her wallow for days on end, or something, and you certainly don’t want to behave as though you don’t care, but have you ever thought to ask the poor witch what _she_ would like to do? Maybe she just wants to sit alone and cry. Maybe she wants to sit with others and cry. Maybe she’d like to reminisce. Maybe she’d like to keep busy. Maybe she’d like to do all of those things. I don’t know; I don’t know her well enough to know. But it seems that because I don’t know her well, it does occur to me, rather than to her oldest friends, to actually ask her what she’d like to do.” Minerva paused. The wizards seemed unoffended by her words and were listening attentively, so she continued. “What does she usually do on this day? Is it different every year, or does she have certain . . . rituals? Not literal rituals, of course, although perhaps that as well. But I know . . . there’s a certain day of the year when I take myself into town and have a Muggle meal. And it’s always the same meal, and I never really enjoy it any more than I did the first time I ate it, but I do it anyway. This was the first year I wasn’t able to do that, and it was hard. But I was busy, and I got through it all right.”

Albus nodded slowly, comprehending what Minerva was saying. “She usually spends it with her son in Amsterdam, or occasionally at her parents, and her son and his wife visit her there. She came back early because of the additional Hogwarts business . . . I am ashamed to say that until she arrived this morning wearing the locket she so seldom wears, I had forgotten the significance of the date. She never mentioned it to me when I asked her to return to the school today. All day I have been trying to make up for my insensitivity. And I suppose I must have made it worse by being even more insensitive.”

The doors behind them opened, and the remaining staff trickled out of the Great Hall. They must have found their appetites and eaten their desserts. Or at least, they had tried to behave as if they had. The three fell silent for a few moments as the rest of the staff went off to other parts of the castle. When the last one had disappeared up the stairs after a muted, “Good night,” Johannes spoke again.

“Minerva, I am going to Haffie’s – Hafrena’s – rooms, where I hope to find her with Gertrude. Would you be pleased to come with?”

“I am sure I am the last person in the world she wants to see right now,” Minerva said.

“You may be wrong, Minerva,” Albus said. “But if you get there and feel uncomfortable, or you feel that you are making her uncomfortable, you can wish her a very warm good night and make your excuses to leave. You are the only one of us who actually thought of Gertrude’s needs, whereas we were thinking of our own need to have her feel better. Quite selfish of us, really.”

Minerva hesitated, remembering how self-absorbed she had been all day and feeling somewhat hypocritical, but still recognising the sense in what Albus had said. “All right. But Johannes, if you think it would be better if I were to leave, can you say something to me – perhaps something about . . . I don’t know . . . ”

“I will tell you, and you specifically, that rosemary is for remembrance.” He quirked a smile. “If I just happen to mention it – which I may, now that it is in my mind – ignore me!”

“All right, you turn to me and say that rosemary is for remembrance, and I will graciously take my leave.” Minerva returned his smile. “Do you mind, though, if I meet you there in a few minutes? I would like a word with Professor Dumbledore – if you don’t mind, Professor?” she asked, turning to the Headmaster.

“No, I don’t mind . . .”

Johannes bounded up the steps like a lanky puppy; Minerva wondered at what point on his way up to the seventh floor his energy would begin to flag.

“Shall we go sit on the steps a bit, Minerva?”

Minerva nodded, and the two went out the front doors and settled on the steps, Albus sitting on the low wall, as he had the previous morning, and Minerva sitting on a step just above him, bringing her to eye-level with him.

“Do you mind if I indulge in a pipe, my dear?”

“Yes, I mean, no, please do.”

Minerva watched as he prepared his pipe and lit it, using a wandless, nonverbal spell to ignite the tobacco rather than the peculiar matches her father insisted were a necessary part of the pipe-smoking experience. When Albus had puffed a few times, Minerva said, “I don’t know whether to apologise to you, to thank you, to be angry with you, or to be angry with myself. I think I will begin with the apology and the thanks, which may make anything else unnecessary. I apologise for being terse with you this morning. I had a great many things on my mind and . . .” Minerva swallowed before continuing, “and I overheard you and Gertrude together in the staff room. I overheard only enough to . . . to be unable to draw conclusions. I suppose I thought . . . no, I wasn’t thinking, not really, I suppose that I _felt_ that there was something happening of which I was unaware and ignorant. I told myself that your business with Gertrude was not mine and that I am not involved in running the school . . . but I still felt . . .” Minerva struggled for words, not wanting to say all that she had felt. “I felt left out, I suppose, and uninformed. It was childish of me. But that is why I was late. Because I had actually been early. So I apologise.”

She took a breath, grateful that Albus did not interrupt her, as he seemed to do so often lately when she tried to explain or apologise. “And I want to thank you for explaining to me this evening what was going on, and for trying to invite me to come up with you to fetch Gertrude. I think all three of us were having a bad day, perhaps. And it wasn’t helped by the committee meeting, either.”

Albus smiled slightly. “No, I suppose it wasn’t.” He looked at Minerva and continued quietly, “I don’t know particularly what you overheard this morning, but Gertrude had once again returned to school, unselfishly, simply because I asked her to. As I mentioned already, in all that has happened lately with Robert Pretnick, and the lovely time that I have spent with you, and the myriad other things that crop up on a daily basis, I had forgotten the anniversary of Reginald’s death. I remember much more clearly young Robbie’s foolishness a few days later. And yet she is never at the school during this week in July, although she always returns before the end of the month. I should have remembered the reason for this. She is perpetually putting her own needs aside for those of others. I know that this runs contrary to your view of Slytherins, Minerva, but I know that she will also be the first to admit that she is very selective about whom she chooses to care for in this way. I have been fortunate to be one of those people, despite the fact that I am not always deserving of it.” 

Albus puffed on his pipe a bit, thinking. “Gertrude is one of my oldest friends, Minerva. I may not always understand the best way to help her, but I do try, just as she helps me when she believes I need it. I have lost many friends over the years . . . some to death, some to disagreements, some just to the passage of time and changes in the world. But for as long as Gertie has been my friend, she has been loyal and steadfast, and no disagreement has ever been too profound, and no changes in the world too great, for us to overcome. And believe me when I tell you that I have not always been the easiest person to have as a friend – something that perhaps you already know, in fact,” he chuckled. “But she somehow always sees me, just me, Minerva. And still she stays loyal and steadfast, whether despite that or because of it. I try to repay that loyalty in what ways I am able, but I sometimes do believe that I receive more from her than she does from me. Gertrude would likely tell you that this is not the case . . . and perhaps she would be right. But I feel it nonetheless,” he ended quietly, “and particularly on a day such as today, when she does so much for me and I don’t even notice what she’s given up to do it until after she’s done it.”

Minerva nodded. Not the answer she had expected, and certainly both more information than she had expected and less than she had wanted. But he had not chided her for listening at doors – which would have been _her_ first reaction had a friend come to her and said something similar – and he had been unusually forthcoming, she thought.

“I see,” she said, though she didn’t really. But perhaps because there was nothing to see . . .

“Were you going to join them in the Divination Tower, Minerva?” Albus asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“Yes. I think I will.” She stood. “Thank you, Albus. And next time I’m being difficult to talk to – just tell me. I might not become any easier to talk to, but at least I will be aware of why you aren’t saying anything!” Minerva grinned. “And Albus, I rather think Gertrude is loyal to you _because_ she sees you, not despite it – and remember what I have mentioned to you before. Allow people the dignity of their choices. I am sure that Gertrude does not act blindly. I know her at least that well, I think.”

Albus smiled and nodded. “I will try to remember that, my dear. Perhaps with you by my side, I will do better.”

Minerva smiled at his words, the nicest she had heard all day. “Good night, Albus.”

He looked up at her and smiled warmly, his eyes bright. “And a very good night to you, my dear Minerva.”

Minerva’s heart, so pulled and stretched as it had been that day, felt as though it would burst at that moment. She put a hand on his shoulder, leaned down, and kissed his cheek lightly, then, almost overcome with affection for the sweet wizard, she kissed it again before squeezing his shoulder, turning, and running up the stairs and into the castle, the aroma of his chocolatey tobacco still wafting about her.


	76. A Most Pleasant Disturbance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva joins a few colleagues for drinks, then makes a detour on her way back to her rooms.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Gertrude Gamp, Johannes Birnbaum, and Hafrena MacAirt.

**LXXVI: A Most Pleasant Disturbance**

Minerva climbed up the rickety ladder to the Divination classroom. She would have to speak to Albus about having it replaced. Of course, she would have to check with Professor MacAirt first, in case she had a sentimental attachment to it. Doubtless the Hogwarts wards kept the ladder from falling apart, but the rungs were still alarmingly creaky, in Minerva’s opinion – and she was quite comfortable with ladders and heights, probably from clambering around on the cliffs near home as a child. Closed-in spaces, on the other hand . . . . 

She entered the Divination classroom and uttered a _Lumos_ to help light her way across the room. This classroom was about the only thing she had enjoyed about Divination until she’d quit it after her OWLs. Morning classes in that room were especially nice. There were windows on three sides of the tower room, and Professor MacAirt always kept them open, even in the winter, merely using a charm to keep the cold out. It was a light, bright, open and airy room; the only classroom she liked better had been Dumbledore’s – but that may have had more to do with the teacher than the room.

Minerva entered the Divination teacher’s study and climbed the stairs that circled the outside of the room. She reached the top, took a deep breath, let it out, and knocked at the door, rapping lightly on the frame surrounding a portrait of a blonde-haired girl in a blue dress. She could hear voices from the room beyond, and the door opened to her.

“Oh, good, Minerva! I’m glad you could come. Honnie said you might. Please! Come in!” Hafrena said with an inviting smile.

Minerva entered the room. She had only been in the Divination professor’s quarters once before, and she liked the sitting room as well as she remembered. Like the classroom, it was bright and airy. The furniture was upholstered in light colours and, although of modern design, the sofas and armchairs were comfortable. The pale upholstery was complemented by accessories in brighter colours, particularly brilliant emerald green and gold. That entire level of the tower was just one single room, divided only by shifts of function. There was a sitting area, cosily arranged around the overlarge fireplace, a section that could be described as a library, and a dining area. Minerva had never seen anything quite like it – and certainly not in the Hogwarts castle – but it was open, airy, and uncluttered, yet simultaneously comfortable and attractive. And other than the obligatory door portrait at the top of the stairs, all of the artwork on the walls was Muggle. It had quite surprised her when she had visited the last time – Hafrena was easily ninety years old, and the room had struck Minerva as being modern and youthful – and certainly not particularly wizarding. When asked about the decor, the witch explained that she had never liked the dark, stuffy, overly ornate, heavily-furnished rooms she had grown up with, and she wasn’t particularly fond of the “Hogwarts aesthetic,” as she called it. Fine for the Great Hall and the student common rooms, she said, but when she retired to her rooms for the evening, she didn’t want to be surrounded by it. Seeing the results of the witch’s distaste for the “Hogwarts aesthetic,” Minerva didn’t take offense.

Johannes stood as Minerva approached. He smiled and nodded at her. 

Gertrude greeted her with a small smile. “Good to see you, Minerva. Come, sit by me,” she said, patting the sofa cushion. “Hafrena has some nice sherry that we’re sipping. Would you like a glass?”

Minerva sat next to Gertrude, feeling somewhat awkward. “Um . . .”

“I also have a good whiskey – Irish, not Scotch – and some rather pedestrian fire whisky. Last time I get anything other than Old Ogden’s,” Hafrena added. “Oh, and a blackberry cordial. Somewhat syrupy to my mind, but some like it.”

Gertrude chuckled. “May I guess that our Headmaster is one of those who like the cordial?”

Hafrena grinned and nodded, but then turned to Minerva and said, “And, of course, we can always get you butterbeer, lemonade, pumpkin juice, water – I learned a nice charm when I was on holiday in Venice to put ‘gas’ in it, as the amusing young waiter described it to me, so you could have bubbles, if you like them!”

Everyone else was drinking sherry . . . “A glass of sherry would be nice.”

Her hostess nodded and waved her wand, Summoning a glass and the bottle of sherry from across the room. She made an elegant job of pouring Minerva’s glass and Levitating it to her.

“Thank you. . . .” Minerva wasn’t quite sure how to address Professor MacAirt, having never called her anything other than “Professor,” even after returning to teach. She felt it would be rude to call her by her first name, and yet everyone else was on a first-name basis with each other. Gertrude had invited her to call her by her given name within weeks of her arrival, and it had taken some practice, but Minerva had become comfortable addressing her as “Gertrude” in private. Professor Birnbaum had only taught at Hogwarts during the last few months of her seventh year, so calling him “Johannes” had come somewhat more easily. 

“You’re welcome! I am glad you were able to come and that you weren’t put off by the trek up to the Tower.”

“No, I’ve become rather used to climbing up and down several flights of stairs every day. I don’t even notice it anymore,” Minerva said with a polite smile. “It didn’t seem very far.”

She wished she could find an opening to apologise to Gertrude. She didn’t want to make the Arithmancer uncomfortable by raising something that might remind her of other things that she didn’t want to be thinking about, and she certainly didn’t want to make more of it than it was, but she did think an apology of some sort was called for.

“When Minerva was down for her visit, we walked out to the hill fort and climbed around. Unlike some, she didn’t begin to whine and complain about the distance or the difficulty before we’d even left the gardens,” Gertie said, her eyes smiling as she remembered.

Minerva remembered the trousers Gertrude had loaned her, and thought perhaps that might be amusing in the re-telling. “Yes, well, the trousers you loaned me were useful, Gertrude.” Minerva smiled at the others. “I almost thought she was joking when she mentioned something about loaning me trousers, but it didn’t seem the sort of joke she would make. And then this little house-elf arrived in my room with a folded garment hovering over his head, and when I unfolded it, there they were! Trousers! _Brown_ trousers. They had two legs. And belt loops. And it seemed I’d never seen anything quite so peculiar before! Well, after blinking at them a bit, and wondering how impolite it would be to refuse them, and still suspecting a practical joke of some kind, I tried them on, made a few changes so they would fit, created a blouse from one of my favourite robes, and looked at myself in the mirror: a Witch in Trousers. I was just deciding that, regardless of their practicality, the trousers were perfectly impossible, when Gertrude arrived at the door, also in trousers.” Minerva was pleased to see that even Gertrude was grinning at the story. “Although I was more than decently covered, I felt strangely naked in them, and Gertrude had to remind me that I could walk in them without mincing my steps!”

Hafrena laughed. “No wonder Gertrude has taken such a shine to you! Most witches are horrified by the mere idea of wearing trousers when she presents them with it, and are strongly insulted when she sends a pair along for them to try!”

Minerva smiled. “Well, I wasn’t unsceptical about them, and I can’t say I was particularly comfortable in them at first, nor that I am in any hurry to acquire a pair of my own trousers, but they are far less ridiculous than I’d first thought.”

“Well, it was no test, and she certainly wasn’t required to wear them, but I was pleased she lived up to my expectations for the boldness of a Gryffindor!” Gertie joked. She looked at Minerva, a fond smile on her face. “Reginald would have liked you, Minerva. He always enjoyed climbing around the ruins, and knew more about them than even I did, despite the fact that I’d grown up with them. He probably would have taken you around to see the graffiti – sixth century graffiti. Most of it in the form of rather rude pictures, I’m afraid. But there are also some older inscriptions from when it was used by the Romans. He did a great deal of work on them, uncovering new ones, recovering ones that had worn away from weather, recording them. . . . I still have his last notes, unfinished, from our last holiday home. We never should have returned . . . .we should have stayed. He could have finished . . .” Gertrude’s eyes misted and she shook herself. “Anyway, Minerva, I wish I had thought to show them to you. You may have appreciated them – Reginald was sure he’d identified some wizarding inscriptions alongside the ordinary Muggle ones among the Roman era artifacts. I think you inherited some of your father’s interest in that sort of thing, didn’t you?”

“Yes, although, of course, devoting myself to Transfiguration, I am afraid that my knowledge of Ancient Runes and archaic wizarding inscriptions and spells may have more breadth than depth.”

“Well, next time you’re down, I will bring you out to see them. We’ll bring Aine along. She is quite the little linguist, though her father hopes that she will follow in her mother’s footsteps and go into Herbology. Still, she’s young yet – there may be hope for her: she may enter Arithmancy!” Gertie grinned at her own joke.

“Ah, but she’s a MacAirt, Gertrude,” Hafrena said with a tilt of her head. “You know she’s mine. Whatever else she may do with herself, she’s mine.”

Gertrude stiffened slightly beside Minerva. “I am aware of your meaning, but I do not like that turn of phrase, Hafrena. And, given the independence that Quin has encouraged in his children, I think you would find her avoiding Divination if she heard you express yourself in such a way.”

“Sorry, Gertrude. Force of habit among the MacAirts, I’m afraid. I don’t mean it literally,” Hafrena explained, directing her comments at all three of her guests. “I simply mean that as a MacAirt, I have an obligation to her to assist her with her gifts. It is more about what I owe her than what she does with herself. It is an infelicitous phrase, and I will endeavour not to use it again.”

Gertrude relaxed beside Minerva. “Of course . . . and I know very well how you mean it. But it sounds almost predatory, and certainly possessive, when you put it the other way.”

Hafrena nodded. “And you have reminded me of that very well, Gertie. Thank you.”

There was a lull in the conversation, and Minerva turned to Johannes. “You know, I’ve been thinking, Johannes, and I believe I would like to see that Jarvey sometime. Are you still considering a visit to him tomorrow?”

Johannes grinned widely. “Yes, although we have only determined that we will visit sometime after lunch. We may all need a bit of a sleep tomorrow morning,” he said.

“Yes, I’m interested in how a drunken Auror swears,” Gertrude said with a quirk of her mouth. “Have you any Aurors whom we may invite along, ply with drink, and then give us a demonstration so that we can compare the Jarvey’s performance with the real thing?”

He laughed. “I think you will not need to hear a drunken Auror once you have heard the Jarvey!”

They all chuckled slightly.

Minerva turned to Gertrude. “You know, Gertrude . . . I want to apologise. I – ”

“No need, not if you’re referring to your initial reaction to the suggested walk. We all say things occasionally that don’t come out as we mean them. And it must have been extremely irritating to hear these two go on and on about walks in the garden and Jarveys and so forth, and have no idea what they were on about. So don’t worry – I understand. Besides,” she added, “you should have heard me tear into this one” – she gestured toward Hafrena – “when she came to drag me up here. I probably swore like a drunken Jarvey!” She grinned at her hostess.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way, Gertie, though you did dig in your heels and snort like a wild Abraxan!”

Gertrude laughed at that, as did the others.

By the time Minerva left that night, it was after midnight. Johannes had fallen asleep in his chair, his glass of fire whisky still cradled in his right hand, and Hafrena said just to leave him. Minerva and Gertrude left together, bidding Hafrena good night and thanking her for her hospitality. When they reached the ladder down to the seventh floor, Minerva looked at it and shook her head. Now she knew why Hafrena had said to let Johannes sleep. He would have had a hard time negotiating the ladder.

“I’d forgotten the ladder. I’m very glad I didn’t have more to drink than I did. Would you prefer to go first, or shall I?”

Gertrude looked at Minerva. “Perhaps if you went first, I could trust you to catch me if I fell,” she said with a slightly tipsy grin.

“And I couldn’t trust you?” Minerva asked it before she knew what she was saying.

“You could; but you don’t. Well, you would. But you’d rather not.” Gertrude gazed at her with a peculiar expression on her face, and Minerva had the feeling that Gertrude wasn’t talking about the dangers posed by the ladder.

“Well, I think I got a later start on the sherry. I may be a bit faster on the draw. But I wouldn’t mind if you kept an eye on me and had your wand out . . . .”

Minerva didn’t slip, but she did find the ladder even more rickety feeling than she had going up.

“All right, there, Gertrude?” Minerva looked up and watched as Gertrude descended the ladder, peculiarly appearing to be using her hands more than her feet, which seemed barely to touch the rungs, but she made it down quite successfully.

The older witch dusted her hands off. “I can’t tell you the number of times over the years that Hafrena has had more than one overnight guest because either they weren’t fit to climb down the ladder or they simply refused to. Slughorn hasn’t been to any of her gatherings since nineteen forty-nine, when, after he got to the top of the ladder, he looked down at it, vomited, then keeled over. He had to be Levitated back up to Hafrena’s sitting room, where he spent the night on her sofa.”

Minerva suppressed her grin. That would have been quite a sight. “I was thinking about whether the ladder might not be due for some . . . repair or replacement. Perhaps when the wards are renewed?”

“Yes, they are getting a bit more . . . alarming than usual.”

The two witches started down the main staircase. When they reached the fourth floor and Minerva didn’t stop there, Gertrude looked at her questioningly.

“I thought I’d walk you back to your room, and then I have a stop to make, myself.”

“You needn’t, but it would be nice.” Gertrude smiled at her. “Johannes told me what you said earlier. About asking me what it was that I wanted to do.” The older witch drew a shaky breath. “That was very kind. Thank you. They all meant well, I knew that, but I just . . . they just kept _after_ me. Albus wasn’t quite as bad as the other two, but he kept trying to be so . . . _cheerful_. About the most ridiculous things! I loved him for it, but I also wanted to shake him, particularly the third time he offered me a peppermint pillow. I would have greatly preferred it if he had just given me the work he had asked me back here to do.”

They reached the second floor and Gertrude turned to Minerva. “I don’t usually say such things, Minerva,” she said softly, “And perhaps that’s a failing with me, but I do want you to know I appreciate your coming up tonight. And that I am glad you are here at Hogwarts. Albus told me that you have accepted the position as Head of Gryffindor. I know you will do well and be a credit to your House and to Albus.” They began walking toward the side corridor where Gertrude’s rooms were located. “It is good for him to have you here, you know, Minerva. I’m glad you accepted the position. You’ll be able to do more as a Head of House.”

Minerva didn’t know quite what to say. “I am glad I came tonight, as well. I know I’m not an old friend like Johannes or Professor MacAirt, and I wasn’t sure if I should. But now I’m happy I did. And I will certainly do my best as Head of Gryffindor.”

Reaching Gertrude’s door, they stopped, and Gertrude said, “ _Tenax_.” Her door clicked open.

“Good night, Minerva. Thank you for your company.”

Minerva nodded. “Good night, Gertrude. And I hope that tomorrow will be a better day for you,” she added sincerely.

“It will certainly be another day, and sometimes just that is sufficient.” As she opened the door, the older witch raised a hand and brushed Minerva’s arm lightly before entering her quarters.

Minerva walked slowly down the narrow corridor to the main hallway. This had been a very peculiar day. Her emotions had been so exercised from morning till night, Minerva didn’t think herself capable of feeling anything at all right now, even if a Boggart appeared in front of her. When she ceased thinking about Gertrude as, well, _Gertrude_ and whatever it was the witch had come to represent in her life, she found herself actually liking her. She’d never be able to talk with her the way she did with Poppy, or spend time with her in the same relaxed, casual manner, but she could envision developing a friendly, collegial relationship. _If_ she could get past her jealousy, which she didn’t even know was warranted. And even if it were . . . it was unfair to Gertrude to dislike her on that basis alone. Gertrude had always treated her fairly, after all, even as a student. She had treated her with respect, even when she hadn’t been particularly deserving of it, Minerva thought, remembering the witch’s response to her “excursion” after Myrtle had been killed. Looking back on the incident now as a teacher, Minerva doubted that she would have exercised the restraint that Gertrude had, nor that she would have treated the offender as anything other than an errant child who should be sent to bed without pudding. But Gertrude had given her something to think about, instead. A pity she wasn’t Head of Slytherin instead of Slughorn. She might keep the little snakes in line better. Minerva sighed. Now that she was a teacher – and especially now that she was Head of Gryffindor – she would have to work doubly hard not to allow her House biases to affect her treatment of the students as individuals.

She reached the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s stair, and gave the password. The gargoyle, which had been feigning sleep, opened one eye, then closed it, but the door opened, nonetheless, and Minerva mounted the moving stair. Certain that the Headmaster was asleep – and if he wasn’t, he should be – Minerva didn’t knock, but just opened the door. The room was dark, and she used her wand to light her way across the room. She hoped he had left the applications on his desk and not put them away when she hadn’t retrieved them earlier.

Just as she bent over the desk, trying to see if she could find the documents, Minerva heard a sound come from above, and a moment later, Albus appeared at the top of the spiral brass staircase.

“Ah, it is you, Minerva!” He began down the stairs, belting his dressing gown around him as he went. “Is everything all right?”

He had clearly been woken out of a sound sleep, Minerva thought. He hadn’t even put on his glasses and he still looked half-asleep.

“I am sorry, Albus! I did not mean to wake you! I thought if I was quiet – ”

“Don’t worry, my dear. That’s fine. Is there anything you need? Something I can help you with?” he asked.

“I just came up for the applications. I had been unable to get them earlier, but I hadn’t forgotten them.”

“You could have waited until morning, my dear! And we will do better with a little more light, I would say.” Albus waved a hand in a slight gesture and one of the sconces near the desk lit up.

“I really hadn’t intended to wake you.”

“If anyone enters my office, or, I should say more correctly, if the gargoyle allows anyone entry, I am made aware of it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t realise that, or I would have waited until tomorrow.”

“Well, now that you’re here – ” Albus stifled a yawn.

“Yes, yes, of course!” Minerva looked at the contents of his desk and could now see the small stack of applications neatly placed in the corner, a small note to her on top of them, and she picked them up. “Again, I am sorry to have woken you. I didn’t realise I would.”

“Yes, it is a convenient charm, but it has its drawbacks, as well. I have it focussed on my desk chair, but the effect is distributed throughout the office and my suite. It is usually useful. And in this instance,” he added with a smile, “it is an unexpected pleasure to see you.”

Minerva smiled at his words, then said, “So that’s what I felt that time – your charm!”

Albus knit his brow. “When? What do you mean? What did you feel?” 

“I was sitting at your desk, trying to get some work done for you, and I felt a peculiar tingling. I looked around and didn’t see anything, but a few minutes later, Gertrude arrived. Then when Professor Slughorn came up, I didn’t know he was here until he knocked. But I wasn’t at the desk at the time, either.”

“How very unusual! I did not believe that anyone else could be aware of it – I tied it to the wards and tuned it specifically to me.” He looked puzzled for a moment, but then yawned and, with a shrug, said, “Possibly resonance of some sort . . . but this is probably not the best time to contemplate that particular mystery.”

“No, and you should get back to bed. You look as though I woke you out of a sound sleep.”

“I don’t mind – would you like to take the short-cut through the back steps?” Albus offered.

“No, I’ll leave the way I came. You need to get back to bed and I need to stretch my legs a bit,” Minerva said, feeling badly for having woken him and thinking how very sleepy he looked.

“Very well, my dear. But I can at least show you to the door,” he said, stifling another yawn.

Albus walked over to the door and rested his hand on the handle, Minerva following. “I hope you had a nice evening,” he said.

“I did, and more importantly, I believe that Gertie did, as well,” Minerva replied.

He nodded sleepily, smiling, and placed his other hand on her arm. “I am glad. Very glad. And it is a pleasure to see you and be able to say good night to you again, my dear.”

Albus took a step toward her, and Minerva looked up. The hand that had rested on her arm went around her, and he placed his lips on her forehead. Minerva closed her eyes, and she brought her free hand up to rest on his chest, barely able to restrain herself from dropping the applications to the floor and putting both arms around him. As his lips pressed against her forehead and she felt his breath in her hair, Minerva struggled with the urge to raise her face and kiss his mouth. She was beginning to fear that she was going to lose her struggle when Albus let go and stepped back.

“Mm-Minerva, I, um, yes . . . good night. I am very sleepy, I am afraid.” He blinked at her.

“Well, you get back on up to sleep, then, and hopefully you won’t be disturbed again tonight,” Minerva responded with a smile, trying to sound perfectly normal.

“Yes, well, this was a most pleasant disturbance . . .” He cleared his throat, then opened the door and held it for her. “I hope you sleep well.”

“I think I will. Good night, Albus, sweet dreams.” She felt like lingering, but cast one last glance at him and turned and left. As the stair was carrying her downward, Minerva heard the door close above her, and she shivered. The ability to feel had certainly returned to her. How much simpler everything would be if it hadn’t . . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For information on Jarveys and Abraxans, see _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_! (Or pay a visit to the HP Lexicon.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	77. Impulse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories recent and distant, and impulses held in check and those acted on, occupy Minerva's mind.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore; young Minerva and Professor Dumbledore.

**LXXVII: Impulse**

Albus returned to his bed, but not to sleep. Despite having been on the verge of falling asleep standing up while speaking with Minerva, as soon as he lay down, he was distracted by a roiling ball of nervous tension that had taken up residence in his stomach. He was able to subdue and then dismiss the nervous tension, but not its cause. What had he been thinking? Obviously, he hadn’t been. He had acted on impulse. Fortunately for him, the level of ease between him and Minerva had grown over the past few weeks, and she hadn’t expressed any offense taken at his excessive display of affection, though she had raised her hand between them. At least she had only held him at a distance and not felt compelled to push him away, he thought. It was good that she was fond of him . . . and a relief, as well, to realise that she still was, after his fears for their relationship earlier in the day.

After Minerva had left him earlier in the evening to attend the small gathering in Hafrena’s tower rooms, Albus had taken a walk, very relieved to learn that the reason for Minerva’s apparent distance that morning had been her own bad mood and some misunderstanding about something he and Gertrude had been discussing in the staff room. After his brief stroll, he returned to his office to attempt to work through some of what he had neglected that day in order to keep Gertrude company. Albus now recognised that he should have had Gertrude help him with it; she likely would have preferred that to the rather aimless shape her day took, and it was, after all, the reason that she had returned to Hogwarts rather than going to Amsterdam to be with her son and daughter-in-law. Better yet, he should have insisted on making her a Portkey to Robert’s and had her leave immediately. He had offered, but she had declined. Of course, at the time she had declined the offer, she had thought she was going to have a busy day of work, not one in which she would have to try to humour him in his attempts to cheer her up. 

Albus did manage to get through some of the less pressing matters that had been accumulating on his desk, but he was unable to concentrate well enough to deal with any of the more complicated documents and requests, so had left them for the next day and retired to his suite for the evening. Despite his discipline, his mind kept returning to the conversation he had had with Minerva, and to the feel of her kiss on his cheek. It was irksome, the way it kept returning to him; his mind would seem to be fully occupied in its task, and there it was again: the sensation of Minerva’s lips brushing his cheek, followed by another kiss, one no less soft and gentle than the first, but warmer and less brief. 

Finally, unable to concentrate even on the light novel he was reading, Albus put his book aside and got ready for bed, deliberately directing his mind toward the tasks he had ahead of him the next day. After lying down, Albus did a number of brief meditations aimed at calming mind and body and preparing it for sleep. He hadn’t performed these exercises in a number of years, at least not all of them at once, but they came easily to him, and when he doused the lights in the bedroom, he fell asleep shortly thereafter.

His dreams had been pleasant, though mundane, the only remarkable thing about them being the constant presence of Minerva. When, in response to his wards, he awoke shortly before one o’clock, he had stuffed his feet in his slippers, grabbed his dressing gown from its place at the end of the bed, and blearily gone downstairs. There were only a few people who it might be, since not everyone present in the castle that night had the summer password. Nonetheless, he had been somewhat surprised to find Minerva in his office. Her dedication was commendable, if a bit excessive in that moment. She had, after all, been in the committee meeting almost all day; he hadn’t expected her to have fetched the applications yet.

Albus had been truthful when he had said it was a pleasant disturbance to have woken and found her in his office. But he had been so sleepy . . . when he saw her off at the door, he thought only to give her a light kiss, a mere peck on her forehead, as a fond uncle might. But he did not feel like a fond uncle. He hadn’t felt like a fond uncle toward Minerva in at least ten years. And, sleepy as he was, as relaxed as he felt, he had held her to him, pressed his lips to her forehead, and then closed his eyes, breathing in her scent. It was not a brief, avuncular peck. It was not as though he had even been moved to do more than he had, but as he stood there, holding Minerva, his rather muddled brain had considered that a most perfect moment, and that he could quite happily remain like that forever. Minerva had not seemed at all disturbed by it, fortunately. Likely, she had simply put it down to his being half-asleep – which, indeed, was the case. He certainly would have exercised greater restraint had he been fully awake. This incident reminded Albus of his resolve to act out of love for Minerva, but within the confines of an appropriate friendly relationship. There was no point in regretting what he had done, Albus decided. She hadn’t minded, and that was the important thing. He would simply need to be more careful in the future and not give in to momentary impulses.

Albus rolled over and fell asleep, remembering the scent of Minerva, and his dreams were sweet.

* * *

Minerva chided herself the entire way back to her rooms. She hadn’t acted on her impulse, but it had been there. It had been there when she had vowed that she would not do that to herself, torment herself with desires that could not be answered, with urges that could not be acted upon without disaster. Albus’s sweet, sleepy kiss had been the gesture of an old friend, a dear friend whom she had woken from a sound sleep and yet who had been gracious and warm, despite the fact that there was no good reason for him to have had his sleep disturbed. What had she been thinking when she had decided to go to his office? Even being unaware of his charm and that he would be awoken, it was inappropriate or, at least, unnecessary, to enter his office in the middle of the night to retrieve applications that weren’t pressing and that she could just as easily have picked up in the morning. She probably looked like an over-eager student trying for extra House points or something. Minerva just hadn’t wanted Albus to think that she had forgotten her promise or that she was reluctant to help him, and she certainly didn’t want him to doubt his choice of her as Head of Gryffindor. Not that he’d had much choice, despite what he’d said that morning about her being his first choice no matter how many Gryffindors were on staff. And that was all the more reason to do her very best, but fetching the applications in the middle of the night . . . that was a bit over-the-top.

Minerva entered her sitting room, the Silent Knight, sitting propped against the apple tree, never bothering to pretend to awaken from his sham sleep, Fidelio snoring at his feet, but merely clicking the door open at the password. She would change it in the morning, she thought. She really ought to have done so weeks ago, but after having given it to Dumbledore, she hadn’t wanted to go through the awkwardness of deciding whether or not to give him the new one. It didn’t appear he’d had any reason to enter her rooms since he had connected the landscape to the portrait network, and he always could use the Headmaster’s password if he had to enter if she were away. He might not even need a password, for all she knew. 

She placed the applications on her work table, remembering with some pleasure that she would soon have a study, as well as an office. There were a few perks to being a Head of House. Of course, staff could always request new quarters, or an additional room, but most found the two or three rooms sufficient to their needs. But she would have more room for her books if she had a study. Right now, many of them were in her office, and she would prefer to have at least half of those in her rooms. 

As Minerva got ready for bed, casting fond glances at the photograph of Albus – well, the photograph of Albus and her – she thought how sweet he had been, sleepy and slightly befuddled, kissing her forehead as he had. Practically asleep on his feet, he’d been! Poor wizard! And she’d had the . . . the lack of self-discipline to keep unseemly urges at bay. At least she hadn’t acted on them, Minerva thought with a sigh, trying not to think of the feel of his lips, his breath, his magic. . . . 

She placed her hairpins in their little porcelain dish, and the evil eye caught Minerva’s attention. As she brushed her hair out using the Charmed silver-backed brush her brother Morgan had given her one Christmas, she looked at the peculiar talisman, hanging by its cord from one corner of her mirror. After she had gathered her hair into a loose braid for sleep, Minerva reached out and lifted the crude pendant from its place, held it in her hand, and considered it. What to do with this odd Muggle artifact? Albus had fastened it round her neck, or she would certainly have put it in a drawer or cupboard out of sight. There was something slightly unsettling about the warm blue stone and its eye in veins of darker blue and grey. She wondered whether folk went about looking for such stones, or whether they simply chanced upon them serendipitously. There did seem to be something about it – the combination of the stone with its bit of mirror, perhaps, or just the uncanny blue eye – that made her wonder if there were some kind of Muggle magic about it. Not _real_ magic, of course, but some sort of . . . natural magic that was recognisable even to Muggles.

Minerva rejected the thought that flitted through her mind, that she could just keep it in her vanity drawer, and, instead, placed on her bedside table, in front of Albus’s picture, between the two white stones, its cheap cord puddled beneath it, creating a small nest for it. Now she really did have the makings of a shrine she thought with a rueful grin. A very peculiar shrine, it was, too, the small rose seeming disproportionately large in contrast to the small frame to which it was affixed, the two stones, one a twin of the other, and the trinket given her by the foreign Gypsy, seeming to stare up at her with an eternally open eye. And all surrounding a photograph of Albus that she had clipped from the _Daily Prophet_ more than twelve years before.

Opening one side of her window to the cool night air, Minerva darkened the room and slipped into bed, her face turned toward where she knew Albus’s photograph sat on her night stand, and slowly, her eyes drifted shut, and she dreamt of a man with eyes more blue than any nazar.

* * *

When Minerva opened her eyes again, sunlight was streaming in through the window and a cup of tea sat steaming on her night stand, a miniature pitcher of milk beside it. She sat up and reached to pour a little milk into the tea, wondering when Blampa had delivered it and how late it was. Much later than she usually woke, Minerva thought. Blampa had carefully set the tea several inches from the photograph of Albus, and Minerva pulled the cup and saucer toward her. 

As she sipped the hot tea, Minerva thought about the previous day. She certainly had behaved poorly, not to mention that she had spent most of the day feeling miserable. The cause of her bad mood and her embarrassing behaviour had been entirely avoidable, as well, if she had simply restrained herself from eavesdropping – or, if she hadn’t managed that, at least had entered the staff room immediately, rather than retreating to her rooms like a hormonal adolescent. At least everything had worked out in the end; Gertrude had forgiven her easily, for which Minerva was grateful, and Albus had been understanding, not even scolding her for listening at doors. Of course, she was an adult, and she had clearly seen and suffered the consequences of her rudeness. It had been so good of Albus to explain it away as her bad day colliding with Gertrude’s bad day . . . and she was very relieved that the consequences hadn’t been catastrophic.

Albus. Dear, sweet Albus. Minerva cradled her cup in her hands and remembered his calm, unquestioning acceptance of her confession that she had eavesdropped. And his explanation had been kind and patient. Tears rose in her eyes as she remembered the warmth of his gaze when he’d wished her a very good night. And he had called her “my dear Minerva.” She sniffed a bit. Perhaps it was foolish of her, but she cherished those words, and it did seem to her that he called her “my dear Minerva,” or sometimes “my dear Professor,” if they were in company, and she didn’t believe that he addressed anyone else in quite that way. 

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to remember the way he had bid her good-night when they were in his office, the way his hand had slipped around behind her as he stepped closer, the feel of his lips upon her forehead, lingering there, his breath on her hair, and how she could feel his heartbeat and the gentle strumming of his magic beneath her hand. Minerva grew warm with the memory of his sleepy, unselfconscious kiss, and she permitted herself the daydream she had denied herself the night before, a daydream in which she dropped the parchments to the floor and put her arm around him, rubbing his chest with her other hand as she raised her face and brought her lips to meet his . . . she imagined the feel of his lips and his beard, and how he would release the handle of the door, forgetting completely that she had been about to leave, and he would put his other arm around her, pulling her closer, and her hand would go from his chest to his face, caressing him, threading her fingers through his hair, and he would hold her tightly against him . . . and suddenly Minerva opened her eyes as hot tea spilled over her lap. She ground her teeth together, biting back the expletive that had been on the tip of her tongue.

Shaking her head at her idiocy – for not only was spilling her hot tea all over herself incredibly stupid, but her fantasy was even more foolish – Minerva Summoned her wand and cleaned up the mess she had made. She looked over at the little photograph of Albus. At least it had been far from the spilled tea. Although she had strengthened the photograph when she clipped it from the newspaper, she didn’t have any charm or any picture glass protecting it. She was unfamiliar with the charm that Albus had used on the other two photographs. She would have to ask him what it was so that she could cast it on her other little keepsake. Though she did hope that she wouldn’t be spilling any tea in its vicinity again.

Minerva cast a _Tempus_ and was astounded to see that it was ten minutes past nine. She never slept that late. Of course, she had been up late the night before, and the day’s events had been exhausting, but she was still surprised at the hour.

“Blampa! Blampa!” Before she had finished calling the little house-elf’s name for the second time, her grinning little face was in front of her.

“May I, Blampa, serves the Professor Minerva?”

“Yes, Blampa. Thank you for the tea. That was very thoughtful and nice to wake up to.”

The little elf’s colour deepened, and Minerva presumed she was blushing. “Professor Minerva, nothing to thank Blampa for. I, Blampa, is happy her Professor Minerva sleeps well and wakes to tea!”

Her grammar could use a little work, but Minerva appreciated the sentiment. “You know, Blampa, you can use the word ‘you’ when you address me. You’ve done it before. I don’t mind.” Ignoring the little elf’s growing blush, Minerva continued, “I would like a light breakfast, please; just a little toast, perhaps some fruit, and some tea.”

“Light breakfast coming right up for you, Professor Minerva, yes, indeedy!” Blampa said, with a bounce on her toes before she Disapparated.

Minerva brushed her hair and put on her dressing gown, feeling quite indolent, still not dressed at that hour of the day. Her walk would be late, as well. When she entered her sitting room, she found that Blampa had already efficiently laid the table and left her tea, toast, and a bowl of mixed berries.

As she ate, Minerva remembered something else that Albus had mentioned the night before – well, she supposed it was earlier that morning, actually – he had been surprised, it seemed, that Minerva had been able to feel his door charm when she had been sitting at his desk. He had said something about “resonance.” Could this have something to do with their wands? When speaking of their wands, he had said that their magic “resonated” well together. Minerva frowned over her berries as she thought about the question. It was unlikely that it was her wand that had been the cause . . . unless it had served as a conductor or an amplifier of some sort. But she hadn’t been able to feel it elsewhere in the office, only when seated behind his desk, the focus of the charm. No, it was more likely that the phenomenon that had led them to possess mated wands was the same phenomenon that had allowed her to feel a charm that Dumbledore had said he had specifically tuned to himself.

Minerva thought about the notion of resonance, and what Albus had mentioned before about their magic “harmonising.” Was that what had drawn her to him, those years ago? She had become increasingly sensitive to his magical signature the longer she had studied with him, and it seemed that her growing awareness of him as a wizard had accompanied her growing awareness of his magic. But it wasn’t only his magic that drew her to him, any more than it had been her magical accident in the Transfiguration classroom that had created her love or her desire for him. The accident had triggered her love and desire; it had not created them from nothing. And if she was particularly well-tuned to his magic, that only enhanced what she felt for him, it did not cause it. 

Now that Dumbledore had told her about the wands and their magical harmony, so much made sense to her. The ease with which he had brought her magic in tune with his in order to make the Side-Along Apparition comfortable, for example – no doubt he would have been able to do so, anyway, being a very powerful wizard, but it had seemed easy, and she had been so aware of his magic flowing through hers, almost as though it was a part of her own magic . . . there had been nothing uncomfortable or foreign about it whatsoever. And when she had collapsed in the classroom and he had held her . . . in her sudden crashing awareness of him and of her yearning for him, she had been so aware of his magic, as though it had been her own pulse she felt within her.

And, of course, there was the way he had staunched her magical drain. Minerva wished she knew more about the phenomenon. The next summer, when they were working on the wards together, the two were having tea and Albus was answering some questions she had, when she had remembered what Madam Valentius had said to her about the wards that protected underage students from magical drain. 

“Professor Dumbledore, do you mind if I ask you another question?” Minerva asked.

He smiled. “Oh, I don’t believe you have exhausted me quite yet, my dear. Ask away!”

Minerva had always been reluctant to broach the subject of her accident with him, but this seemed different to her, more of a professional discussion of the wards. As long as he asked no questions of her about what she had experienced when she had lain, weeping, across his lap, of course . . .

“You remember my accident last autumn?” Minerva asked. At his nod, she continued quickly, “Remember that Madam Valentius said that I had been open to magical exhaustion, but that the drain had been staunched?”

Professor Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, I remember.”

“Well,” Minerva continued, “Madam Valentius said something about the Hogwarts wards protecting students . . . but she said that she had thought that the wards only extended that particular protection to underage students, but she guessed she might be wrong about that. But, from what I’ve learned about the wards from you, she wasn’t wrong, was she? It wasn’t the wards that prevented my magical exhaustion.”

“No, Miss McGonagall, your deductions are correct. Very good,” he said.

“Yet something staunched the drain.” Minerva took a swallow of her tea, unsure how to phrase her next question. “Sir, did you do something to help me? I mean, something more than . . . more than getting me to the Hospital Wing that evening?”

Professor Dumbledore looked at her a moment before speaking. “There is a phenomenon among witches and wizards – perhaps you have even heard of it or experienced it yourself, or perhaps your mother, as a midwife has mentioned it to you – a phenomenon that sometimes occurs between a parent and a child, though sometimes between others, as well. It is spontaneous, and although it can be controlled or halted once it has begun, it is essentially . . . instinctual.” Dumbledore shrugged. “A small wizarding child, through some stress or trauma, creates a magical accident. If, because of severe stress, the accident is worse than the ordinary . . . fit of temper, the child can begin to suffer magical drain. Before it can proceed and possibly damage the child, the mother – or, in some instances, the father – holds the child and instinctively uses her magic to . . . contain the magic of her child, and even to infuse some of her own magic into her young son or daughter. This containment or infusion can be controlled or halted, as I have said, but is essentially instinctive. Such intervention is most commonly seen between a parent and a child, but also amongst others, particularly relatives. And the one who is protected from magical depletion is not always a child. It is occasionally an adult.”

Minerva sat and waited for him to continue, but he had begun drinking his tea again, and it appeared he had finished answering her question.

“So . . . what you are saying is that . . . _you_ staunched the magical drain and prevented my magical exhaustion. Through this . . . this instinctive reaction.”

“Mmhm. Yes. Although, as I said, the first impulse is instinctive, but it is . . . controllable.” He sipped more tea. “When I realised what was happening, I was able to tap into the wards and Hogwarts magical field and draw on them. It was almost immediate, so I . . . I was fine, myself.”

Minerva swallowed, staring at him. “What do you mean, you were fine, yourself?”

Dumbledore shrugged. “Well, it is extremely rare for any true damage to be done to the magical donor, and in the case of accidents with children, the immaturity of their magic, while making them susceptible to harm from a magical drain, also makes it very easy to staunch, and the parent is barely affected, sometimes even unaware that they have done anything. If the victim of the drain is older and their magic is mature, it is more difficult and requires greater energy. And a magical drain caused by the sort of syncope you experienced, that tends to be a rather fast, violent drain, as I later learned. But you were never in any true danger, my dear,” he added, noting her alarmed expression. “You may have been ill for a number of days as your magic recovered, but you would have recovered, fully, even if nothing had intervened.”

“Even if _nothing_ had intervened? Professor! _You_ intervened – not some, some formless _thing_. And you could have been injured!”

“No, my dear. I have some store of magic, myself. And I drew on the Hogwarts magical field, as I said.” He smiled kindly at her. “Truly, Minerva, _neither_ of us was in any danger, I assure you.”

“But my magic was mature – what you just said implied that there was a greater danger to the . . . to the donor if the victim of the drain had reached magical maturity. And magical syncope can cause a violent drain, you said. You could have harmed yourself, Professor!”

Her professor shook his head. “It was not particularly taxing, truly, my dear. And the wards assisted. Even if they hadn’t, I would have been fine. I may have been slightly more fatigued had we not been at Hogwarts, but I would have been fit as a fiddle in no time.”

“My thanks and my apologies to you at the time seemed inadequate before; now they seem completely unsatisfactory. I don’t know how to thank you at all,” Minerva answered, wishing she hadn’t asked him about it, wishing she didn’t have one more reason to admire him, to be grateful to him, to love him.

“You have thanked me, Miss McGonagall. You returned to your classes the next day, and to your Animagus training the next term. It was clearly a traumatic experience for you, and I was unable to allay that trauma for you. What I did . . . it was the least I could do. I wish it had been more.”

“Thank you . . .” Minerva once again felt guilty about the way she had avoided him after the accident. Now that she knew that he had actually intervened to prevent her magical exhaustion, it made her seem completely ungrateful in those weeks after the accident.

“Do you want to talk about it, Minerva? About the accident?” Professor Dumbledore asked, pouring her another cup of tea.

“No. I am fine now, Professor. As you can see.” And Minerva changed the topic, making a mental note to do some research into magical exhaustion and this instinctive staunching he had spoken of.

Almost precisely fifteen years after that conversation, Minerva thought again of how Dumbledore had staunched her magical drain, seemingly instinctively, on impulse, and with relatively little after-effect for either of them. Perhaps it had been because of the harmony of their magic – if that hadn’t been what had caused him to intervene, perhaps it had made it easier for him to do so, and more effective, as well. She never had done any research on the phenomenon, she had been so busy, and she had eventually forgotten her curiosity about it, though she had never forgotten that Albus had helped her that evening. How could she forget? That event had seemed to define her life for so long. There was Before _It_ and After _It_. The accident still defined her life, its consequences did, anyway. But when Minerva thought of how wonderful it felt to be with Albus now, how much she treasured her time with him, and every look, every touch, every gesture of affection, she knew that _It_ would have arrived in time, whether she had had that accident or not. She loved Albus and was drawn to him. She wanted only to be with him and then to build the rest of her life around that. Minerva could not imagine her life without Albus’s presence, and she could not imagine his presence in her life without also imagining loving him. As a friend, of necessity . . . yet perhaps . . .

No, it was foolish of her to think there might be any other sort of love between them. But remembering how she had tried to cheer herself up the previous afternoon by thinking of all the lovely things he had done for her recently, Minerva struggled with her feelings. She wasn’t even sure whether she was struggling to create hope out of those memories or to suppress it. All that Minerva was sure of was that when Albus had touched her cheek and inserted the small rose in her hair, saying he would be her mirror, her heart had pounded harder, and it seemed such a romantic gesture. But, Minerva reminded herself sternly, it could not be a romantic gesture because they were not romantically involved. And yet, Albus thought her beautiful . . . he had told her so. If he thought her beautiful, and if he enjoyed spending time with her . . . . 

Minerva held her head in her hands. How had she gone from contemplating the phenomenon of magical resonance to somehow beginning to imagine that . . . not that Albus was interested in her, but that, in time, he might come to be interested in her? Tears rose in Minerva’s eyes. She had simply felt too much in the past days, weeks, months, and she was tired of having her emotions so tossed about. She wished she had someone to talk to about it – to talk her out of doing anything foolish, at least. Not that she would ever say anything to Albus, of course, but she might begin to harbour hopes, foolishly, and leave herself open to having them dashed. Minerva shook herself and brought herself back to reality, pouring herself a last cup of tea. Distraction. She needed distraction, without a doubt. Researching magical resonance could be a distraction.

There was the matter of their magical resonance, their wands, and the way in which he had staunched her magical drain fifteen years ago. Now, there was a project for her holiday at home. Her mother, as a Healer-Midwife, had shelves full of books on Healing. Surely she must have some books that dealt with the topic of magical exhaustion and that instinctive protection Albus had exercised on her behalf; perhaps her mother could even tell her something about it. And she could ask her father for help researching wands. Minerva wasn’t entirely sure whether she wanted to tell her father about her wand or not, but perhaps if he knew more about why she was doing the research, he would be better able to help her . . . she would wait and see how it went. In the meantime, there was her walk, and perhaps a visit to the Jarvey later in the day, and Albus – the Headmaster – had agreed to meet with her in the afternoon. She had enough to occupy her time.

Minerva left the remnants of her breakfast to Blampa, dressed, and got ready for her walk, pulling on her stout shoes and putting on a tartan over robe. She stepped through her front door, closed it behind her, and paused, remembering that she had been going to change her password. Because this portrait was her door warden, it has been charmed so that only she, the Headmaster, or the Deputy could change the password.

Minerva drew her wand, pointed it at the centre of the portrait, and said, “ _Desinero ‘Alvarium album_.’” Having cancelled the previous password, she set the new one, hesitating only slightly before saying, “ _Patibis ‘desidero et spero_.’”

Another foolish password, “ _desidero et spero_ ,” more foolish than the last, but she wouldn’t be sharing it with anyone. If Albus asked her for it, well, she’d just have to change it again, quickly, before he would have occasion to use it. But still . . . there was growing within her a foolish hope, born, no doubt, only from her own foolish desire. And she shouldn’t be doing anything to nurture it. Minerva raised her wand again, almost prepared to change the password yet again, but . . . it was only a password. Using it certainly couldn’t do her any harm.

Now, time for her walk. Past time, actually, at almost ten o’clock, but Minerva didn’t want to fall out of the habit, even for one day, so she set off briskly, trotting quickly down the stairs then out the front doors. It was a cloudy day, and the wind was strong. Minerva thought it might rain before the day was over, but it wasn’t raining at that moment, so she strode down the path towards the gates, then, on impulse, she veered off in the direction of Hagrid’s cabin. She wasn’t planning on visiting him – though if she saw him, she would stop and speak – but she had always loved the feel of the wind, and listening to it, too, as it blew through the branches, shaking the leaves. A short stroll in her tabby form through the small stand of trees near Hagrid’s appealed to Minerva. Perhaps she might even follow the line of the forest down to the wall and back. 

Minerva popped into her Animagus form and trotted towards the trees before breaking into a sprint for the last several yards, and then leaping onto a tree, grasping its rough bark with her claws. Minerva looked around, then scrabbled up the tree to a large, low branch. She sharpened her front claws briefly, enjoying the feel of the bark on her paw pads and under her claws. With a yawn, Minerva stretched her full length along the branch. A little nap, then the rest of her walk, then lunch, and maybe even a visit to a Jarvey that swore like a drunken Auror. She closed her eyes and drifted into a light sleep, the wind moving through the leaves around her, a sweet lullaby.


	78. Meeting Morag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nap leads to an unexpected encounter with a Ministry official, which puts Minerva in an awkward position.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Philomena Yaxley, and Wilspy.

**LXXVIII: Meeting Morag**

Minerva slept as the breeze whispered through the leaves around her, ruffling her fur and tickling her whiskers. She dreamt of lying in a warm lap, fingers gently caressing her head. She rolled and stretched, opening kitty eyes to see Albus above her. With a smile and the ease that comes in a dream, she stretched once more and returned to her ordinary form, her head still resting in his lap, but his caresses didn’t cease. His fingers gently traced her face, softly following the line of her jaw to her neck. She let her head fall back, and his caresses continued over her throat, gentle, loving touches; as his hand moved lower, the tips of his fingers brushing the tender skin of her breasts, Minerva arched in pleasure and her robes fell open, exposing her completely to the exploring fingers and the blue eyes that watched their journey. “Beautiful, always so beautiful, my dear Minerva,” Albus whispered, and Minerva, completely unselfconscious in her dream, opened her robes to him further, so they fell away from her body, baring herself to him entirely. Just as his hand drifted down over her stomach, Minerva woke on her branch as the wind shook her tree and a hard, sudden rain began. With a yowl, a very displeased tabby scrambled from her previously comfortable perch. The rain was coming down in sheets and she was soaked before she hit the ground.

No point now in returning to her ordinary form, Minerva thought, and she streaked toward the castle, thinking for a moment of stopping at Hagrid’s, but immediately deciding against it, instead making for the front doors. By the time she reached them, she was scarcely recognisable as a cat, she was so bedraggled. If she had been in her ordinary form, she would have sworn a blue streak. Much to her joy, she saw that the front doors were open, and she dashed through them; only after crossing the threshold did she notice the two people standing in the entry hall, apparently watching the rain. One of them was Albus, the other was a woman whom she recognised from the Ministry, the minister-for-something-or-other, she had once called her in a fit of pique. It was Philomena Yaxley, the Minister for International Magical Cooperation, and one of the less disagreeable ministers, Minerva had to admit – although that was not necessarily saying much.

As Minerva made her sodden appearance, the old witch actually let out a squeak and jumped back a few feet.

“A creature!” she said, this time squeaking articulately. “Albus! A creature!”

“Ah, yes, a ‘creature,’” Albus said with a smile. “A rather damp creature. A cat, actually.”

Minerva wanted to make an escape up the stairs. She couldn’t perform any kind of drying charm while in her Animagus form, and she certainly wasn’t going to transform into her ordinary form in front of them. She would be just as soaked through as she was now, and certainly as uncomfortable. Unfortunately, the other witch was standing in front of the stairs, and after the witch’s reaction to her appearance in the hallway, there was no telling what she might do if Minerva tried to run past her. Faint or something ridiculous like that, Minerva thought. So she just stood there and dripped onto the flagstone and waited. Albus would get the silly thing to move out of her way.

“Oh,” Minister Yaxley said, seeming to relax slightly. “Is she yours?”

“Is she mine? No, I wouldn’t say that . . . no, I believe she belongs to no one but herself. Cats are like that.” Albus just stood and smiled down at Minerva, who glared wetly at him.

“Mm, my sister always has at least one – and I’d say they own her rather than the other way ’round,” the witch answered, but still looking at Minerva with some scepticism. 

Minerva stared at Albus. What was he waiting for? Now she definitely couldn’t transform here in the hallway, even if she’d wanted to.

Albus waved his wand over her, drying her off. Well, that was something, at least. Minerva sat, avoiding the puddle she’d made where she’d dripped all over the floor.

“Good mouser?” asked the minister.

“Eh?” 

“A mouser – is she good for anything? Or does she just hang about? My sister’s cats all just hang about.”

“I can’t say I’ve seen her catching mice – ”

“Hmph. Sounds as useless as my sister’s moggies. She have a name?”

“Er, I sometimes call her ‘little one,’ but – ”

“My sister’s cats all have peculiar names – Beauregard, Clarisse, Orion, Puck – and Puck is determined to live up to his namesake, unfortunately. And then there was the one she named Casanova! That one was a real monster – would go for anything on four paws and took a _most_ unseemly interest in my Pekinese, little Bootikins. Be careful what you name this one, Albus! Don’t want to be calling her something unsuitable, especially in a school full of children.”

_“Bootikins”?_ And she thought her _sister_ had odd names for her _cats_? This witch was quickly moving from the category “less disagreeable” to “most annoying,” and Minerva could feel a hiss coming on. Not that she would give in, of course. Instead, she made a pretence of washing her whiskers and retained her dignity. 

“I do believe her name is ‘Morag,’” Albus said.

Minerva froze, paw lifted to her face. He wouldn’t _dare_.

“Well, almost as peculiar as the names my sister gives the beasts, but at least it’s not unsuitable around children.”

“Here, Morag, come here, little one!” Albus bent over and called her to him, his eyes twinkling. He _had_ to be joking. 

Minerva stood very deliberately, turned, sat back down, and continued to pretend to clean her whiskers. Albus straightened and laughed.

“Exactly why I won’t have a cat, Albus. Well . . . I believe the rain is letting up. It’s just drizzling now. I can Apparate from the gates to Madam Puddifoots without becoming too wet.”

“May I offer you an _Impervius_ Charm?”

Minerva looked over at the old witch.

“Still the charming gentleman, aren’t you, Albus?” she replied with a smile. “But no, thank you, I am quite happy casting my own if need be.” The old witch shook her head. “You know, I can’t imagine what Val was thinking, that business a few years ago. But she was – and remains – a fool. And now she’s marrying another one. My nephew. I assume you’ve heard.”

“Yes, it was in the _Prophet_.”

“Mm. I was in Majorca when my cousin made her . . . announcement.” The witch lifted a lip in distaste. “I was never so happy to have missed a social occasion as I was that one. Embarrassed by both sides of the family simultaneously. Such a treat _that_ would have been.”

Well, maybe the witch didn’t appreciate cats, but she couldn’t be all bad. She clearly didn’t like Valerianna. 

Albus smiled politely. “I have heard from others who wished they had been present.”

“Yes, well, it may have been amusing if one had been an invisible onlooker, I suppose. But, still, Albus . . . I never wanted to say anything before, but now that she’s latched onto my nephew . . . perhaps it’s still forward of me, but we have known each other for more decades than I can count using both hands, and I have to say I was glad when you were shut of her. Neither of you would have been happy. She needs someone more like Francis; as toadlike as he may appear, he is good for her in an odd sort of way. And you, oh, my old friend!” Minister Yaxley shook her head and smiled at him. “You have been blessed in so many ways, and yet you have known so much loss, so many burdens, and borne so much alone. But I hope it does not sound unkind when I say that I was happy to learn that you were no longer . . . _associating_ with my cousin. I do wish you happiness, Albus, and a relief from your . . . solitary life, but it is an unpleasant truth that Val is an aggressive, self-centred, social-climbing witch. Gordon was too good for her, and she never appreciated him properly. She never would have understood you, Albus, except in the most superficial way.” 

Minerva could not see Albus’s face, but she could only imagine how awkward he was feeling. She would say that it served him right for calling her “Morag,” but remembering how Albus had cut his steak into hash when the conversation had turned to Valerianna that time at lunch – and it hadn’t even been a conversation in which he had figured – Minerva could only feel sympathy for him.

“Yes, well, I do not believe we could have sustained a successful acquaintance for very long, under any circumstances, except one of the most casual sort,” Albus answered. “It was simply . . . unfortunate.”

“Perhaps so, but she behaved very badly, Albus, and I have been sorry for that. . . .” The older witch trailed off, sounding genuinely sad. “Well, it’s all over and done, now! As is the rain! Lovely!”

The two stepped toward the door. 

“Good afternoon, Philomena,” Albus said.

“Good afternoon, Albus,” the minister replied, offering her hand. Albus took it and bowed, his lips barely grazing the witch’s knuckles before he straightened, releasing her hand. 

Albus stood in the doorway and watched the minister walk away down the drive to the gates. To her cat’s eyes, he seemed a simple dark silhouette of greys against the daylight beyond. Minerva stood and walked over to him, rubbing against his legs and bumping her head against his shins. It was a behaviour she rarely exhibited, but she felt that he needed a bit of comforting, and yet after what she had overheard, he would likely feel more awkward if she simply popped back into her ordinary form. Not to mention, she was probably not looking her best right then.

“So . . . Morag,” Albus said softly, looking down at her, “or perhaps another name would suit you better, hmm?” Albus bent over, crouching a bit, and rubbed her head for a moment. “A nice name . . . a nice name for a cat . . . Rags? Would you like that? I know it doesn’t sound particularly dignified, but I think it’s cute, and much nicer than ‘Morag.’ What do you think, my dear?” Albus asked, still speaking softly.

Minerva thought he was certainly right about it not being dignified, but if he thought it was cute, and if it would stop him from calling her Morag – she purred and rubbed against him again.

“All right, then, Rags. You know, it will soon be time for lunch. But perhaps you might like a saucer of milk or a cup of tea with me in the meantime?”

Minerva did – not the milk, but the tea – yet she was sure that she must look a state after having been caught in the rain, even after Albus’s drying charm. She hesitated, standing on his feet.

“Undecided? Well, you don’t have to decide right away. May I give you a lift?” Albus picked her up, holding her gently against his chest, left arm under her legs, his right arm providing her upper body with support. Minerva could jump down easily from this position, but was also quite comfortable in it.

Albus turned, and the front doors shut with a muted thunk behind him. He began to climb the stairs. When they reached the first floor, he said softly, “Introducing you to Minister Yaxley as Morag the Cat and not as Minerva McGonagall led her, not unexpectedly, to speak to me as though in the presence of Morag the Cat.” Albus stroked Minerva’s head. “I was in school with Philomena. She was in the same year as Crispinian and Gwynllian,” he said, naming her mother’s parents, “so Philomena and I have known each other for a very long time. We may not be the closest of friends, but we have always been on good terms, and there is something about knowing someone for that long . . .” Albus shrugged. “She felt free to speak to me as an old friend, you see, and not knowing you were there, or rather, being under the impression that you were Morag the Cat – ”

Minerva bumped up against his jaw, interrupting him, then rubbed her head against his shoulder and purred. He really didn’t need to explain to her. It was all quite obvious, and there was no point in him feeling any more embarrassed than he already did.

“So . . . tea? Or I could offer you that saucer of milk?” Albus said as they reached the second floor.

Minerva did not particularly want to transform in front of him, not having any idea what kind of a state she was in, but she also didn’t want him to think that she was avoiding him, either, so she just settled down in his arms. When they got to his office, she could visit his loo and transform then. She had her wand with her; it would be quick work to make herself presentable.

Albus carried her to the gargoyle, Minerva feeling rather spoiled at being carried about, but he didn’t seem to mind, and it was nice to settle against his chest. He was very nice and warm, and even as a cat, she could feel his magic humming with his pulse. She closed her eyes in kitty bliss as they entered the stairway and started the ride up.

“Well, you certainly do seem to have got used to this, Raggles! You’ll soon be as lazy as Philomena’s sister’s cats!” he teased. 

Minerva opened one eye, decided that the name “Raggles” was slightly less offensive than “Rags,” and much better than “Morag,” and, in addition to that, he was holding her a little bit closer and rubbing her chin with his right thumb, so she really couldn’t complain, and she closed her eye again. When they reached his office, Minerva did not particularly want to get down. Perhaps a saucer of milk wouldn’t be so bad, if she could manage to drink it while curled up in his lap. That thought reminded her suddenly of the dream she had been having just before the rain woke her. She was very glad that she was in her Animagus form, or she surely would have blushed beet-red. Minerva hopped down and trotted over to the brass staircase. She stood at the bottom and looked over at Albus. 

“They’re charmed to recognise you no matter your form; go on up – I assume you want to use the loo. I’ll call Wilspy for tea – unless you’d prefer a saucer of milk?”

Minerva flicked the tip of her tail at him, twitched an ear, and marched up the stairs, displaying precisely what she thought of his witticism. Albus laughed.

“Tea, it is, then!”

Minerva entered his sitting room and looked around. The door to the loo was closed, but the one to his bedroom was open. With barely any hesitation, she walked to that door, rationalising to herself that she didn’t want to transform just yet. The bedroom door was open just enough for her to ease through it without having to open it any further. She walked the few feet from the door into the room and turned the corner to head toward the loo, suddenly feeling self-conscious and guilty for entering his bedroom without his permission. She certainly wouldn’t want anyone just making free in her rooms like that – except, of course, for Albus, when he had arranged her new painting for her. But that had been entirely different. She had no good excuse for having entered his bedroom, none but the rather thin one that she didn’t want to transform just yet. 

Still, when Minerva reached the door to the loo, which was just slightly ajar, she paused and looked around her. She had liked the room when she had seen it before, and it was still appealing, though the sunny yellow of the bedroom walls was rather lost on her cat’s eyes. It was still light, bright, and airy. The bed, she remembered, had been covered with a bedspread of a creamy colour with designs in dark red, green, and gold, reminiscent of Gryffindor House but without slavishly following that colour scheme. His sheets had been a pale gold, and he’d had a lightweight gold coverlet. The bed itself was a typical Hogwarts four-poster, but with easily enough room to sleep a small family, it now seemed, from her cat’s vantage point, but probably only a bit larger than her own full-sized bed. The bed curtains were tied to the posts for the summer – she doubted he ever used them. He wouldn’t need them for privacy, certainly, and although Hogwarts could be drafty in the winter, a charm or two could take care of that more effectively than any bed curtains.

There was a large wardrobe of rather ornate design against the wall that ran between the door to the bedroom and the one to his backstairs, and there was a low chest of drawers against the back wall beside the entry to the stairway. A small fireplace, which she hadn’t noticed before, its grate empty, was set into the far wall between two large windows. Other than a bench, a single chair, and two bedside tables, the large room had little else in it. Not a single picture hung on the walls, although there were some odds and ends on the small tables and the dresser, which she couldn’t see well from her current vantage point. Looking around, wondering at the lack of a portrait in his bedroom, or at least of a landscape, as he had given her, she did notice that the wall just beyond the door to the loo and directly opposite the foot of the bed was painted with some kind of design. 

Minerva trotted a little ways across the room and looked up at it. Although her colour vision was limited when she was in her Animagus form, she could see that this was a marvellous mural of a phoenix, wings spread, looking toward the heavens, beak partially open, as if in a final song, and surrounded by flames, which had been charmed to flicker and dance about the bird, though the phoenix itself was frozen in the midst of its fiery transformation. Above the bird, rays of sunshine appeared to stream from behind some clouds, and the overall effect was more than pleasing, even to her cat’s eyes. The next time she was in here, Minerva decided, she would take a better look at the painting, which appeared to be some kind of fresco done in the plaster that covered the room’s stone walls. For now, however, she had spent too much time gawking about a room that she had no business being in, and she went back over to the loo and gently pushed the door open with her paw. 

As soon as Minerva was in the loo, she transformed to her ordinary form, and a lamp lit in response to her presence. Handy feature, Minerva thought, as she waved her wand and lit the other one, the better to see the damage the storm had done. Looking in the mirror, Minerva was very glad she had not transformed in front of anyone. Half of her hair was scraggling from what used to be a French twist, the other half was still up, but in a dreadful mess of knots, and it appeared she had lost some of her Charmed hairpins, though she couldn’t imagine how. And her clothes . . . wrinkled wasn’t the word for them. 

Minerva removed her tartan over robe, hoping that her pale green under robe might be less of a mess, but it had fared no better. She had to smile; perhaps “Rags” was a more appropriate name than she had thought! She waved her wand experimentally, trying to smooth out some of the wrinkles. Improved, but still not at all presentable. It would be easier if she could hang the robe up and cast a charm at the entire garment when she wasn’t wearing it. Doing it while looking in the mirror like this was not ideal. And then, her hair . . . well, that could be dealt with easily enough. She wouldn’t look perfect, but she would be presentable. Just as she was thinking about this, there was a light knock on the door, and she heard Albus’s voice.

“All right, my dear? I thought we might take tea in the sitting room rather than my office. How are you coming?”

“Not very well, I’m afraid, Albus. I look dreadful.”

“Surely you exaggerate – ”

“I most certainly don’t.” Minerva giggled. “I do look raggedy, I’m afraid!”

Albus chuckled. “Is there anything I can do to assist? I mean . . . you may have Wilspy’s services, if you would like.”

“That’s an excellent suggestion, Albus. Thank you.”

“Just give her a shout, then; she’ll come for you.”

“Wilspy,” Minerva called.

A few seconds later, Albus’s house-elf popped into the loo. 

“Oh, Professor Dumbledore’s Professor Minerva!” she said, shaking her head and clucking as she looked her up and down. “Where you been?!” The old elf looked up at her quizzically, wrinkling her brow. “You swimming with the Giant Squid today?”

Minerva laughed out loud. She didn’t think she’d ever heard a house-elf make a joke before – but perhaps Wilspy hadn’t been joking. The house-elf smiled back, though, her entire face a crinkle of merriment. 

“I fetch the Professor’s Professor Minerva a robe. Professor’s Minerva, you go take shower. Leave clothes on the floor. All of them.” When Minerva didn’t make a move, the old elf cocked her head at Minerva. “Shower, Professor’s Minerva. Through there.” She pointed at the door on the other side of the loo.

“Umm, I don’t need a shower . . . you can just fetch me some robes, perhaps my brush.”

Wilspy put one hand on her hip and shook a finger at Minerva. “Professor’s Professor Minerva takes a shower! You’s – you’s – you’s a MESS!”

Minerva raised her eyebrows. “All right, all right! But it’s not my idea!”

Wilspy did a very good imitation of her mother’s glare, Minerva thought. “Should be your idea! No shower, no robes! Mess, mess, mess!” The house-elf shook her head and popped out of the room, disgusted with the silly human.

Minerva went to the door to the sitting room and opened it a crack. “Albus?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Don’t get up – don’t come over. Wilspy is insisting I take a shower before she’ll bring me any clean robes.”

“Take your time, my dear. And help yourself to whatever you need. Just call if you need anything – I mean, call Wilspy, of course. Or me. Um, take your time.”

Minerva closed the door and crossed over to his bathroom. She hadn’t been in it before, though she had noticed it the last time she’d used the loo. It was similar to her own, if somewhat larger, and it had a separate shower and bathtub, just as hers had. Casting a glance at the bathtub and noticing that it had the same number of spigots as her own bathtub did, she wondered whether he kept the same scented soaps on tap as she did. But she was here for a shower, not to inspect the bathroom. A _quick_ shower. 

Feeling somewhat uncomfortable stripping in a strange bathroom – Albus’s bathroom, at that – Minerva hurriedly removed her shoes, socks, robe, chemise, and panties, then pulled the Charmed pins from what was left of her hairdo. As she stepped toward the shower to turn on the water, Minerva felt a sudden thrill go through her at the thought that Albus was naked in this same space on a regular basis. She shivered and slid open the glass shower door to the very large, circular shower stall. As she did that, she had an unbidden vision of doing so with Albus standing naked under the shower. 

Minerva gripped the edge of the shower door. What was wrong with her? She had to gain some control over herself. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

The shower could be regulated manually or magically, she saw, and she experimented until the water was pleasantly warm. There were several jets set at intervals in the surrounding wall and a large shower head hanging centrally above the stall, and a hand-held contraption, as well. Minerva stepped in, and again, the image came to her of stepping into the shower and joining Albus. Oh, gods, she had to stop this. Just wash and be done with it!

But as she lathered her body, Minerva closed her eyes and imagined calling Albus for help, as he, in complete innocence, had suggested she do. And he would step in, and he would wash her . . . he would wash her all over; and as Minerva’s hands ran over her body, she imagined they were his hands, instead, touching her breasts, her stomach, her – giving a low, pained moan, Minerva bent her head and gripped the handrail next to the shower door. Tears sprang to her eyes. Why did she do this to herself? And why couldn’t she just be normal? Just be normal and take a shower and change her clothes and go have tea then go to lunch and not think about Albus at all. . . . What was wrong with her?

Minerva turned her face into the shower and let the water run over her. She didn’t even bother washing her hair. It would be fine. She had taken her bloody shower, just as that house-elf had wanted. Now where were her clothes? Minerva turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Her rumpled clothes were gone, but she didn’t see any replacements. Bloody interfering little elf!

Minerva dried herself with a large, very fluffy, royal purple towel, and by the time she had wrapped another equally large purple towel around her and begun to charm her hair dry and detangle it, she was feeling somewhat better. No point in blaming a house-elf for her own foolishness. But when she had dried her hair and put it up in a French twist again, relying on charms and the few hairpins remaining to her, she still had no clean clothes. She took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the door to the loo, just in case Albus was in there, then opened it. No clean clothes there, either. 

“Wilspy!” Nothing. “Wilspy!” Where was that elf?

Minerva opened the door to the sitting room a crack. “Albus?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Wilspy has taken my clothes, but she hasn’t brought me any clean ones. I’ve called her, but she’s not come.”

“How peculiar . . . she just delivered the tea a moment ago. Wilspy!” Albus called his house-elf.

After several heart-beats, Minerva heard the house-elf enter the sitting room with a crack.

“Wilspy, Professor McGonagall needs her robes.”

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore. They’s in the bedroom.”

“Did you hear that, Minerva?”

“Yes.”

“Go on in – wait, I just need to close the door.” Minerva heard him move across the room and close the bedroom door. “There, my dear! Now you have your privacy. I’ll keep your tea warm for you!”

“Thank you, Albus.” Minerva closed the door. This was very uncomfortable. Much more than it should be. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, opened them again, and went into Albus’s bedroom.

There, laid out on his bed, were her robes. They were hardly suitable. Hardly suitable for that place and time, at least. Whatever was Wilspy thinking? She must be unused to taking care of witches was the only thing that Minerva could think. At least she’d brought her a pair of knickers, unlike the time when she was a student and the elf had brought her everything but underwear. Of course, a lot of wizards didn’t wear much in the way of underclothes, so it wasn’t entirely surprising, Minerva supposed, but she gratefully pulled on her panties. There was no camisole, but as the robe Wilspy had brought her was one of her dress robes with a very low neckline – one couldn’t even really call it a neckline, it was so low – she couldn’t have worn one without it showing, anyway. She had brought the gown back with her from her parents and had almost packed it to wear at the Gamps, then had decided against it. It was deep blue with black threads running through it, making the blue seem to shimmer like a midnight sky. The fabric was heavy, barely rippling when she moved, hanging straight from her waist and trailing out behind her dramatically. The skirts were in layers that rustled as she walked, and were longer than she remembered them being. Minerva hadn’t worn it in at least seven or eight years; it was something she’d had made for her in Germany when she had required dress robes for a New Year’s Eve party. There was a cape that went with it, but Wilspy hadn’t included that. Nor had she brought her shoes or stockings, Minerva now noticed. Really! What was that house-elf thinking?

Minerva pulled on the robe, feeling both underdressed and overdressed, even without any jewellery – or any shoes. Well, she could Transfigure a pair if Albus loaned her something to use. Perhaps she should ask for something to cover herself with, as well. The sides of the gown were low, the bodice cut so that both the back and shoulders were bare, coming to a vee just below the waist, and then sweeping up her sides toward the front of the robe, where her decolletage was emphasised in a wider, though less deep, vee-shape. Blushing slightly, wondering what on earth Albus would think when he saw her in the ridiculous gown, and wishing for the matching cape, Minerva picked up her long skirts so that she wouldn’t trip over them, at least, and started toward the door to the sitting room. Before she left, Minerva paused to take a good look at the mural. Yes, it was a fresco, she thought, and not simply a painting. The flames looked quite realistic as they rose around the phoenix, licking its wings. The phoenix itself did not move, but Minerva still had the sense that it could fly off the wall in a burst of fire at any moment.

Minerva took a deep breath. Short of begging Wilspy to bring her different robes, this would have to do. She could Transfigure the gown, but she hated Transfiguring good clothes. They never seemed quite the same afterward and seemed to wear out more quickly, as well. She walked toward the sitting room, the flagstone refreshingly cold on her bare feet, and opened the door. Albus was sitting on the sofa, waiting for her as he had promised, tea set on the low table in front of him. When she entered the room, padding across the slightly bristly Persian carpets toward him, he stood, the parchments he had been reading held loosely in his hand, then fluttering to the sofa.

“Oh, my dear, you look . . .” Albus blinked at her and swallowed.

“I know, it’s ridiculous, but it’s what Wilspy brought.”

“You look absolutely . . . lovely. Absolutely. Just . . . beautiful, my dear.” He waved his hand toward the armchair. “Please, sit. I will be mother.” He smiled at her. “I hope this does not sound offensive, my dear, but in that dress . . . you should just . . . sit and . . . be beautiful.”

Minerva blushed. “Well, as I said, it’s rather a ridiculous thing to be wearing at this time of day, in the middle of Hogwarts.” Minerva sat, smoothing her skirts under her. “And she didn’t bring any shoes.”

“Well, I’m sure we can remedy that.”

“But Albus, I can’t possibly be seen in this, I look ridiculous, and lunch is in half an hour. I should just go and change, and hope no one sees me on my way to my rooms.”

“You needn’t arrive punctually at noon. Let’s have our tea, I’ll loan you something so you can have a pair of slippers to wear, and then I’ll walk you down the back stair and to your rooms,” Albus said, as he poured her tea and handed her a cup. “We can avoid people, I should think. And there aren’t many left in the castle, anyway, and no one who would mind, I’m sure.” He smiled. “And you _do_ look lovely, not ridiculous.”

Minerva sighed, but accepted his tea and his suggestion, wishing she could cover up, though. She felt indecent in the revealing robe, sitting there in the middle of the day. It would have been bad enough with anyone else, but somehow, after her thoughts in the shower, Minerva felt exposed and embarrassed in front of Albus. 

Determined to behave normally even if she felt far from normal, Minerva asked, “So, you had a meeting with Minister Yaxley this morning?”

“Yes, just finishing up some business. I had been going to meet her at the Ministry, but she was meeting a friend in Hogsmeade, so she came here, instead.”

“Are you still going to have to go into London today?”

“No, I don’t have anything more until the Wizengamot convenes on Friday afternoon for a few hours.” He seemed to wince when he mentioned the Wizengamot.

“Is that interesting, being on the Wizengamot?”

“I suppose, in a way, it is . . . but interesting is not always pleasant. And there are many unpleasant aspects to sitting on the Wizengamot.”

“Why do it, then?” Minerva asked, immediately regretting the question as stupid, or impertinent, or both.

Albus didn’t seem to think it either of those things, though, and answered seriously, “There may be other wizards and witches who could do the work as well as I, and ones who would take it seriously, as it should be taken, but they are not always the ones chosen. I feel that as I was asked to sit on the Wizengamot, and knowing that I would do my best . . . even when that may sometimes be insufficient . . . it would have been negligent of me not to accept. There is much good that I can do, and some harm that I can prevent, as a member of the Wizengamot. I feel . . . obligated.”

Minerva nodded. “I see . . . and I am sure that you do very well, and that you treat your obligations seriously. But . . . why did you not accept the position of Minister for Magic, then?”

Albus set down his cup and saucer and looked past her. A cloud seemed to cross his face. “What is it you wish to know?”

“I’m just curious; it seems you could do even more good there, and prevent more harm, and you were asked. . . .”

The cloud lifted, and Albus smiled slightly. “There are more constraints on a Minister than you may think, Minerva. And where there aren’t, perhaps there should be.” He looked at her thoughtfully a moment. “And the Wizengamot is a council. I am one among many.”

“You never wanted to be Minister? Never considered it?”

Albus shook his head. “No. When I was young, I wanted more than that, and when I grew older, I wanted less, and now . . . I want what I have.” He smiled at her. “And part of that is being Hogwarts Headmaster. I couldn’t be Minister and Headmaster at the same time.”

Minerva smiled back. “And Hogwarts needs you. So it’s good this is where you want to be.”

“I would be nowhere else at this moment, Minerva,” Albus said softly.

With his gaze on her, Minerva felt a blush rising. If only he meant that he wanted to be nowhere but with her . . . 

Minerva set down her cup. “Thank you for the tea. I think I should try to sort out some more appropriate robes, though. It’s getting late.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Albus stood and held out his hand to her. “Come, I’ll walk you down the backstairs.”

“I still have no shoes – ” Minerva said, taking his hand and rising.

“We’ll take care of that on the way.” Albus offered her his arm and smiled. “I feel distinctly underdressed, my dear. Positively unkempt!”

Minerva laughed. “You’ll have to ask Wilspy to choose your attire, then!” Minerva shook her head. “I can’t imagine what went through that head of hers! She’s never seen me dress this way before!” 

Albus chuckled and led Minerva into his bedroom. 

“Now, if you will have a seat. I believe . . . yes, here,” Albus said and pulled a pair of socks from a drawer in his wardrobe. “I think these will do, with a bit of modification, for a pair of slippers for you – if you don’t mind! They’re new.” He held up a pair of multi-coloured woolen socks.

“That’s fine – but you can just use a pair of old ones.” Minerva perched on the bench.

Albus had already waved his wand and Transfigured them into a pair of slippers.

“I wasn’t sure of the size, but try these, my dear,” he said, handing them to her.

Minerva took them. They were very soft, but they had a flexible sole and looked like lightweight shoes, though they were still quite colourful. Feeling somewhat self-conscious, she crossed her right leg over her left and slipped one on.

“It’s perfect. Thank you. Quite comfortable.” Trying not to be too awkward about it, she put the other one on the other foot and stood. 

“Ready, then?” Albus asked. He already had the door to the stairs open and was waiting for her there.

Minerva followed him down the stairs, using the same method she had before, placing one hand lightly on his shoulder. She held her skirts up with her other hand. Halfway down, though, one of her feet caught in the voluminous skirts, and she began to trip, falling forward and grasping his shoulder harder. Before she could catch herself or fall further, Albus had already turned and caught her, right hand at her waist, the other just under her arm. The robe was cut so low that his upper hand was warm against her bare skin. She gasped in surprise.

“I have you, Minerva.”

Minerva looked down at him, his eyes so dark in the flickering torchlight, his lips slightly parted, and her heart beat faster. She swallowed and closed her eyes, trying to regain her composure.

“All right, Minerva?” he asked. 

She nodded and opened her eyes. “Yes, fine. I was just startled.” She loosened her grip on him, and he removed his hand from her side but kept hold of her waist.

“You’re sure, then?”

“Of course. It’s these skirts – too long.” Minerva took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It is lucky you were so fast, or we both might have taken a tumble. Down the stairs. If I had fallen on you.” The way she was talking, she thought, it sounded as though she _had_ fallen – on her head – more than once. “I’m fine, though,” she said lightly. “Thank you.”

Albus nodded and turned back around. “We’ll go more slowly.”

This time Minerva held on a little more tightly, and not simply for the pleasure of feeling his shoulder beneath her hand, but also just for a bit more security. They made it to the bottom of the stair with no more difficulties, and Albus opened the door.

Reaching the end of the narrow corridor, Albus turned to Minerva and asked, “Would you prefer to take the main stairs now, or the side stairs over by Ravenclaw? The first is faster, but if you are concerned about being seen, we might be less likely to encounter anyone if we took the latter way.”

Minerva nodded. “Let’s do that, then – the side stairs.” As they walked down the hallway toward Ravenclaw, Minerva said, “I do wonder whether Wilspy has developed a peculiar sense of humour, and giving me this robe is her notion of a joke.”

Albus chuckled. “Wilspy probably had some consideration in mind other than practicality.” He tilted his head and looked at Minerva. “Perhaps she thought that was your prettiest robe and that you would be pleased to wear it.”

Minerva let out a short laugh. “Perhaps. But you know, I do think she does have a sense of humour, Albus. She asked me if I had been swimming with the Giant Squid, and I could swear she thought it was funny.”

“It is funny, too,” Albus answered with a laugh. “Now I _do_ wish I had seen you, if you looked as though you’d been swimming with the Giant Squid!”

“Hmmph. I don’t know which would be more embarrassing – that or this!” Minerva rolled her eyes, gesturing at her robe, but she smiled. 

They reached her rooms. Minerva froze and looked at the portrait. She had changed her password. To something utterly ridiculous. Why on earth had she done that? Hadn’t she embarrassed herself enough the day before? Did she have to top it off today by waltzing around in a ball gown in the middle of Hogwarts after having half-drowned herself in a rainstorm then having to shower in the Headmaster’s bathroom? And now she had changed her password, which she had been so sure that Albus would never hear, and she had to use the silly thing there in front of him. He would surely remember the password she had derived it from. He would likely have no idea what her desire was for, nor her hope, but it was nonetheless embarrassing.

“Something wrong, Minerva?” Albus asked.

“Hmm? No . . . just thinking. You go on. I’ll meet you downstairs. Go ahead. No need to wait.”

“I don’t mind, really. I can peruse your shelves for another novel while I wait. I am almost through with the last one I borrowed, and you have a lot of newer ones I haven’t seen before.”

Minerva nodded. “That’s fine.” She turned to the portrait and muttered, “ _Desidero-et-spero_ ,” almost making one word of the phrase. Fortunately, the Knight seemed to understand her, and he bowed and released the door for her. 

“Just make yourself at home. Find yourself a book or two. I will try to be fast.”

Minerva did try to be fast, shucking off the slippers, tossing her dress robe on the bed, pulling on a clean camisole and her pale blue robes, then finding shoes and stockings. A few minutes later, she returned to the sitting room where Albus stood waiting by the door, holding a single book in his hands. 

“Do you mind if I borrow this one?” he asked, holding it up.

“You may borrow any of them – except _Pnin_ , I’m not quite through with that one yet. Peculiar book Melina gave me.”

Albus nodded and slipped the book into his pocket.

As they stepped out the door, Minerva noted his awkwardness. “You know, Albus, I think I am going to change my password again before I leave tomorrow, and I don’t want to give you one and have it not work if you try to use it. Why don’t I stop by your office on my way out tomorrow, and I can tell you what it is then – that way if you’d like to borrow a book, you can let yourself in.”

“That’s all right, Minerva, you needn’t – ”

“I know, but I’d like to. You may not have occasion to use it, but if you wish to – you may!” The reached the stairs and Minerva took his arm, stopping him for a moment. “I don’t want you to feel you aren’t welcome, Albus. You are, and not just as Headmaster in an emergency, but as my friend, all right?”

“As long as you don’t feel obligated; I know it was a favour to me before. You needn’t see it as a precedent.” He made a move to start down the stairs, but Minerva stopped him with a light pressure to his arm.

“I don’t see it that way.” She looked at him closely. “I would share it with you as a friend, not out of a sense of obligation.”

He began down the stairs. “But one needn’t share everything with friends, and one needn’t share one’s password with every person whom one considers a friend. Nor even with only one friend. It is unnecessary and likely unwise. And, as you mentioned before, if there were a true emergency, I am perfectly able to enter without it.” Albus glanced over at her. “I don’t believe I shared the password to my quarters with more than two people during my entire time as Deputy Headmaster. So I certainly understand if you’d rather not, Minerva; it is natural. And it would be awkward if you felt you had to give your password to me every time you changed it simply because you happened to share it with me once. That could become onerous and to feel like an obligation, regardless of how it began.”

“Yes, well, I do see your point, and I agree . . . but it’s not as though I go about sharing it with all and sundry, either, Albus. It’s one thing when I’m going to be about the castle – you can just visit when I happen to be in. But when I’m away, why not have the password? You might have no occasion to use it, but if you find yourself needing something to read, or whatever, you can just let yourself in. This way, too, it won’t become onerous, as you suggest it might. I’ll just give it to you when I know I’m going to be away from the castle for a while, as I will be this week.”

Albus smiled at her. “If you’re sure – I don’t want you to feel obligated, or as though I am simply inviting myself in.”

“Of course I’m sure! And I had already invited you to stop by whenever you wanted, help yourself to my Muggle novels,” Minerva said.

“Very well, my dear. That would be nice. But I do not wish to be impertinent.”

Minerva couldn’t help herself, and she laughed at that. “Oh, Albus! Impertinent? I don’t think I would ever describe you that way. But,” she added, trying to address his underlying concern seriously, “if you ever _are_ impertinent, I will tell you. You do have an impertinent house-elf, though. A shower may have been a good idea, but I would have preferred not to have submitted to house-elf extortion in taking it.”

“I will speak to her about that,” Albus said seriously.

“Oh, don’t do that. It was a good idea. She just had a way of making me feel . . . I don’t know.”

“Like a child? She does the same to me, still. Scolds me as though I were still a boy in her care.” Albus chuckled.

“How old _is_ she?” Minerva asked; she had known that Wilspy was a Dumbledore house-elf, perhaps even the only Dumbledore house-elf, but she had no idea that she had taken care of Albus as a child.

“Oh, let me see now . . . I believe she is one hundred-forty. Yes, one hundred-forty,” he said, nodding.

“One hundred-forty?” Minerva repeated, astonished. Fwisky was almost one hundred, and Minerva thought her ancient.

“Mmm. Happy house-elves can live to be, oh, one hundred-eighty, two hundred, even. She was a fairly young elf when she first started caring for me. Sometimes, she does still treat me like a little boy.” Albus gave a small grin, eyes twinkling, and he leaned toward Minerva and whispered, “And sometimes, I don’t even mind!”

Minerva laughed and the two went in to lunch.


	79. Jeremiah was a Jarvey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva joins other staff in their visit to Hagrid’s insulting Jarvey, who is purported to swear like a drunken Auror. She also receives an owl and doesn't immediately recognise who it could be from. Finally, she meets with Albus to discuss Hogwarts business.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Rubeus Hagrid, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, Gertrude Gamp, Hafrena MacAirt, and Jeremiah the Jarvey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Tasteless humour ahead! (But what can you expect when a Jarvey is involved?)

**LXXIX: Jeremiah Was a Jarvey**

Lunch was pleasant enough. Wilhelmina and Hagrid were there, as were Johannes, Gertrude, and Hafrena. Everyone else had either left the previous evening or that morning after breakfast.

“So, how are you this afternoon, Johannes?” Minerva asked, her eyes smiling. “Sleep well?”

Johannes chuckled good-naturedly. “Oh, very well, thank you, Minerva. Haffie Transfigured my chair into a little bed, so I was quite comfortable.”

“I ’ear yer wantin’ t’ be seein’ me Jarvey, P’rfesser,” Hagrid said, turning to Gertrude.

“Yes, Hagrid, Professor Birnbaum was telling me about him. He sounds amusing,” Gertrude said. Minerva thought she looked less subdued than she had the previous day at dinner, and in contrast to her usual robes, she was wearing some of pale rust, which Minerva had never seen before.

“Oh, yeah, ’e’s right amusin’, ’e is. A fine specimen! Lively, yeh might say. Why’n’t yeh come round after lunch? Jeremiah’s usually ’avin’ a bi’ of a kip ’bout now, after chasin’ gnomes all mornin’, but ’e brightens up when ’e’s got company! Likes an audience, ’e does!”

“Would it be all right if a few of us came along, Hagrid?” Hafrena asked. “I think we’re all curious – Johannes claims he swears like a drunken Auror!”

Hagrid laughed. “Aye, ’e’s a rude one, all righ’! If yeh ladies won’t be offended, yer all welcome! I can do tea an’ me rock cakes, if yeh like.”

Minerva, remembering that Hagrid’s rock cakes most unfortunately resembled rocks more than they did cakes, chimed in. “That would be lovely, Hagrid, but we don’t want to put you out. And we’ll just have eaten lunch. I don’t think we’d be able to appreciate them properly, having just eaten.”

“All right, then! Jes’ the Jarvey,” Hagrid said brightly. “We can all go down t’gether!” Hagrid looked pleased at the prospect of everyone wanting to troop down to see his latest creature. His acquisitions weren’t often very popular among the other staff, though he hadn’t a clue why not. A mite high-spirited, some of them, but good creatures, he always said. “Jeremiah’ll be pleased t’ see yeh all, I’m sure! Get ’im in a right good mood for an afternoon o’ chasin’ gnomes.”

Conversation went on to gnome control, and then Johannes gently steered the topic away from Flesh-eating Slugs, which Hagrid had brought up as another garden pest he’d had trouble with lately. Minerva joined a conversation with Johannes and Gertrude about herb gardens, and Johannes explained microclimates and how to manage them magically, both with and without a greenhouse. Hafrena, Wilhelmina, and Hagrid discussed whether Clauricorns could properly be considered a pest or not. From what Minerva overheard, the consensus was that, while they were annoying, they were not pests, strictly speaking. This conclusion had Minerva suppressing a smile. They all ate quickly, eager to finish lunch and go down to visit Hagrid’s Jarvey. As soon as Hagrid had wolfed down his sponge cake, the others stood and prepared to follow him out.

“Coming, Professor Dumbledore?” Minerva asked, hanging back. He was still finishing his sponge cake and had been quiet during lunch. “I can wait for you, if you like.”

“No, my dear. I have a great deal of work to catch up on.” He smiled. “You go on, enjoy yourself.”

“Why don’t I stay and help you, then? I can see the Jarvey some other time,” she offered.

“No, but thank you for the kind offer. If you could send Gertrude along to see me when you’re through there, though, that would be helpful. And you and I still need to meet about the results of the committee meeting later today, and about your installment as Head of Gryffindor, as you are leaving on holiday tomorrow.”

“All right – although if you need me, I can stay,” Minerva offered.

“No, you deserve your holiday, Minerva. It has been delayed long enough. Can you come by at, say, four?”

“Of course. And I’ll let Gertrude know you want to see her.”

“Good, thank you, my dear. Now you go along and catch up with the others; I’ll see you later.”

Minerva nodded. “Till four, then.”

“Till four,” he agreed, gazing at her warmly. 

Minerva turned and left quickly, catching up with the others as they were crossing the lawn to Hagrid’s cabin.

“Professor Gamp, before I forget, Professor Dumbledore asked me to let you know he would like to see you after we visit the Jarvey.”

“Thank you – did he mention a reason?”

“No, that was all he said.”

Gertrude nodded. “This shouldn’t take long, but Johannes promises we will be amused.”

Birnbaum, overhearing, turned and said, “Oh, you will be. You may wish to cover your ears, Minerva! He is very rude!” He grinned. “Hagrid says he has not taught him anything, but some of the things he says – they would make a barman at the Hog’s Head blush!”

“Well, we’ll see if any of us blushes, then!” Gertrude said with a slight smile. She grinned at Minerva. “You know, I would lay odds that Johannes will blush before any of us!”

“I believe you’re right, Gertrude,” Hafrena said. “I wouldn’t wager against you, at any rate.”

Wilhelmina laughed. “Hagrid blushes at some of the things he says.” She poked the assistant groundskeeper in the side. “Quite cute to see!”

“I was blushin’ fer you, P’rfesser,” Hagrid said, looking down at the diminutive teacher and smiling, enjoying her teasing. “The things he was sayin’ to yeh! Thought I’d save yeh the trouble o’ blushin’ fer yerself!”

“Very kind of you, Hagrid,” Wilhelmina said with a grin.

“Of course, a lot of what he says is just nonsense, but it all sounds very insulting the way he says it!” Johannes explained.

“Oh, Honnie, dear, I think it’s simply that your English vocabulary needs expanding! We can have the Jarvey give you lessons in dirty words,” Hafrena joked.

“Ha! I know what a ‘spigot’ is, and I never thought it was a dirty word until I heard the way this creature uses it!” Birnbaum said with a chuckle. “Remarkable little thing.”

“Do you have Jarveys in Germany?” Minerva asked.

“Yes, and they all speak Schweizerdeutsch!”

“Really?” Minerva asked, astounded to think that all German-speaking Jarveys spoke a Swiss dialect.

Johannes laughed heartily. “No, no, of course not – they speak whatever language they are exposed to. But it would be even funnier in Schweizerdeutsch!” He apparently found his own joke more amusing than anyone else did, and continued chuckling to himself the rest of the way to Hagrid’s.

Just as they reached the cabin and Hagrid began to lead them around back where, he explained, he had made a cozy little home for Jeremiah, a small Scops Owl swooped out of the sky and began flying flittery little circles around Minerva. She put out her arm for the bird to land and retrieved the letter it was carrying, then sent it off to the Owlery for treats. She looked at the letter, which was addressed to her in bright blue ink, in a large, bold script. Minerva didn’t recognise the handwriting. When she turned it over, she saw that it was sealed with green wax, an image of a cracked double-handled cup impressed in the centre of it. Minerva had the feeling that she should know whom the letter was from, but she still recognised nothing in the script or the seal. She stuffed the parchment in her pocket to open later and hurried to catch up with the others, who were just disappearing behind Hagrid’s hut.

“Jeremiah! Jeremiah! Come on out! Yeh got visitors!” Hagrid called.

A furry brown head popped up out of a hole. “Oooo! Crapulous flattulous friends!”

The creature’s voice was high-pitched and rough.

“Aye, come on ou’, now,” Hagrid urged.

The Jarvey looked back and forth, back and forth, surveying the little group, then it disappeared. A moment later, its rear half appeared, and a small explosion seemed to issue from that end.

Hagrid seemed to find this very amusing and roared with laughter. Johannes giggled, but took a step back. Hafrena covered her nose with a delicate hanky. The Jarvey’s front end reemerged, and the creature popped out of its little burrow and stood on its hind legs, staring with beady eyes at Johannes.

“Got bracken in yer booty? Eh, yeh got none! No fun!” The Jarvey bared its long teeth in a peculiar leer and stuck out its tongue, then turned and wiggled it at Gertie. “Wizzie follows witchie curious t’ see a bitty biddy’s bum! Follow yeh anywhere, yeh twitty, twatty, potty pussy! Potty pussy, potty pussy!”

Hafrena began to chuckle behind her hanky. “Hoo, Gertie! Didn’t know that about you! Potty pussy!” The old witch seemed to find that quite amusing.

Drawn by Hafrena’s comments, the little furry fellow ran over on all fours and stood up in front of the Divination teacher. In a sing-song voice, the Jarvey said, “Munter mouth! Wantwit! Whore’s twit! Nasty, knickered nincompoop! Swotty, saucy, sassy sucker! Yer as pretty as a pasty, pimpled, pickled pumpkin!”

Hafrena laughed along with the others, and even Gertrude snickered. 

“Hey, Jeremiah, come an’ meet M’nerva! Come ’ere!” Hagrid called.

Jeremiah scurried over to Minerva, who was looking down at the creature with a raised eyebrow.

“Arse tight as a troll’s teat! Got an ugly mug. Ugly mug, ugly mug, hair like a rug, give it a tug! Nasty naughty knickers! Pull’em down, turn around, see the same ugly pug!”

Minerva noticed that, indeed, Johannes and Hagrid were both blushing. But she didn’t think that Hafrena and Wilhelmina were usually quite as pink-cheeked as they were right now, either. Gertrude was smirking, but didn’t seem to be blushing. 

Apparently deciding to move on and insult someone else, the Jarvey looked up at Hagrid. Rather ridiculously, he declared to Hagrid, “Poxy plonker, poxie plonker, piddly as a Pixie’s plunger! Little wincie weenie! Muddles his muckie, minnie, weenie wandie in a windy witch’s wincie wiggie! Wincie wiggie, wincie wiggie, teeny, tiny, titty twiggy!” he sang as he ran over to Wilhelmina. “Sticks his weenie in yer wiggie. Wincie wiggie, wanky witchy, tighty, tauty, tonky, flonky, plonky wonker!”

Apparently deciding that he’d neglected Johannes, who was folded over in paroxysms of laughter following the description of Hagrid as having a “plonker” the size of a “Pixie’s plunger,” Jeremiah ran over, wiggled his butt at him, and said, “Buggered by a Billywig! Short-snout, what a lout! Put a pooper in a pout!”

Going up to Gertie, who was now chuckling, the Jarvey shouted, “Swotty, saucy, sassy sucker! Face like a Horklump! Bowtruckle up yer bump! Ashwinder arse an’ Flobberworm flipper, figs an’ gigs an’ Billywigs’ shigs!” He turned back to Johannes. “Swig swot, pig’s pot! Wizzie’s a grabby, graspy Graphorn, a grotty, grimy granny! Stick yer horn in a fanny, wiggle it, swiggle it, fall on the floor!” The Jarvey made a lewd gesture toward Gertrude. “Put yer plonker there, yeh swotty wanker! She’ll suckle yer spigot!”

The Jarvey went on in a similar vein, apparently obsessed with his visitors’ nether regions, and becoming increasingly graphic and insulting, until his speech seemed to degenerate entirely and become unintelligible gibberish. Finally, when they couldn’t understand a word he said, Hagrid told the creature to go catch some gnomes, and Jeremiah gave one last insult and one final fart in their general direction, then ran off to find garden gnomes.

Hafrena and Johannes decided to take a walk, Johannes trying to convince Gertrude to join them, but she insisted that she needed to see the Headmaster. Minerva declined the invitation, as well, wanting to read her mysterious letter. So Gertrude strode off toward the castle, Wilhelmina and Hagrid slipped into his cabin, and Hafrena and Johannes set off in the direction of the gates. Minerva, not wanting to risk overhearing anything from Hagrid’s cabin, walked down to the lake.

She took a seat on a bench near the edge of the lapping waters, pulled the parchment from her pocket, and broke its seal. 

_“Bru na MacAirt_  
 _“Contae na Mí_  
 _“23 July 1957_

_“Dear Grande Dame de la Metamorphosis,_

_“Hoping it is not too impertinent of me, I am writing to ask if you would care to dine with me this evening. I will be in Hogsmeade this afternoon on business and would be more than pleased to have the company of the fairest witch of my acquaintance to brighten the end of a long, dreary day._

_“I will understand if you are unable to accept this invitation – as it may be either too late or too impertinent! – yet if you are able to meet me, I will be at the Three Broomsticks early this evening. My business will be concluded by 5.30, and I will be in the pub until at least 6.00, hoping to be joined by some congenial company. If you are unable to meet me, an owl to that effect would not be amiss; otherwise, I will await your fair self!_

_“As always,_  
 _“I remain,_  
 _“Your Most Admiring and Impertinent Friend,_

_“Quin”_

The letter was signed with a flair, the tail of the “Q” providing a flourish beneath his signature.

Five-thirty. That was early. And she was meeting with Albus at four. But Quin said he would wait for her until six. She should be able to make it in time if she dressed before her meeting with Albus. Still, it might be nice to stay at the castle that evening, as it was her last before she left for her parents’ in the morning. But it would also be nice to see Quin again, and Albus had been encouraging her to get out of the castle and see her friends. It would be both pleasant and sensible to accept the invitation, Minerva decided. And as it was an early dinner, she should be back at the castle correspondingly early. Quin might even want his tour that evening . . . though she hadn’t heard from Poppy whether she’d had any success with Professor Dustern to get permission to see the Hufflepuff common room. It might be better to wait for another day, once Dustern was gone, and Minerva could ask the next Head of Hufflepuff, as one Head of House to another. It would likely be Professor James, despite his reluctance to take the position. He was shy – withdrawn might be a more accurate description – but he seemed collegial enough, and he had participated quite willingly on the committee that dealt with the “Pretnick problem.” He would likely agree to her request without any qualms. 

Minerva began her walk back up to the castle. As she passed Hagrid’s cabin, she heard Hagrid shouting, “Oh, Meena-bird, me Meena! Yeah, that’s right! Like that!” Minerva raised her wand and cast an Imperturbable, hoping that they did that themselves during term time. They must – she hadn’t heard any rumours about Hagrid having it off with some witch, after all, and hadn’t even had a clue that he had been involved with anyone. It did seem the two were getting careless, though, given the way that they had entered the Great Hall for dinner the evening before, after obviously having indulged in a quickie and needing to adjust their clothing – hers, anyway. Hopefully, they were just being particularly enthusiastic after their brief falling out, and would return to exercising greater discretion before term began.

At quarter to four, Mineva left her rooms, changing her password to the more sensible “trifle,” then heading toward the Headmaster’s office. She had changed into her grey and green robes with the tartan skirts, and carried a green loden cloak. It was a bit heavier than she would normally need at that time of year, but her tartan cape, which she had worn when she was caught in the rain that morning, hadn’t yet been returned. She also brought with her a final report for the Headmaster, which she had written up that afternoon, and a copy of the committee’s proposal. Although Quin had requested a reply only if she were unable to meet him, she had sent him a brief owl to let him know that she would be coming directly from a meeting, so she wasn’t entirely sure when she would be arriving, though she would try to get to the Three Broomsticks before six o’clock.

Albus was waiting for her when she arrived, and stood to greet her. Minerva smiled.

“Your charm alerted you that I was here?” she asked.

Albus chuckled. “Soon you will know all my secrets, my dear! And where will we be then?”

Minerva answered, joking, “I imagine it would take years to uncover all of the secrets of Albus Dumbledore, so little chance of our finding ourselves there any time soon.”

“Hm, yes . . . well, have a seat; we will get down to it,” Albus said, gesturing toward a chair. “I have reread the committee’s proposal and added a few things to it, but I believe it is a workable plan.”

Minerva’s eyebrows rose. “You seem . . . more comfortable with the proposal than I had thought you would be, Albus. It isn’t what you wanted.”

“No, it is not what I wanted for Robert. But it is what I wanted for the staff and for the school, and it is not adverse to Robert’s well-being.”

Puzzled, Minerva asked, “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“I had high hopes that the staff would agree to my proposal, at least in its broad outlines, and that Robert could continue as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher despite his affliction. However, it was equally important to me that the staff struggled with the issues and arrived at a decision that they had come to after careful, thoughtful deliberation. And as you once said, without the staff’s full support, both Robert and Hogwarts would be in for a very difficult time.”

“I see . . . I had thought that, I’m not sure what I thought, but you seemed to feel so strongly about keeping Robert on. I am just surprised, I suppose.”

Albus smiled. “I am not entirely naive, Minerva.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t believe you were. Not really . . . I just thought you were a little overly optimistic.” Minerva blushed.

Albus just chuckled. “Oh, I have my moments, and I do have a few crackpot ideas occasionally, but I am not completely unrealistic, my dear.”

“Of course not.” She felt somewhat silly for not having realised that Albus must have anticipated many different possible outcomes.

“And you did admirably, Minerva, both in arguing with me and in representing my position so well. Johannes and Filius were both full of praise for you. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome – I was afraid you might be disappointed in me.”

“No, not at all – you did all I could have asked, and more.”

“I was happy to. And if you need me to stay – ”

“No, you deserve your holiday! But I will contact you and let you know if you are needed at Hogwarts. I haven’t had much opportunity to speak with Wilhelmina, but we are agreed that she will move into her old quarters next week. Seems she preferred them for some reason,” Albus said.

Probably because they allowed her easier access to the grounds and Hagrid, Minerva thought. 

“But you needn’t move immediately, Minerva, though if you would like your current door portrait, it is easiest to move that before we do the rewarding on the second. Have you thought of any other changes you would like to make to the rooms? I can make changes at any time, but it might be more convenient to do it all at once.”

“I haven’t really seen much of the Gryffindor Head’s quarters. The sitting room and the study is all, actually, so I don’t know.”

“I thought you might like your bathroom and loo replicated – if you like them, that is.”

“I do – but perhaps the Head’s bath might suit me just as well,” Minerva said.

“Perhaps . . . but, um, your facilities are somewhat nicer than the standard. But if you think the bathroom will do . . .”

“I’ll look at it before I leave, I promise.” Minerva thought a moment. “Why were the bathroom and loo nicer in my rooms? Who had them before?”

“Oh, no one had used those in years. They were something of a sentimental choice on my part, actually; your rooms and your classroom had been used when I was a student by my favourite teacher, Professor Finn Futhark. They hadn’t been occupied since he retired, which was a good many years ago, and so before you moved in, I refurbished them some.”

“Finn Futhark? My father talked about him – he was his Ancient Runes teacher, I think.”

“Yes, that’s right, Ancient Runes. A lovely subject, and very useful, but it was the teacher, in this instance, that drew me to the subject. Quite unusually so . . . he tried to teach me something about the beauty of learning, of expanding one’s understanding, and of sharing this with others. I don’t believe his lessons were entirely lost on me at the time, although I thought him more a poet than practical. But I was something of a gourmand in those days, Minerva, and he was trying to teach me to be a gourmet, not to respond merely to my hunger in my quest for greater knowledge, but to . . . to savour it.” Albus’s eyes had become unfocussed and dreamy as he thought back on his early mentor, but he seemed to shake himself and continued, “Professor Futhark taught me an aesthetic appreciation of knowledge and learning, and life taught me the responsibility that comes with it. Both lessons were ones that did not take immediately, I am afraid.” He took a deep breath and let it out. 

“Well, Minerva, back to the matter at hand. What to do now that the committee has tendered its proposal. Clearly, we need to find a new Defence teacher. Fortunately, we will not need to replace him as Flying instructor and Quidditch coach. We haven’t hired a dedicated Quidditch coach in years, and I think it would be difficult to fill, but there’s no other teacher on the staff at the moment who might do, except Professor Grubbly-Plank, and she is leaving us soon.”

Minerva laughed. “Are you certain you don’t want to recruit Gertrude, Albus? She was a very enthusiastic and dedicated Beater!”

Albus chuckled. “Mmm, I asked her about that game. She was afraid you or Alroy might get hurt; when I asked her where I would be if she’d got herself Bludgered in the head, she was quite contrite.”

Minerva smiled, but wished she hadn’t brought it up. She squelched her jealousy and said, “Fortunately, Druella did have some ability to aim, and I don’t believe she wanted to kill Gertrude, although I think that maiming may have been among her objectives. But is there anything else, Albus? If you would like help with advertising or vetting the candidates, you only need ask.” It was coming up on five o’clock and she should be leaving soon.

“I’m sure I’ll manage, and Gertrude will help, too – I sent her home this afternoon to her be with her son, but she will be back next week, and when you return from your holiday, we can discuss it further. No, what I had in mind was your assistance in drawing up some work plans for Robert. There’s never been any such thing as a ‘Researcher-in-Residence’ before. I don’t want him to have empty days to contemplate his fate or to imagine his life is useless. He’s doing that too much already. I would like to have something in place for him as soon as the full staff has approved the plan. That’s not until the fifth, but perhaps we can organise something between now and then.”

“Yes, I will think about it and see what ideas I can come with. I’ll owl you.”

“Very good, my dear. You know, I was wondering, with so few in the castle . . . perhaps you might enjoy dining with me?” he asked. “Here, I mean.”

“Oh.” Minerva looked at him; she wished she could accept his invitation, but she had already owled Quin. It would be extremely rude to send him an owl just minutes before he was expecting to meet her. . . . “I’m sorry, I can’t. I am meeting a friend. In Hogsmeade. I’m sorry,” she repeated, genuinely sorry.

“Don’t apologise, my dear! It was just a thought. Who are you meeting?”

Oh, wonderful. She would mention Quin, and Albus would think it was a date, and he would twinkle and encourage and tell her what a fine catch Quin was . . . . “Just a friend, no one in particular.”

“Oh.” Albus nodded. “I see. Well, have a nice time.”

A sudden thought came to her. He couldn’t think it was a date if she invited him along. “It’s Quin, actually. You know, why don’t you come along? I’m sure he would enjoy seeing you.”

“Quin? How lovely – and I appreciate the invitation, but I don’t want to intrude on your date.”

“It’s not a date, Albus. I don’t invite other friends along on dates . . . well, not usually. But it’s not a date. It was just a last-minute thing. He happens to be in town, that’s all. I know he wouldn’t mind.”

“No, no, my dear, I couldn’t possibly. You know, my dear, you may not think it’s a date, but your young man seems quite fond of you.”

Minerva sat up stiffly. “He may be fond of me. He is a friend. I would hope my friends were fond of me. But he is _not_ my young man. And it would be embarrassing in the extreme if he thought that I thought he was – which he might do if you persist in saying such things, Albus, especially in front of him. I have told you, he is not interested, and even if he were, I am not.” She refrained from telling Albus that he was as bad as her mother.

“I am sorry, Minerva – but you shouldn’t be surprised if he changes his mind, having met you. And friendships can develop into more.” Albus could scarcely imagine a vital young wizard coming to know Minerva and not falling in love with her.

“Albus, I haven’t time to discuss this now. I have to leave. I hope you will join us.” Minerva stood.

“No, I don’t think so. Just a quiet night in for me. But thank you.” Albus stood.

“We’re having an early dinner in Hogsmeade. I scarcely think that qualifies as a wild night. I do wish you would come.” Now that the idea had occurred to her, she liked it. There was the danger, of course, that Quin would suspect that Albus was the wizard she had feelings for, but she thought the time for worrying about that had passed once they had sat down together at Fortescue’s for coffee.

“Go, have a good time with your friend, Minerva.” Albus smiled at her. “Enjoy yourself!”

“All right. I will see you before I leave tomorrow, probably, but in case I don’t, the password to my rooms is ‘trifle.’” Minerva picked up her loden cloak. “Good night, Albus. I hope you have a good dinner.”

Albus waved his hand and the door to his stairs opened for her. “Good night! Give my warm regards to Quin.”

As she rode down the spiral stairs, Minerva didn’t understand why she felt a sense of loss in the pit of her stomach. She only knew that she wished that Albus had asked her earlier to have dinner with him, or that he had agreed to come with her. Oh, well, Quin was good company. And it was only one evening.


	80. An Evening in Hogsmeade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Quin have dinner; Minerva learns the dreadful manner of Gertrude's husband's death.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall and Quin MacAirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Please note:** The manner of Reginald's death was truly dreadful, and although it's not dwelled upon, if you don't want to read anything at all disturbing, skip Quin's brief description of the assassination after he tells Minerva that Crouch didn't come home one evening; it's about four or five lines, and you can pick it up again from the next paragraph with Minerva's response._

**LXXX: An Evening in Hogsmeade**

Minerva set down her wineglass and sighed, smiling. Quin was good company. He was not Albus, but no one was. The waitress had just taken their dinner order and Quin had finished telling her about the business that had brought him to Hogsmeade. He’d even dressed in robes for the day, though he wore a white suit shirt and a dark blue tie underneath them, and his perfectly starched white cuffs with their silver cufflinks showed from beneath the sleeves of his dark grey robes.

“So, you’ll not guess who I ran into this afternoon, Minerva, right here in the heart of this grand metropolis otherwise known as Hogsmeade.”

“I suppose you will have to tell me, then, Quin. You will anyway, eventually.”

Quin raised an eyebrow. “Already she’s expectin’ me t’ be straightforward! Bored o’ me so soon, Minerva?”

“No, no, just . . . I can’t guess. Madam Puddifoot,” she said, saying the first name that came to mind.

“Not she, although I did pay a call at her establishment.” He exaggerated a shudder. “T’ think me money is invested in pink, rose, and magenta, an’ then a bit more pink. But as I was sayin’, a most illustrious personage – aside from yours truly, of course – paid a visit to Hogsmeade today. And I learned something o’ great interest from her.” His cheek twitched as he tried to keep from smiling. “It seems that the Headmaster of Hogwarts has acquired a cat. A rather disreputable-looking cat with a peculiar, but, alas, unmemorable name! Would you be knowin’ anythin’ about this creature of his? Me acquaintance seemed to think it a sign o’ the Headmaster’s growing eccentricity.”

“Really?” Minerva said drily. “And would your acquaintance happen to be Philomena Yaxley?”

“One and the same! You are brilliant, Minerva! Mmm.” He took a sip of wine. “She also believes it to be one more sign that the poor wizard – her words, not mine, Minerva! – is lonely and in need o’ company. Unfortunately, she can think o’ no one who would be suitable for such a brilliant but eccentric wizard. What d’you think, Minerva? Or d’you suppose this cat o’ his is company enough for him?”

Minerva blushed. “Well, I can see that you worked out that I was the cat. Sometimes I wonder how these people become ministers!”

“Don’t like her, Minerva? Or just her thoughts on the Headmaster of Hogwarts?”

Minerva shrugged. “She’s not the worst of the lot . . . but she seems a foolish old witch to me. You should have seen her when I walked into the castle. You would think she’d never seen a cat before.”

Quin chuckled. “Well, from her description, she was practically run over by a mangy, ill-mannered beast. Though,” he said with an impish grin, “she did say the cat looked more respectable once the Headmaster had dried it off. Still rude, though! Typical cat, she said.”

Minerva couldn’t help but laugh, remembering her morning, and she described it in great detail to Quin, omitting the minister’s discussion of Valerianna. “And then Albus invited me up for tea, but I knew I had to still be quite a fright after being drenched as I had been, so I waited until we reached his suite to retransform in the loo. And I was a fright – Minister Yaxley would likely have fainted if she’d seen me – so Albus’s house-elf had to bring me some fresh robes, and she has very odd notions of what appropriate clothing is, and brought me dress robes that were utterly ridiculous in the middle of the day in the middle of Hogwarts, so I still had to go back to my rooms and change before lunch.”

“Brought you unsuitable robes, you say? Dumbledore’s house-elf?” At Minerva’s nod, Quin said, “I imagine she thought they were quite suitable . . . for somethin’ . . . or she’d not have brought them.”

Their meal arrived, interrupting their discussion for the moment.

“Thank you for meetin’ me, Minerva. I know it was a last minute invitation, but I hadn’t been sure when I’d be up here.”

“I’ll be gone tomorrow, so your timing was fortunate – though I still could have met you, I suppose, but I would have had to have Apparated. Although we’re on the Floo-Network now, as I keep forgetting. It’s not far, though.”

“Goin’ on holiday?” Quin asked between bites of steak.

“In a manner of speaking – just going to my family’s for a week or so. I will need to return before the end of the month, but I’ll probably go back again for a while.”

“Lookin’ forward to it, are you?”

“Of course. I don’t see enough of my parents, despite being closer than I was when I lived in London, and I love our place – you’d see why if you ever visited. You should. Are you going to be available this weekend?”

“Likely be.”

“Hmm. Well, if my parents haven’t anything else organised, would you like to come to lunch one of those days? I’ve been thinking of having a few people up, Gertrude in particular. You could meet my family – my niece has just got engaged to a Muggle, and you would like them, I think – and I plan to invite a few other friends. And if not this coming week, then sometime at the beginning of August. Nothing fancy – we aren’t the Gamps.”

Quin laughed. “Oh, I do hope not, Minerva! Not to speak ill o’ the Gamps – Aileen, me wife, there was never a finer witch than she, an’ Robert, he’s a good lad, though he is a Crouch as much as a Gamp, and I love Gertrude, as you know, but the Gamps as a clan, especially some o’ the folk they have the poor taste to marry – well, let’s just say that I am lookin’ forward t’ meetin’ the McGonagalls! So, let me know if you sort somethin’ out, an’ I’ll be there.”

The meal was one of the better ones that Minerva had had at the Three Broomsticks, the wine was excellent, and Quin filled with amusing stories, so that by the time they had finished eating and Quin asked her if she wanted any pudding, she was quite relaxed. 

“Something light, I suppose. That was a good meal, Quin. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome. So . . . you never did answer me question.”

“What was that?” Minerva asked, taking a last swallow of wine.

“Is the Headmaster of Hogwarts lonely and in need o’ company, or is his . . . _cat_ company enough?”

“Don’t be silly, Quin.”

“I wasn’t meanin’ t’ be this time, love. You’re fond o’ your Headmaster.”

“Why do you persist in calling him that tonight, Quin?” Minerva asked, changing the subject.

“’Tis what he is . . . an’ since you won’t be lettin’ me call him ‘the great Albus Dumbledore,’ I have t’ be after showin’ me respect somehow.”

“You’re not showing respect. You’re just being annoying. On purpose.”

“Sorry, love. Now back to me question.”

“What was that?”

“Ah, now, you’ll need t’ be takin’ lessons if you want t’ play that game, Minerva.” He smiled, though, and repeated himself. “You’re fond of Albus Dumbledore, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am; that is just a foolish question. Now, what about . . . custard for dessert? And coffee.”

“You don’t drink coffee, an’ you haven’t answered me question.”

“I drink coffee occasionally: you’ve seen me. And I have answered.”

“So . . . d’you think this cat o’ his might be good company for him? Or he for her?”

Minerva made a move to stand, but Quin put a hand out and placed it on her arm.

“Custard would be grand, and coffee, too,” he said softly.

Minerva clenched her jaw, but relaxed back into her seat. When she didn’t say anything until the waitress returned for their dessert order, he apologised.

“I’m sorry, Minerva. You know what I’m askin’, and I know ’tis none o’ me business, an’ I won’t ask again, but it won’t stop me worryin’ about you.”

The waitress brought their coffee. Minerva poured cream in hers, then stirred it.

“’Tisn’t idle curiosity, love. An’ I won’t ever ask about it again, if you’d rather I didn’t . . . Though I might mention the cat,” he added with a small grin. “’Tis a cute one, an’ clever, too. Rather fond o’ her, I am. I’d hate to have the cat angry with me.”

Minerva looked up from her coffee. “The cat’s not angry with you. Really, Quin. I just . . . don’t want to talk about it as though it was the weather.”

Quin nodded. “Then we shan’t . . . an’ you can talk about it or not, as you want.”

“If I did, this wouldn’t be the time or the place. I’ve learned recently how very easy it is to overhear all kinds of things, even when the people being overheard think they are in private. So I’d just as soon not discuss such things until we aren’t in a public place. Or in Hogsmeade. Or Hogwarts.”

“Ah, very well, then. I gather you’ve had some interestin’ experiences lately . . . have any you can share?”

Minerva was about to say that she didn’t when she remembered the Jarvey. She grinned. “I do, actually, but it’s something that will have to wait until we’ve left the pub. Trust me, Quin!”

He raised his eyebrows, but said seriously, “I do trust you, completely.”

Minerva reached over and rubbed his arm briefly. “Thank you for dinner, Quin; I am sorry –”

“’Tis I who am sorry, Minerva – I sometimes am a mite too dogged. Fine in business, but with friends . . . sometimes, ’tis better to leave things be, an’ I don’t. Feel free t’ hit me over the head with a bat if do it again.”

“I don’t carry Quidditch gear with me everywhere, Quin.”

“But you’re la grande dame de la Metamorphosis! At your wandtip, ma dame, the most innocent piece o’ cutlery could become a lead-weighted bat, or worse! You could have the very plate I now eat from rise up against me! ’Tis dangerous you are, ma dame!”

Minerva laughed. “You are particularly absurd tonight, Quin!”

“Not at all; I don’t think you have a proper appreciation for your abilities, Minerva. Well, shall we go, and you won’t be needin’ t’ keep me in suspense any longer?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” When Quin looked at her blankly, she said, “Payment for the food and service?”

“Oh, that. That’s all worked out – I own one-third o’ this modest establishment, and although I am fairly hands-off, let ’em run it as they see fit, they find it quite congenial to provide me with a meal on those rare occasions that I drop by t’ see how they are gettin’ on.”

Quin draped Minerva’s cape over her shoulders for her and she took his arm as they left the pub.

“Madam Puddifoot’s and the Three Broomsticks. Is there an establishment in Hogsmeade that you don’t have an interest in?”

“Oh, yes. The Hog’s Head. Though I did loan them money to replace their roof last year – on terms very favourable t’ them, I might add. Gringotts tends to be somewhat less than flexible with repayment terms.” Seeing the peculiar look Minerva was giving him, he said, “I don’t want t’ take everythin’ over, if that’s what you’re thinkin’ – wouldn’t be any healthier than the current situation. There are several businesses in Hogsmeade in which I have no financial interest at all.”

“No, no, that’s not what I was thinking . . . I was thinking that, well, that you must be very wealthy,” Minerva said uncomfortably; discussing another’s financial situation seemed gauche, at the very least.

Quin shrugged. “Been lucky, I s’pose.” He grinned. “’Twas one o’ the things that got Frankie goin’ after me. It’s gettin’ trickier, though. There’s all these new laws about what’s permissible and what ain’t when runnin’ a wizarding business, and they’re always changin’ the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts laws. Take, for example, your hairpins. If I bought plain old hairpins from a Muggle manufacturer, then brought ’em to me own shop an’ charmed ’em, that is permissible, provided, o’ course that there are safeguards protectin’ Muggles from the great dangers of Charmed hairpins!” he said dramatically. “Anyhow, do that, and you’re fine. Or manufacture your own hairpins an’ charm ’em. That’s fine. But manufacture hairpins and supply some to Muggles and charm some for witches, and you’re in trouble. Doesn’t matter that the charmin’ process is done in a different facility an’ there’s no minglin’ o’ goods. You’re manufacturin’ the same product for Muggles an’ wizards – or witches – and that’s a no-no. Never mind the efficiencies involved. Buyin’ the pins ready-made from Muggles is expensive, even at wholesale prices; and manufacturin’ ’em just for the wizardin’ world, there’s just not a big enough market to make it worthwhile, even if you switch over to magical manufacturin’. So now, I sell ’em to a Squib, an’ he sells ’em back t’ me. An’ that’s perfectly legal. Don’t know for how much longer. It was that or move the whole operation to Italy, but then I’d have import problems – already have enough o’ those, don’t need no more.”

“So it would make sense to invest in wizarding services, like the Broomsticks, because there’s no possibility of running afoul of the Muggle protection laws,” Minerva said thoughtfully.

“It would, but that’s not the only reason, nor the primary one, that I invest in them. As much as I carp about the state of the wizarding world and its antiquated ways and economic inefficiencies, I’m fond of it. I don’t want t’ see it collapse. That’s one reason I won’t own too much of it, either. I’m one man – can’t have too much dependent on just one man. T’ain’t healthy.” They had reached the edge of the village, and changing the subject, Quin said, “So, you were after tellin’ me somethin’ of interest that couldn’t be said in a pub.”

“Not by a respectable member of the Hogwarts staff, anyway,” Minerva said with a small chuckle. “Did you know that Gertrude’s a ‘potty pussy’?” At Quin’s look, Minerva laughed harder. “Our assistant groundskeeper has a new Jarvey. Some of us went and visited it this morning.” Minerva laughed again. “Oh, my, Professor Birnbaum was right – the creature can make anything sound insulting and, um, dirty.”

Quin grinned. “Gertrude went along with ye? Good for her! July is a hard month for her, the end of July, especially. So, what did the Jarvey have to say about la grande dame de la Metamorphosis?”

Minerva laughed and told Quin all about the visit to the Jarvey, including the choicest insults that she could remember. 

Catching his breath from his laughter, Quin stopped and asked, “He actually said she’d ‘suckle his spigot’?”

Minerva blushed. “I told you it wasn’t polite conversation for the pub.”

“Oh, but that’s funny on other levels . . . you haven’t noticed?” Minerva looked at Quin blankly. “Your Herbology teacher has a crush on our Gertie.”

“What?! No!” Minerva was astonished. “He couldn’t . . . they’re nothing alike! And he spends so much time with Professor MacAirt.”

“Hmm. No doubt Hafrena is one o’ the few people who has any idea, then, if you haven’t noticed. But Cousin Hafrena is just a friend, somethin’ of a mother to him, I’d say. I had Gertrude ’round for lunch, oh, a while back now. Few years ago, anyway, an’ she brought him along. Didn’t even have t’ pass him the salt before I realised he’s pinin’ for her. O’ course, he may be over it by now.” Quin looked amused.

“He must be – he’s leaving at the end of this year, returning to Germany to have his own greenhouse,” Minerva answered. “Although . . .”

“Ah, you have noticed somethin’?”

“Well, he was trying very hard to cheer her up yesterday, and when he asked if she’d meet him for breakfast this morning, he seemed disappointed when she suggested a few others might come along.”

“Mm, probably come t’ terms with it, then, but still harborin’ some feelin’s.”

“Does she know?”

“Don’t know if she does or not. We ain’t never discussed it. An’ I can’t read Gertie very well that way, but I don’t think she has feelin’s for him.” Quin shook his head. “She might, but I doubt it. And I tell you only because I trust it will go no further. ’Twas just an observation I made on one occasion; might not be a thing.”

“I see . . . poor Johannes.”

“Ah, he’s not so bad off. ’Tain’t more’n a crush. Could become more, if she returned it, o’course, but it’s not a grand passion. More like a shared sense o’ loss. Sympathy turned to somethin’ else.”

Minerva was still trying to comprehend that anyone could develop a crush on the dour and plain Arithmancy teacher, let alone someone as kind, soft-spoken, and good-looking as Johannes, and wondered what this meant, if anything, about Gertrude’s relationship with Albus. People certainly were odd, she thought, but Quin’s mention of sympathy reminded her of the reason for Gertrude’s bad day.

“What do you know about Gertrude’s husband’s death, Quin?”

Quin looked at Minerva, then looked away towards the Hogwarts gates. “You really do not want to end your day thinkin’ about such things, love,” he said softly.

“I do, Quin. I inadvertently said something rude to her yesterday, not knowing it was the anniversary of his death, and I’d just as soon avoid doing something similar in the future.”

Quin was quiet for a moment, scuffing his boot in the dirt path, sending some stones skittering away. “Yesterday was only the day he was . . . attacked, I believe. Today is the day he died, in the early mornin’ hours.” Quin spoke quietly. “I don’t know all of the details, but what I do know is more than I wish to. Are you sure you want me to tell you?”

Minerva nodded, a cold sensation creeping through her, but she had asked, and now she wanted the answer.

“He was targeted, which came to be Grindelwald’s usual method of operating. No indiscriminate killin’ for him. Reginald Crouch, who was a British Ministry worker in Germany, had taken to speakin’ out against him. His talk, Grindelwald’s, was gettin’ more dangerous, Crouch thought, for the wizardin’ world and for the Muggles. Kept talkin’ about exploitin’ Muggle weaknesses to take our rightful place in the world – with him at the top, no doubt, though he wasn’t sayin’ that yet. He was gatherin’ around him powerful wizards from around Europe an’ beginnin’ t’ gain control over the runnin’s o’ the various German wizardin’ states – ’twasn’t all one country like Muggle Germany was, as you know – an’ Crouch found him dangerous an’ he didn’t hesitate to say so. Grindelwald sent him a warnin’, told him t’ join him or leave the country. He did neither, nor did he stop tellin’ anyone who would listen that Grindelwald was a dangerous wizard, not a simple academic, as he tried to portray himself t’ the world.”

“Academic?” Minerva asked, puzzled. She hadn’t heard that before.

“Mm. He had what he called an ‘elite academy’ for wizards who had finished school and who were particularly talented. Supposedly to offer an alternative to the apprentice system, but it was a trainin’ ground for Dark Arts of every sort – however magic can be twisted t’ do evil, you could learn it there. Anyway, couple weeks after the warnin’, Crouch didn’t come home one evenin’. In the wee hours of the mornin’, Gertie opened the front door when the intruder wards were set off. Her husband was lyin’ there, flayed alive. No flesh on his stomach, a window carved over his still beatin’ heart, skull opened up an’ brain exposed, limbs stripped o’ skin . . . and conscious. Healers couldn’t do a thing for him. Took a day to die.” Quin spoke softly, as though regretting every word as it passed his lips.

“Oh . . . oh.” They had stopped on the path, and Minerva stood stock-still, feeling ill and trying, without success, to comprehend what Quin had told her while simultaneously trying to erase the image from her mind.

“I warned you it wasn’t pretty, love.”

“No, not pretty . . .” Remembering what Johannes had said about his family being killed, and about his baby daughter, Minerva felt sicker. “Did he always kill . . . that way?”

“Not usually, but Crouch was an example. He did have some bizarre . . . games he’d play with prisoners, though. That was later, though, after he was at open war . . . I think I preferred hearin’ about the Jarvey t’ discussin’ this, Minerva.”

“Bizarre games?”

Quin shrugged. “Liked to see folk fight. Put a wizard with no wand in a pit with a Muggle, tell ’em whoever survived could have a meal and live t’ see the next day, that sort o’ thing. He’d kill ’em both if they tried t’ be noble an’ not fight. Liked t’ poison people with slow-actin’ potions, too. If they could get the antidote, which they never could, they could live another day. But it was always an ‘obstacle course’ t’ get t’ the antidote, an’ they were usually killed by a beast or some such before they could reach it.”

“You were right; I’d rather I hadn’t heard all this, but thank you for telling me,” Minerva said softly, wondering what this meant for Albus. He had said he had been captured at the end. Obviously, he had come through it, but he hadn’t ever said how.

Quin nodded. “So,” he said, changing the subject, “this is as close to Hogwarts as I’ve been. Do I still get that tour?”

“Of course! Though I think that sometime in August would be better than tonight. Come up and spend the day. I will be able to get you into the Hufflepuff common room then, as well as the others, and we’ll have more time, too.”

“You have decided not to ask the witch who doesn’t get along with the Headmaster?”

“Dustern. And she’s professional with him. I just think it’s best not to ask any favours of her. And the new Head of Hufflepuff will be glad, I think, to give a favour to a fellow Head of House,” she said with a small smile.

“Fellow Head of House? Are you sayin’ what I think you are?” 

Minerva nodded. “You are looking at the next Head of Gryffindor House. I begin in August.” She couldn’t help but grin as she shared the news.

“Well, congratulations, t’ be sure!” he said with a wide smile, shaking her hand. “I wish you had told me sooner, though – we could have eaten somewhere a little finer and celebrated properly.”

“This was lovely, Quin. And I won’t celebrate until I’m actually in the position – it’s bad luck.”

Quin laughed. “Never took you for the superstitious type, Minerva! Next thing I know, you’ll be singin’ the praises of the Art of Divination!”

Minerva laughed. “Well, not bad luck, then, but if anything happens and I’m not made Head for some reason, it will feel worse if I’ve already celebrated.”

“All right, love. But I’m pleased for you. Will you still have time for a simple Irish wizard once you have reached that exalted status, though?”

“Of course I will, Quin.” They had reached the gates and stopped there. “Thank you again for dinner. It was a lovely change. Now, when you come next, if I don’t meet you at the gates, you can ring the bell.” Minerva pointed out the rope that hung beside the gates. “It’s Charmed, and someone will come let you in. Likely Hagrid, as it’s summer. Big as a mountain, but very gentle. You’d like him, I think.”

“If he’s the one with the Jarvey, ’tis sure an’ I would,” Quin said with a grin. “But I do hope we will see each other before that.”

“I’m sure we will. If not at my parents’, then elsewhere.”

Quin took her hand, then leaned forward and gave her a peck on the cheek. “You are a marvel, Minerva.” He looked at her fondly. “A marvel, you are, and if your wizard doesn’t appreciate you, he’s a fool, because he could be the luckiest son of a Crup in the wizarding world.” He held up a hand, forestalling her protests. “’Tis a discussion for another time and place, I know. Have a good time at home, Minerva, and thank you for joinin’ me this evenin’.”

“Good night, Quin.” 

Quin watched her step through the gates and close them behind her. As she walked up the drive to the castle, Minerva heard a loud crack and knew that Quin had Disapparated. She looked up towards the castle and smiled when she saw the lights in the Headmaster’s tower. Quin had wished her a good time at home, but as long as Albus was at Hogwarts, this was her true home. Minerva quickened her pace.


	81. Disarming Minerva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unusual strategy has Minerva dropping her guard.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore.

**LXXXI: Disarming Minerva**

Minerva started up the stairs to her rooms. When she reached the second floor, she hesitated. It was still early. She could pop in and see if Albus was in his office. But if he wasn’t, if he was upstairs in his quarters, he’d come down to see who was there . . . she didn’t want to disturb him. On the other hand, he seemed to think that he needed an excuse to see her, and she certainly had no excuse to see him right now, but if she just dropped by, he might see that he didn’t need an excuse to see her. Unless, of course, he only said that to emphasise that he wanted to see more of her after having seen so little of her during the term, to make up for it, and he hadn’t really meant that he actually needed an excuse to see her. But he hadn’t wanted to come to dinner with her, even after she had made it very clear that it wasn’t a date. He had seemed to like Quin. . . . Perhaps they had just been seeing too much of each other recently. She didn’t want to become a pest. But no, that couldn’t be right, either, as he had invited her to stay and have dinner with him. 

Well, she wanted to see him, and she was going to be gone for several days, at least. Minerva stopped her dithering and headed down the hall to the gargoyle. When she reached the office, she knocked, then opened the door. Just as she entered the room, Albus was coming down the stairs.

“Minerva! This is a surprise.”

“I hope it’s not an unwelcome one. I don’t have one of those excuses you always talk about needing, so I hope one’s not required. I just wanted to stop by and see you.”

Albus was still dressed in the peacock blue robes he had been wearing earlier in the day, but had changed his shoes for fuzzy slippers.

“I hope it’s not a bad time,” Minerva added. “If you’re busy, or have company, or – ”

“No, not at all. I just wasn’t expecting you. Well, anyone.” He stood at the bottom of the stairs and blinked, as though not quite sure what to say or do.

“Will you two take your inane conversation elsewhere!” a rough, querulous voice said. “Some people are trying to sleep here!”

“Oh, hush, Phineas! You sleep through everything all the time! Or pretend to. Leave these two be!” Dilys answered.

Minerva looked up at the portraits. She had begun to forget their presence again.

Albus chuckled. “Would you like to come up?”

Suddenly feeling awkward, and wishing she had had an excuse to visit him, Minerva hesitated, but only a moment. “If you are sure I am not disturbing you.”

“Not at all,” Albus said warmly. “Please, come up, join me.”

“All right, I’d like that.” Minerva smiled, pleased and relieved.

Albus allowed Minerva to precede him on the stairs. “Did you have a nice time, my dear?”

“It was fine. It was a change. I wish you had come, Albus. The food was really quite good tonight, and Quin was amusing, you would have enjoyed it.” As they reached the sitting room, she turned and grinned at him. “I did tell him about the visit to the Jarvey, however, which I’m not sure I would have done if you had been there. The creature has got quite the mouth on him!”

“So I have heard,” Albus said with a smile. “We shall need to see to it that Hagrid keeps him away from the students come term time. I am glad that it could make Gertrude laugh, though.”

Minerva nodded. “I think she found the Jarvey amusing and found the reactions of the other staff equally entertaining.”

“Please, have a seat, my dear. Would you like something to drink? Tea? A glass of wine, perhaps? Or some cognac might be nice. I can call Wilspy; you may have whatever you like.” He stood, looking hopefully at her.

Minerva smiled and took a seat at one end of the sofa. “I will have whatever you’re having, Albus. Well, it depends what you are having, I suppose,” she said, remembering what Professor MacAirt said about the sweet cordial.

“I usually have a nice herbal infusion in the evening, but perhaps some cognac tonight? Yes? Good.” Albus Summoned the decanter and two balloon glasses, but then poured the cognac by hand.

Albus sat in the wingback chair at the end of the sofa nearest Minerva. Unaccountably, Minerva felt nervous and unsure of what to say next. Now she definitely knew what he had meant about needing an excuse to see her. But on their walk, they hadn’t needed an excuse; the walk itself had been sufficient reason to be together. Minerva relaxed. It was nice just to spend time with him. And that’s what she would say.

“It’s nice spending time with you, Albus. I have appreciated all of the time we have spent together recently. Thank you. I know you are very busy.”

“I should never be so busy that I am unable to make at least a few minutes for you, Minerva, although I prefer to spend more than that. I . . . I have enjoyed our time together, as well.”

“I wish you had come to dinner tonight.” When he didn’t say anything, Minerva added, “Why didn’t you? It seemed to me that you liked Quin.”

“He is a fine young wizard, Minerva. Certainly I like him,” Albus replied calmly.

That was a nonanswer if Minerva had ever heard one. “Well, we missed you. I did, at any rate, and I know that Quin likes you and would have enjoyed seeing you, too. He spoke of you several times, in fact.”

“Really? And I thought you said that Quin was amusing and you’d had a good time,” Albus joked.

Minerva ignored his attempt at humour. “It seems that he saw Minister Yaxley this afternoon.”

“Did he?” Albus’s eyebrows rose.

“Yes. And she told him that the Hogwarts Headmaster has acquired an ill-mannered cat!” Minerva grinned at him.

Albus laughed. “That will likely be the most memorable part of her visit today, unfortunately. Did you tell Quin the identity of the cat?”

“He’s a quick one; he already had guessed it was me. Teased me quite a bit about it.” Minerva grinned. “But I didn’t mind. I’ll be your cat, as long as you don’t call me by that awful name – thank goodness that the minister couldn’t remember it when she told Quin the story, or he’d have no end of fun with it.”

“Which name is that?” Albus asked in mock innocence. “You can’t mean the mellifluous name of ‘Morag,’ can you?”

Minerva gave an exaggerated shudder. “Please, Albus, even coming from you, that name sounds dreadful to me.”

“Well, you know what Minister Yaxley said about cats . . . .” Albus cocked his head, eyes twinkling.

“What was that?” Minerva tried to think of which insulting thing the minister had said that Albus might be referring to.

“That her sister didn’t own her cats, her cats owned her.”

Albus looked at her with a slight, warm smile on his lips, and Minerva felt her heart begin to beat more rapidly, though she couldn’t say why. Awash with a sudden, overwhelming desire for the wizard seated across from her, she said softly, “I would treat you well, if you were mine . . . if you were my wizard . . . .” Minerva lowered her eyes and took a sip of cognac.

Albus cleared his throat. “Yes, well, if you . . . um, if you were . . . um, a cat, I am sure I would be well-looked after. Um, more cognac?” He poured himself a bit more, though Minerva indicated she didn’t want any. “So, what else did you and Quin discuss?”

Minerva took one more sip of cognac and tried to think, fighting to get beyond what she had said to Albus and to come out with something sensible to answer him with.

“He told me how Gertrude’s husband died.”

“He did? Oh, my dear, why would he do that . . .” Albus literally grimaced and set down his glass. “That could not have been pleasant. For him to have brought that up – ”

“He didn’t. I did. I asked him. He didn’t want to tell me. I insisted. Afterward, I could see why he was reluctant. It was . . . sickening.”

Albus took his glasses off and set them beside the cognac, then he rubbed his face.

“I arrived only a few hours before he died. It was one of the worst things I have ever seen in my entire life. And the thought that . . . that one human being could do that to another . . . and then young Robbie went running about trying to find Grindelwald, almost getting himself and his friends killed in the process. . . . It was a dreadful time for Gertrude, and the memories are difficult. I don’t believe she’s ever been quite the same since. She was always reserved, but she was . . . less brittle, I suppose, and more relaxed. I still . . .” Albus shook his head, eyes closed, and rested his forehead in his palms.

“I am sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I just . . . it was a terrible thing to hear, and I cannot begin to imagine what it was like for her, or for any of those who were there or who knew him. He was a friend of yours, too, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. I had come to know him through Gertie, but he was a friend and a good man, and I enjoyed his company. Had a great interest in languages and Ancient Runes, which has been a bit of a hobby of mine, so we had that in common. And he was early in his opposition . . . and it killed him. Most horrifically.” Albus almost whispered those last words. “Perhaps one reason I wanted to cheer Gertrude yesterday was that I did not want to remember it myself. To remember it in the abstract and to use that abstract memory to inform one’s choices . . . that is so much simpler than to remember it and to feel it. Feeling it . . . distracts and does not inform.”

“But isn’t it the underlying feeling that gives the memory meaning? If it weren’t painful, if it weren’t so horrific to think that one human being could do that to another, then that memory would have no more meaning than the memory of yesterday’s toast, and whether to choose wholemeal or white bread for tomorrow’s breakfast. Dwelling on it, that’s no good, of course, or being so enmired in pain that one can no longer function, but it’s the feeling that gives it meaning. At least, I think so . . . I don’t know.” Minerva looked down, thinking that she had known pain, but never anything so terrible as what had befallen Gertrude and her family.

“No, you are right, Minerva. Of course, you are right.” Albus relaxed back into his chair and gazed at her. “And it does. I should not have implied that it didn’t. But there is so much pain in life, that to remember it all with feeling, all of it, with all of the associated emotions . . . I believe I could do nothing other than become enmired in it. I fear that, anyway, though even more than that, I do fear losing the emotions, for the very reason you gave. They are what provide meaning to memory and to our choices, as you say. Our emotions and our relations to others. And it makes us different from those who can commit such atrocities or those who can stand idly by and allow them. Otherwise, we are merely moving chessmen, and it matters not whether white or black wins as long as the game is well-played; and life is not a chess game.” He smiled suddenly. “Which is one of the things that makes chess so enjoyable, don’t you think?”

“Yes, yes it is. And, conversely, one of the things that makes life so enjoyable. Don’t forget that. You said yourself, when we were at the concert a few days ago, that . . .” Minerva closed her eyes, trying to remember his exact words. “You said that love and compassion are alive and stronger than dark deeds, cold indifference, and selfish desires, and that there is room in the universe for the human soul to create something sublime. You said this gives meaning to sacrifice.” Minerva blushed as she opened her eyes to see Albus looking at her intently. “Something like that, anyway.”

“I did say that, didn’t I.” He continued to look at her. “You . . . you are remarkable, Minerva,” Albus said softly, then he took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “Thank you.”

Minerva shook her head slightly, not sure why he was thanking her. “I didn’t come up here intending to discuss such serious subjects. I am sorry.” She quirked a small grin. “I suppose I should have just recounted the Jarvey’s insults; we both would have been embarrassed, but at least I wouldn’t have depressed us both!”

“Any visit with you is lovely, even if the subject is serious, Minerva, and I am glad you came up.”

“I still wish you had come to dinner, Albus.”

“I suppose I could have left the castle in the care of Johannes or Wilhelmina, but I did not want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t have been intruding; I told you that before.” She gave him a sharp look. “I do hope you’re not going to go on again about Quin, Albus.”

“No, no, but you should be able to have your friendships and go out to dinner without dragging your old Headmaster along.”

“Oh, Albus! Sometimes you are just so . . . why do you persist in saying such things? The way you go on, well, you’d think you were some potty relative I’d been saddled with and had to bring along as some sort of obligation. I enjoy spending time with you, and you’ve said we’re friends, so why would you think such a thing? Unless . . . well, I suppose . . .” Minerva had the sudden thought that he was just trying to be polite, and he truly hadn’t wanted to come along. This was a wizard who sat on the Wizengamot, after all, and who had discovered the twelve uses of dragon’s blood. “I suppose we could bore you. It’s not as though we’re your peers. I’m sure there’s other company you might prefer, even just your own. I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean to try to drag you somewhere – ”

“Minerva,” Albus said, trying to interrupt her. “Minerva, no, no, that’s not it. Some company is clearly more enjoyable than others, but yours is always lovely, as I have said, and I like Quin, and I am sure we would have a delightful time. And just because I’m an old codger doesn’t mean I prefer the company of other old codgers, so the business about peers, I never thought in those terms at all – at least not in the way that you are implying.” The corner of his mouth twitched in a slight grin. “I was more concerned that I might be the boring company, my dear. Truly.”

“All right . . . but please, do me a favour? Don’t keep calling yourself an old codger like that. I just . . . it makes me uncomfortable. I don’t think of you like that, and when you say it . . . I can’t explain, but it bothers me. I know that sometimes, you are joking, but other times, I think you may mean it, and I just . . . I just wish you wouldn’t.”

“I will try, but it is something of a habit, I am afraid. Please don’t take offense if I forget occasionally – it’s what happens when you become an old codger!” Albus laughed and Minerva threw a small pillow at him. 

“You are very funny, Albus. Anyway, my point was, I would have enjoyed having you join us, and so would Quin. But now I feel as though I am pressuring you in retrospect, which is a silly thing to do, since you shouldn’t have felt obligated, in any case, and you can’t do anything to change it now, anyway.”

“I am glad you had a nice evening out, though, Minerva. So, you will be leaving on holiday tomorrow. Please give your parents my regards.”

“I will. They enjoyed seeing you when you dropped by a couple weeks ago. My father especially liked having someone to play chess with.”

“He is very good. He said you play.”

“Yes, though I haven’t in a while. Not regularly, anyway. I used to play with a friend in Heidelberg. Since then, I haven’t had many opportunities. You are probably much better than I am.”

Albus shrugged. “Your father seemed to think you play well. He said you could give me a good game.” He brightened, remembering that afternoon at the McGonagalls’. “It’s still early. Would you like to play? A quick game before retiring?”

“I’m afraid I’m not as fast as I once was . . . but all right. One quick, friendly game. And, as you say, it doesn’t matter whether white or black wins, as long as it’s well-played. But I have to warn you, as long as there’s some challenge to the game, I do prefer to win!” Minerva grinned.

An hour and a half later, and Minerva was perched on the edge of the sofa, bent toward the board, elbows on her knees, staring at the pieces as if looking at them long enough would change the number of options she had. At first, she had been concerned that Albus was playing too easy a game and was going to let her win; it soon became apparent that her concerns were unfounded. He had made sacrifices that seemed senseless, but that had lured her into a vulnerable position. A half hour into the game, Minerva had begun to squirm, and it was only with great will-power that she stilled her legs and hands. Albus’s demeanor, quite maddeningly, didn’t change. He would occasionally lean forward to get a different view of the board, but then he leaned back again, the very picture of calm and relaxation. Finally, Minerva let out a cry and raised her hands above her head.

“No, no, I didn’t mean to do that!” Her distress turned to laughter as she threw herself back into the sofa and Albus moved his knight, placing her in checkmate. “Oh, gods, Albus! That was excellent! But I thought I’d die before the game ended!” She looked at him with bright eyes and a warm smile. “You certainly know how to lead a witch on and build the tension. Aaaa! I can’t believe I thought you were letting me win there at the beginning – I was so put out, I didn’t see what you were really doing!”

Albus chuckled. “You should know that I have too much respect for you to let you win. It’s not as though you are a novice player, after all.” His affectionate gaze and loving smile heightened the colour in her cheeks. “But I enjoyed it, as well, particularly once you recognised my strategy. Which was somewhat . . . unfair, but it’s one that only works once, so I can’t use it again. It was a challenge to make it appear as though I was trying to let you win without having it appear that I was only making it appear that way, while at the same time not really allowing you to win.” He grinned. “I have a feeling that our next game will be a different sort of challenge for me.”

Minerva narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger at him, suppressing her own grin. “You’ve got that right, Professor. I won’t be taken in by that tactic again. You had better watch yourself – and your pawns – very well next time!” She laughed. “By the way, you have an interesting way of using your pawns. I’m not sure I’ve seen anyone who played quite that way before.”

“I don’t always do that, of course, but it was a strategy that worked well with my other one – to disarm you completely by having you believe I was letting you win – but it can actually be surprisingly effective, holding back the pawns a while.”

“I will have to remember that.” Minerva let out a breath. “Well, as much as I would like that rematch now, I think it’s time for me to think about leaving. You need your rest. I assume you are still taking your vitamin potion?”

Albus smiled indulgently. “Yes, my dear. Every night.”

“Good. I hope . . . I hope that while I’m on holiday . . . Of course, you can take care of yourself, I know that. But do that. Take care of yourself.”

He chuckled. “I will. Thank you. I don’t know the last time I had anyone – other than Wilspy – so concerned with my health and well-being.”

Minerva blushed. “I know you can take care of yourself. I don’t mean to fuss. But – what of Gertrude? She seems to care about your welfare.”

“Oh, she does. And she has taken care of me when she’s thought I needed it, but I don’t think she’s ever tried to get me to eat my veg.” He grinned at her.

“Well, I had better be going.”

“Let me walk you down the backstairs.”

Minerva hesitated, remembering the last trip down the stairs that morning, and the feel of his warm hand on her bare flesh. “You know, I think I’d like the walk, actually.”

Albus stood. “All right. But may I see you out of the office, then?”

Minerva smiled brightly. “I’d like that very much.”

They walked down to his office, now dark and unlit. Albus waved a hand and lit a few candles along the back wall.

“I enjoyed this evening. Thank you for the chess game, Albus,” Minerva said as they crossed to the exit.

“You are welcome, my dear. And your father was right – you gave me a good game.”

Minerva looked up at Albus, wishing she could tell him all that she felt for him. “I hope we can do it again, soon.”

“I will anticipate it. I hope you have a nice holiday. I am sorry I will have to pull you away from it for a few days.”

“I’m not. I mean, I will be glad to return for the warding and to set up my new quarters. And . . . I will miss you.”

Albus chuckled. “That’s kind of you, my dear. But it’s not long, and you will be with your family and friends. You will enjoy yourself.”

“I will miss you, Albus.” Suddenly feeling silly – after all, as he said, it wasn’t as though she’d be gone long, and it was doubtful he could miss her for such a short time – Minerva added, “But you are right. It’s not long.”

Albus opened the door for her. “Good night, Minerva. Thank you for coming by.”

“I was afraid that if I waited, I might not see you before I left.”

“I am very glad you didn’t wait, then.” Albus reached up and touched her cheek tentatively, just the tips of his fingers in a gentle caress. “And I know I will miss you, as well . . . my dear Minerva,” he whispered.

Minerva felt her heart would leap from her chest, and she met his eyes, hoping to see some hint of her own feelings reflected in them, but then his hand dropped to his side and he looked away.

“Good night, Albus.” Minerva wished he were closer, but she didn’t trust herself to step toward him and reach up to kiss his cheek without betraying her feelings. Instead, she put out her hand and touched his arm, rubbing it gently, then giving it a slight squeeze. “I will look forward to coming home. Good night.”

Albus nodded, and Minerva turned and left his office, stepping onto the moving spiral stairs, wishing she weren’t leaving. As the moving stair approached the second floor, she heard the door close far above her, and her heart seemed to clench with a sense of loss.


	82. Silly Wizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus makes a change.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, and Wilspy.

**LXXXII: Silly Wizard**

Albus slowly closed the door at the top of the stairs. He had been reluctant to see Minerva leave, and even more reluctant to say good-bye to her. As he had reminded her, it was only a few days that she would be away, and she would be back again. Why he should feel such reluctance did not puzzle him, but that he felt it at all bothered him. His attachment to Minerva was growing and could only end in greater unhappiness for himself if he did not check it. At least he was controlling his impulses around her somewhat better, and his physical responses to her presence, as well. That was particularly fortunate, given the incident earlier in the day. When Minerva had entered his sitting room unexpectedly wearing the revealing dress robes, he had been taken unawares, having assumed that she would be dressed in her usual daily attire. He had been able to regain his composure quickly, however, and by the time he accompanied her down his backstair, he was in complete control of himself and his physical reactions. If he hadn’t been, Albus was sure that he would have been far more uncomfortable when he had turned and caught her, keeping her from falling. Even now, he felt a slight frisson of pleasure as he reflected upon the way Minerva’s skin had felt under his hand, knowing that if he had moved his hand just an inch or two, it would have been pressing against her breast, and it still required some measure of self-control to keep that slight thrill in check. It had not escaped him, however, that Minerva had hesitated when he’d suggested going down the backstairs again that evening; no doubt, she had remembered how his hand had come to rest on her bare skin and found the memory distasteful. Well, it wasn’t as though that was a shorter way, after all, only somewhat easier, since there were no stairs to climb. Perhaps she really did just want the exercise at the end of a long day. . . .

When Minerva had left for her dinner with Quin, there was a part of Albus that was happy she would be meeting the young wizard, but another part of him grieved, believing that Minerva, as she grew closer to Quin, would inevitably grow away from him. Whatever she thought of the young wizard, Quin was a potential suitor, and Albus would not interfere with that. When he had gone up to his rooms for the evening, he had not anticipated seeing Minerva again until she returned from her parents’ in several days’ time. He had been surprised to find her in his office, coming to see him, as she said, without any excuse for her visit other than the desire to see him. That had been a lovely thing to hear her say, but he mustn’t put too much stock in it. Minerva had just wanted to tell someone about her date – her evening out – and Poppy wasn’t in the castle. No doubt, Minerva would have gone to see her friend, had she been available. Well, her other friend. He was her friend, as well, of course.

Indeed, her visit had soothed Albus’s fear that Minerva would grow away from him as she became closer to Quin. But perhaps what she had said of Quin was true: neither had any feelings for the other outside of friendship. It would be selfish of him to wish that Minerva not meet a wizard with whom she could fall in love, but he was grateful that it appeared she had not done so yet. 

Albus returned to his sitting room and put away the chess set; perhaps a rematch might be a good excuse to see Minerva again. As long as he kept his physical responses to her well-controlled, there was little reason not to continue to enjoy her company for as long as she enjoyed his. If it made it somewhat more difficult in the future when she did finally find that wizard she was meant to be with, at least he would have these happy memories, and if they were close when she married, perhaps they would remain good friends. 

Something reminded Albus of young Carson Murphy and what the boy had said in his letter to Minerva, that she was meant for someone special and he hoped that she found him. Albus was unaware that Carson had inherited any of the MacAirt gifts, yet perhaps the boy had felt something from Minerva that told him that there was someone in particular that she was meant to be with. Carson had mentioned his grandmother, after all, and she had been known as a particularly talented witch. Not that Albus put much stock in such things, though perhaps Dervilia would still be alive if he had done. But that old witch coming up to him, uninvited, telling him that only pain would result from his marriage to Dervilia, advising against it for both their sakes, then implying that such happiness was not his “youthful lot,” whatever that was supposed to have meant – she had only irritated him with her bluntness and her presumption. And yet it had turned out as the old MacAirt witch, Quin’s great-great grandmother, had predicted; Dervilia had died in her miscarriage less than two years into their marriage, and his pain at losing her had been greater than any happiness he had experienced in his marriage. 

And despite a few liaisons during his travels as a young man after he had abandoned his first apprenticeship following Dervilia’s death, he had never found a witch with whom he fell in love; then after his mother’s death, when he had finally devoted himself so fully to his magical education and finding his place in the wizarding world, Albus had renounced such entanglements entirely. It was only after he had passed middle age and had finally felt settled into his life and his career that he began to entertain the notion of perhaps finding a witch to share his life with him. But that was more than thirty years ago now, and with the intervening war, he had had hardly any opportunities, or even the leisure, to find such a witch. The only witch whom he had actually deemed suitable to him and his life had kindly but firmly rejected his romantic overtures. There had also been Valerianna, of course, but Albus was now certain that, even without that final embarrassment, he would have eventually recognised how utterly unsuitable she was. But she had been the first witch he had courted in a very long time, and it had been enjoyable simply to court a witch and to feel like a virile and desirable wizard for even a short time. Of course, that feeling had disappeared entirely when he had found her with that other wizard, and Albus realised what an old fool he had been to think that a witch would ever again find him desirable for anything other than his perceived position in the wizarding world.

Albus readied himself for bed, pulling on a light-weight, collarless nightshirt, white with red and gold pinstripes. As he was about to cast the charm that kept his beard and hair from tangling during the night, he looked at himself in the mirror. Perhaps he should finally rid himself of the beard and hair; it made him look eccentric and old, something that he hadn’t really cared about until recently. In fact, it was an image he cultivated; appearing eccentric and somewhat dotty could disarm people who might otherwise be intimidated by him. It was a useful effect to have in a variety of situations. And his age could also inspire some respect, despite his eccentricity. But now, looking at his hair and seeing that it was increasingly silver rather than grey, he wondered whether it might not be time to cut it off. He would still have his age; even ridding himself of his beard and hair would not change that. And yet . . .

Albus waved his wand and his beard shortened to a well-trimmed length. Another wave, and it vanished entirely, revealing a pale jaw and a slight cleft in his chin. He looked even more ridiculous now, he thought, with his long hair flowing down his back, and that was next. In one wave, the long locks disappeared, leaving his hair short on the back and sides. It was still grey with a good deal of white, but he thought he looked . . . different, anyway. Perhaps not so eccentric . . . he would certainly blend in at the Ministry better, looking like this. And wearing his more conservative robes, Albus thought he would definitely appear less dotty. Perhaps less the barmy old codger. He swished his wand once more, bringing the colour of his jaw up to match the rest of his face. Sharp blue eyes looked out at him from the mirror now, and they saw quite plainly what he was doing. Nonetheless, he made one final wave of his wand and retired to bed for the night, feeling strangely naked without his beard and long hair, yet he fell asleep quickly despite that.

Albus woke early and stretched in bed. As he rolled over, ready to try for another few minutes sleep, he felt the odd sensation of the pillow against his face and remembered what he had done the night before. He reached up and touched his jaw. Yes, he had done a good job; his skin still felt as smooth as if he had just shaved. Knowing he would not fall asleep again now, he sat up and blinked before waving his hand to pull back the draperies and let in the morning light. As he swung his legs over the bed and let his feet dangle, he wondered whether Minerva had left the castle yet. Likely not; she was an early riser, Albus thought, but it was still very early, and she would probably have at least a cup of tea before she left.

Albus stood and called Wilspy. As he shuffled toward the window to see what the morning looked like, Wilspy popped in with his first cup of tea, milk and sugar added just as he liked it.

“Professor Dumbledore! What you done to yourself!” the house-elf exclaimed as Albus turned to take his tea.

“I thought . . . I thought I would try something different.”

“Professor Dumbledore, you looks . . . you looks like a St. Mungo’s patient.” Wilspy shook her head. “Silly, silly. Silly Professor Dumbledore looks like silly Professor Dumbledore. Change back before your Professor Minerva sees you. Your Professor Minerva will see it and think, silly, silly, like Wilspy.”

“I am sure that others will see me before that time, Wilspy. Professor McGonagall is leaving on holiday today.”

“Why Professor Dumbledore being so silly today? Is you sad Professor’s Professor Minerva is leaving? Do not be sad, Master Albus,” Wilspy said, patting his knee as she used to pat his shoulder when he was a small boy. “Your Professor Minerva always comes back to her Professor Dumbledore.”

Albus smiled slightly and gave a short laugh. “Thank you, Wilspy. But you know, she is not ‘my Professor Minerva’; she works here at Hogwarts as one of my teachers, just as all the other teachers do. But you are right, I will miss her. And you are also right, she will return. She does work here, as I said.”

“You is a silly wizard, Master Albus,” Wilspy said with a deep house-elfish sigh. “And Professor Minerva not left yet. Change back to yourself and see your Professor Minerva before she leaves.”

Albus gave an answering sigh. “I appreciate your opinion, Wilspy, but you are just unused to seeing my face. This is what is under all that hair. This is me.”

“Shave your head and go naked then! No robes for Master Albus! That is what is under all those clothes!” Wilspy threw up her hands and rolled her eyes, then Disapparated, leaving Albus to chuckle. 

Albus drank his tea while he dressed, choosing fairly conservative taupe robes with silver and magenta trim. Looking in the mirror, ignoring the Charmed object’s annoying suggestions for his grooming and dress, he did wonder if Wilspy wasn’t right about one thing: his face did look oddly naked. But he had worn a Glamour when he was pretending to be “General Dumbledore,” and no one had thought he looked peculiar. At least, no one had said he did. Perhaps a mustache. Or a mustache and goatee. He would give this look a try first, he thought, combing his wavy forelock back with his fingers. 

Remembering what Wilspy had said about Minerva, Albus thought that perhaps she hadn’t left yet. Somewhat nervously, wondering whether Wilspy had also been right that Minerva would think he looked silly clean-shaven and respectable, Albus left his rooms and took the moving spiral staircase to the second floor. An early morning walk before breakfast would help start his day right, and if he happened to run into Minerva before she left, he could see whether Wilspy was correct about him looking silly. But he wasn’t just doing this for her benefit, he reminded himself. It was his attempt to appear less eccentric. He certainly could never imagine that removing his hair and beard would make him appear any more like an eligible wizard than he did with it, after all – at least, not to Minerva. Perhaps if he had done this years ago, he would have had better luck in finding a witch who saw him for who he was. Now, however, he had resigned himself to his solitary state, and it certainly would be unfair to any witch to attempt to court her until he had rid himself of his attachment to Minerva, even if he found such a witch. 

As Albus strolled along the drive, he heard the heavy oak doors open behind him, and he turned to see Minerva, her luggage floating behind her, emerge from the castle. Feeling unaccountably nervous, he walked toward her.

“Good morning, Professor McGonagall,” he said, smiling. “On your way?”

Minerva stood stock-still and stared at him. “Um, yes,” she managed to say. 

“Do give my best wishes to your parents.”

“What did you do to yourself?” Minerva asked bluntly. Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded . . . um, are you . . . seeing Muggles today?”

“No, I normally wear a suit when meeting Muggles.” Albus was uneasy. “I just thought . . . you have expressed distaste when I refer to myself as an old codger. I thought I might appear less barmy and codger-like if I . . .” Albus gestured to his face.

“I see.” Minerva swallowed, still staring. “You look fine, of course. You always do. It’s just . . . a shock, I suppose.”

Albus could see clearly what she wasn’t saying – whatever had possessed him to think this would be an improvement? “Wilspy seemed to think this look didn’t suit me.”

“Well, Wilspy may have odd notions about appropriate dress, but . . . I think not everyone can carry off your previous look as well as you do. Er, did. It suited you.” Albus didn’t think that Minerva had blinked since laying eyes on him.

“It was better before?” Albus asked.

Minerva opened her mouth, hesitating before she said, “I always thought your hair and beard among your finer features, to be honest. But you must do what you feel comfortable with. You’re still yourself, with or without the beard and hair. It will just take becoming accustomed to, I’m sure.”

“Oh. I thought it might be an improvement,” Albus answered. “Less eccentric. Not as . . . old codger-like.”

Minerva just gave a slight shrug, looking somewhat less shocked than she had at first. “You do look fine, Albus, you really do, but you never looked like an old codger to me, and I am sorry to see you have shaved it all off, as long as I’m being frank.” 

“It’s not gone. It’s just a particularly strong Glamour. I thought I’d simply give it a try for a few days.”

Minerva literally let out a sigh of relief at his revelation. “Well, we all do like to try something a bit different occasionally. I once tried being a blonde. It didn’t last long.” She quirked a bit of a grin.

Albus smiled. “Since the two females in my life, you and Wilspy, don’t seem to approve, I think I will cut this trial short.” He pulled out his wand and, with a few quick swishes, returned his hair and beard to their normal states.

Minerva grinned. “Much better. Glad you did that before I left on holiday, or I may have had nightmares!” she joked.

“Can’t have that, now, can we?” Albus said with a little chuckle. “Here, I’ll walk you to the gates.”

“I enjoyed our chess match last night. It was invigorating, if somewhat frustrating,” Minerva said as they walked down the drive.

“I did as well. I hope we might have a rematch at some point.”

“I will look forward to it.”

They reached the gates and Albus opened them with a gesture.

“Enjoy your holiday,” he said with a warm smile.

“I am sure I will,” Minerva answered as she stepped off the Hogwarts grounds. She turned and looked up at him. “But, as I said, I also look forward to my return.” She raised a tentative hand and touched his cheek then gently stroked his bearded jaw. “And I’m glad you saw me off in your normal state.”

“No nightmares,” Albus said softly.

“No nightmares,” she replied with a slight smile.

Minerva nodded at him and stepped back, taking hold of her bags, one in each hand. “Good bye, Albus.”

“Good bye, my dear Minerva.”

There was a crack, and Albus was left standing alone just outside the gates. His smile faded and he turned to head back to the castle.

Well, at least she hadn’t told him he looked silly, as Wilspy had done, he consoled himself. But nightmares? She had just been joking with him, teasing him as he so often teased her. Still, what had he been thinking? It hadn’t been about “fitting in” at the Ministry. He didn’t need to worry about fitting in. With or without the beard, people who already thought him eccentric would still believe him to be so, and those who didn’t . . . were wrong. And that he would tell himself that he was only doing it for everyone but Minerva . . . whatever his vices were or ever had been, lying to himself had never been one of them. He had occasionally been very badly mistaken, and as a young man, he had occasionally turned a wilful blind eye to what he did not want to see, but he had never been in the habit of lying to himself. And he was not very good at it, either. Not that he had honestly thought that Minerva would find him . . . anything other than her old professor, but there had been the thought in the back of his mind that she might find him less ancient, perhaps somewhat better-looking, less like an old codger. After all, it wasn’t as though he’d grown the beard to cover a weak chin or a nonexistent jaw line or bad skin. Albus had always thought that, without the beard and long hair, he looked rather like his Uncle Christopher, and he had been considered a good-looking man back in his day. His Aunt Beatrice had always said so, and had been proud of the way that other witches’ eyes followed her husband. But his Uncle Christopher had always been an upstanding business man with his small wizarding press, an ordinary wizard with wife and daughter, not the Hogwarts Headmaster and the wizard who had defeated Grindelwald . . . and he hadn’t taught Minerva McGonagall as a child, he hadn’t gone to school with the girl’s grandparents . . . and he hadn’t accumulated obligations and debts before he had reached his twenty-fifth birthday.

Albus sighed and returned to his office, ready to settle down with another long day’s work; however long ago he may have repaid any debts or obligations from his youth, the obligations brought upon him by virtue of his position and his power would never be discharged. Normally, he found satisfaction in this fact, but today, he felt weary and burdened, and when Minerva had Disapparated, it had felt as though a part of his strength had gone with her. But that was mere fancy; it had been his disappointment, both in his experiment and in himself, that had left him enervated. The only cure for that was accomplishment, and Albus set to work, knowing that his energy would return as he immersed himself in it.

As he resolutely picked up the first sheaf of parchments on his desk, there was a flash of flame as Fawkes burst through the open window, showing off. He circled the office, trilling a joyous song, and Albus grinned. He would get a good day’s work done that day; he had no doubt about it. Albus relaxed into his work, feeling as though he had just come from a long, purifying sauna, and he hummed a cheerful piece from Saint-Saens as Fawkes tucked his head beneath his wing and napped.


	83. Family Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva spends some time with her mother and father, imparting the news of her new position at Hogwarts, and learning a few things of interest from her father.
> 
> **Beginning of Part Thirteen.**
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Egeria Egidius, and Merwyn McGonagall.

**Part Thirteen**  
 **LXXXIII: Family Time**

Minerva spent the morning in the garden, helping her mother with her herbs. She mentioned what Johannes had said about microclimates and managing them magically even without a greenhouse, and Egeria said she’d be interested in having him up for a consultation on some of her fussier plants. Minerva assured her that she thought Johannes would be happy to come up and take a look at the garden as a favour to them if they could offer a decent tea with some of Egeria’s cream cakes. 

“In fact, I was thinking of having a few people for lunch or tea one day while I am home, if that would be all right with you. Either this weekend, or possibly after I get back from the warding.”

“The warding?”

“I’m sorry, I thought I’d mentioned it . . .” Minerva suddenly realised that there was something else she hadn’t mentioned to either of her parents. “A few days ago, I agreed to become Gryffindor Head of House, and – ”

Egeria dropped her trowel and threw her arms around her daughter in an unexpectedly energetic embrace. “Oh, how wonderful! Head of Gryffindor! I’m so proud of you! Why didn’t you tell us sooner? We have to celebrate! And of course have your friends come up. Albus must be so pleased!” She drew back and smiled ecstatically at her youngest child.

“Well, I’d rather not celebrate until it’s a done deed – if something happens, and – ”

“Ah, what could happen? But all right, I understand. We’ll still have a special dinner tonight, though. Melina will be coming by this evening – she wants to talk to her ‘Aunty Min’ about something, no doubt to do with her young man – and we’ll open a nice bottle of wine. _Not_ to celebrate, of course! Come, let’s go tell your father. Of course, he’ll likely ask you again why you couldn’t have been a Ravenclaw as he was, but he’ll be as pleased as I, I am sure of it.”

Minerva laughed. “Well, it’s a good thing I was in Gryffindor, as that’s the only reason I am Head of House. There’s no one else available. The current Head is leaving in December and I am now the only Gryffindor on the faculty. Otherwise . . .”

“The _only_ Gryffindor?”

“Yes . . . the other Gryffindor, Robert Pretnick, will be unable to continue as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. He was bitten by a werewolf the last full moon.”

“Oh, no! The poor soul! Is he still in St. Mungo’s?” Egeria asked.

“Yes, but I believe he’s scheduled to be discharged this weekend. The Headmaster wants him to stay at his cottage when he’s released. He’s going to see him about it today, I believe.”

“I do hope he has someone to talk to . . . that can be so difficult on a person. Does he have family?”

“Muggles, and he refuses to tell them,” Minerva said, sounding discouraged. “But a number of the staff have been to visit him. I’ve been myself a few times.”

“Oh . . .” Egeria sighed and squeezed her daughter’s shoulder. “I _am_ sorry, sweetness.”

“What? Why?”

“I am sure you would be the first choice for Head of House in any case, but you will always feel it was got at the expense of this man’s misfortune. I know you. But I am sure that Albus is pleased.”

“I suppose he is. And he did ask me about it before Pretnick was bitten. But now I feel as though he had no choice.”

“Well, the current Head isn’t leaving until December. I am sure that if he wanted to, Albus could find someone else. I am sure he wanted you in that position, just as he wanted you as his Transfiguration teacher. Well, let’s go tell your father the good news, then we’ll get some lunch! Rhubarb compote for pudding!” she said with a grin, knowing it was still one of Minerva’s favourites.

Minerva returned her mother’s smile. “That sounds wonderful!”

* * *

Minerva swallowed the last bite of rhubarb compote and leaned back with a sigh. “That was a wonderful lunch, Mother. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetness! You are always complaining about the Hogwarts meals, so I thought you might enjoy a few of your favourite dishes while you were home.”

“It just tends to be heavy and rather monotonous. It’s actually somewhat better during the summer, I think.”

“Probably because they are only feeding adults, not children,” her mother answered.

“Unless one counts the Hogwarts Headmaster, of course,” Minerva said with a laugh. “I caught him a week or so ago at Fortescue’s. His notion of a healthy lunch was an ice cream sundae with bananas and cherries in it.”

“He seems fairly healthy; I doubt a treat now and then will hurt him.”

“He has dessert at _every_ meal, Mother. He even eats sweets with his breakfast when he can.”

“As I said, Minerva, he seems a very healthy wizard. He probably burns a lot of energy during the day.”

“Yes, well, that may be true, but Poppy had to put him on a vitamin potion because he was burning the candle at both ends and not eating properly.”

“If he’s not getting enough rest, his sweet tooth may get worse,” her mother said. “I’ve noticed that with some people. Their energy flags, and instead of getting the rest they need, they attempt to compensate by eating more sweets.”

“He doesn’t get enough rest, although he has promised me he will try to get to bed earlier.”

A slight smile played around Egeria’s lips. “So, you are looking after him?”

“What? No, no, not exactly. I’ve just been helping him this summer while the Deputy Headmistress has been away, and I happened to notice that he seemed fatigued. That’s all.” Minerva tried not to blush.

“He is very fortunate to have you there with him, Minerva. I am sure that is one reason he would like to have you as Head of Gryffindor. You are such an asset to him.”

Minerva nodded and took a sip of tea.

Merwyn, who had been listening to the conversation in the distracted way he had, said, “I have no doubt that he will be very happy to have you working more closely with him. He told me what an excellent job you have been doing. That was a lovely afternoon we spent. Quite the chess master, your Albus! I mentioned you play.”

“Yes, he told me that last night. And then promptly shredded me in our first game. He caught me off-guard, but he won’t do that again.” Minerva grinned at her father. “Maybe you could give me a few tips, tell me what strategies he uses, that sort of thing.”

“He is a very flexible player. I don’t believe he has only a few set strategies.”

“Mmm. I was afraid you would say that . . . I suppose the only thing for it is for me to get more practice before our rematch, then. What do you say to a few games while I am home?”

Merwyn laughed. “When have you ever known me to turn down a chess game?”

“When you have been in the middle of some particularly fascinating problem in archaic spells or an especially tricky translation,” Minerva said, smiling. 

“Well, I haven’t found anything terribly fascinating recently, so would you like to play this afternoon?” Merwyn asked.

“I’d love it, Dad. I just have a couple letters I would like to write at some point before Melina arrives for dinner.”

“All right, you two – go play your game, but take it outdoors. Don’t lock yourselves away in that library all afternoon. Get some fresh air!” Egeria said. “I’ll have Fwisky or Orents bring you some lemonade out in the gazebo.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Merwyn said with a cheeky grin, winking at Minerva. “It’s no wonder that our little girl has taken to looking after Albus, given your example!”

“Oh, Dad!” Minerva said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly and throwing her napkin at him as she stood. “That’s a wonderful idea, Mother! Send Orents, though. I thought Fwisky was looking a bit ragged this morning. Is she all right?”

“Tchierie’s death has been hard on her, and I think she’s been too proud to say anything to us. I’ll take a look at her this afternoon.”

Minerva nodded, remembering Fwisky’s cheerful mate. “Do you think she would mind if I brought flowers to his grave?”

“No, I think that would be lovely. I’ll let her know you would like to do that. I’m sure she will be happy to give you leave to visit their cemetery.” 

“Of course, she will give you the same answer she gave me when I asked last week,” Merwyn said, standing himself, “but she will be glad, nonetheless, that you asked.”

“What did she say?” asked Minerva, curious, as they left the dining room.

“That she owned nothing and the cemetery was for our family house-elves, but that she was sure that Tchierie would have been honoured to know that his family wished to leave flowers at his grave.” Merwyn shook his head. “Strange creatures, house-elves. ‘Beings,’ I suppose I should say. One minute, I feel as though they are as much my family as you are, and the next minute, I feel as though they are entirely alien. Sometimes, I even feel . . . as though . . .”

“As though you are a child in their care, not the master of the house?” Minerva asked.

“Precisely.” Merwyn said, cocking his head at her. “When did you become so wise, my Minnie-girl?”

“That wasn’t me. That was Professor Dumbledore. He said something similar to me recently,” Minerva said, ignoring her father’s use of her childhood nickname. 

They fetched the chess set – the Muggle one – from the study and headed out to the gazebo. As they began to play, Minerva taking white and Merwyn, black, Minerva was distracted by thoughts of her leave-taking from Albus that morning. It was so peculiar of him to have used that Glamour for no particular reason. The entire time she had known him, his hair and beard had been long. Even when she had been a student, it had only been, at most, a few inches shorter than it was currently. It seemed to her that he kept the ends neatly trimmed and shaped, but he had never cut it shorter. She had seen him with his Glamour when he was being “General” Dumbledore, of course, and so perhaps it wasn’t as much of a shock to her to see him clean-shaven as it might have been, but she had still been taken aback. He was a good-looking man with or without the beard and hair; well, _better_ than good-looking, she thought. Albus was an extremely handsome man with very good bones. But she found his beard and hair beautiful, and there was something about them that seemed to . . . not _enhance_ his magic and his power, but perhaps to emphasise it. He could appear the kindly, comfortable, unthreatening old wizard, but beneath that was immense power, just thrumming beneath the surface, and to Minerva, it seemed that somehow his beard and hair were simultaneously both a mask and a symbol of that power.

Minerva hoped she hadn’t hurt his feelings when she hadn’t been enthusiastic about the change, but it had been an immense relief to learn that it was only an especially strong and effective Glamour. She remembered how soft his cheek had felt and how nice it had been to stroke her fingertips from his skin down to his beard. It would have been lovely to have traced his lips and to have followed her fingertips with her own lips, kissing his cheek and his mouth . . . just to gently caress his lips with hers, to show him how much she loved him . . . .

As her father took her second knight, Minerva realised that she hadn’t been paying proper attention to the game at all, and she groaned.

“Mind elsewhere, Minnie-girl?”

“Mmhm, afraid so,” she said, shaking her head at the position she found herself in. No matter what she did, her father would have her beaten in three or four moves. “I guess this wasn’t the best day to play.” She tipped over her king. “I concede. There was no way to win that.”

“Another game? Or just conversation . . . you have been very quiet.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Dad. Maybe another game later.”

Merwyn waved his wand and settled the chessmen back in their box, then waved it again and erased the chessboard he had charmed onto the table top.

“More lemonade?”

Minerva nodded. Thinking of Albus and his magical power reminded her of their wands and how he had told her that their magic was in harmony. Not the same . . . but that it resonated well together. She took a sip from her glass and looked over at her father, who was looking across the garden of wild flowers with unfocussed eyes. Minerva was familiar with that distracted expression.

“If you have work you’d like to be doing, I don’t want to keep you from it, Dad.”

“Hmm? What? Work? No, I was just thinking about your mother and our trip to Amsterdam. I wasn’t entirely sure about her idea of a holiday, but it was nice to spend a few days away, and even nicer to return.”

“Will you be going back again? And how was Robert’s wife?” Minerva asked.

“I don’t know as I will go with your mother every time she pops over, since she plans to see her every couple of weeks, but we will likely go together again next time, too. Thea is fine, I think. Your mother believes she can help her. She didn’t tell me very much about it, but she seemed optimistic, and Robert looked much happier when we left than he had when we arrived. Quiet young fellow. Not at all like his father.”

“You knew his father?” Minerva had thought that her mother had mentioned something about that, but she had forgotten it.

“Yes. Not terribly well. But he had an interest in Ancient Runes and archaic spells, and Professor Futhark introduced us. His work with the Ministry at the time bored him, I think. We actually had quite a correspondence for a while, though we rarely saw one another.”

“I never knew this. Did you know his wife?”

“Your Arithmancy teacher?” Merwyn shook his head. “Not really. I believe we met once, possibly twice, shortly after they married. I remember she was quite pretty, but rather quiet. She seemed to be a warm person and a good listener, though. Which, given her husband’s out-going personality, was probably a good thing.” He grinned.

Minerva could barely keep her face straight. Pretty? Warm? A good listener? Perhaps he was remembering someone else, had her confused in his mind with a different witch. This had all been a long time ago, after all. “When was this?”

“Hmm . . . I think that Professor Futhark introduced us in nineteen-oh-seven. I remember because that’s the year that Malcolm was born and your mother and I married. It may have been oh-six, but right around then. We corresponded on and off for about fifteen years or so, but then he married, and a few years later, he and his wife moved to Germany for his work, and with his increased responsibilities, I don’t believe he had as much time to write. We hadn’t fallen completely out of touch, and I always thought that at some point, we’d pick it up again, but then he died about a dozen years later. It was tragic in so many ways,” her father finished quietly.

“Do you know how he died?” Minerva asked hesitantly.

“Yes. More than I wish to, anyway. Nothing you would want to know, Minnie-girl.”

“I heard what was done to him . . . what Grindelwald did to him. It was beyond horrific.” Minerva shuddered involuntarily and her father put a warm, comforting hand on her arm. 

They sat in silence for a while, then Minerva said, “Did Robert remember you? Or had you never met?”

“No. I believe he was familiar with my name only because he knew of you. He was a toddler when the family moved to Berlin, and I had never seen him. My friendship with Reginald was developed and maintained through our correspondence. We weren’t close, by any means; our letters occasionally touched on our personal lives, but they were chiefly regarding our shared academic interests. He was a good man, though, and his death was a great loss to the wizarding world. I am glad that your mother will be able to help Robert and his wife.”

Minerva nodded. “I am sure they have good Healers in Amsterdam, but I thought perhaps Mother might have something different to offer. I’m glad I suggested it.”

“Yes, and I think Egeria enjoyed the trip. I’ve always been more the homebody, and she’s always enjoyed seeing and doing new things. I am content merely to learn new things and generate new ideas. That’s why her work was so appropriate for her – it gave her the opportunity to pop about the country while at the same time she could take care of folk, which she loved just as much. She never would have been happy working in the same place day after day. Malcolm takes after her in that regard, although I think even your mother is worried about him now. At fifty, he should be settling down, but when we saw him last week, he was talking about going to Poland to visit a friend, and you know how that usually ends up – first Poland, then Russia, then Mongolia, then Fiji, he just would keep going . . .”

“He seems happy enough with his life, though, Dad. It would be nice for you to be able to see more of him, of course, but he always does come back,” Minerva reminded him. She couldn’t relate to Malcolm’s wanderlust, either, but it seemed to suit him, and he always seemed to get along financially; between procuring rare potions ingredients and taking care of “troubles” for people whom he met in his journeys, he more than made ends meet. His needs were simple, as well. Right now, his two room flat in Aberdeen suited him well, although Minerva had the impression that he could have afforded something larger if he wished. 

“I know, but one can’t keep that sort of thing up forever. It would be nice to see him . . . develop some social ties, I suppose.”

Malcolm was warm and interesting with many entertaining stories of his travels, and people usually took to him immediately, but he was nonetheless an odd wizard with strange interests and a seemingly insatiable need to see and experience new things, and not prone to making close friends. He appeared to have acquaintances of all sorts around the world, but Minerva didn’t know as he’d ever had a girlfriend, although she didn’t think he was interested in wizards, either. She just thought he was as happy in his own company as he was in the company of others – sometimes even preferring to be alone – and that this freed him from the usual ties that keep a person “settled,” as her father had put it.

“He has been in Aberdeen longer than he’s been any one place since he left school, though, Dad. Maybe the trip to Poland would be just that. It might satisfy his need to travel and he would return here afterward.”

“Mmm. Perhaps. And, as you say, Minnie-girl, he does seem happy. And he has been dropping by to see Perseus and Helen regularly, so perhaps he is settling down more. But I don’t know what he is doing with his days. Without a job to go to, I am afraid he will become bored and restless again.”

“He has never held a job long, Dad. I don’t think he needs the money. A job would more likely bore him and drive him to want to get away. I don’t think he would like the routine.”

Merwyn smiled at his daughter. “You’re right, of course. I still think you should have been sorted into Ravenclaw! My brilliant daughter!”

Minerva laughed. “Well, I’ve been very happy to be in Gryffindor. I’ll have to tell Malcolm! He’ll be pleased, to be sure. Of course, Morgan and Murdoch will be happy for me as well, but it’s different for a Gryffindor.”

“I was half-surprised you weren’t sorted into Slytherin, then we would have had equal representation in all of the Houses, but you had to be contrary, as always, Minnie-girl, and get sorted into the same House as Malcolm. Broke the streak – Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw . . . then Gryffindor again!”

“I would like to think that, for all Professor Dumbledore insists that there are some noble qualities to Slytherin, that no McGonagall would be sorted into that House. And I am very glad that I wasn’t. Little snakes.”

“Tut tut, Minerva! As a teacher, shouldn’t you be more even-handed?”

Minerva sighed. “Of course. And I work very hard to be. In fact, I sometimes think that I work so hard at not acting out of prejudice against their House that I am a bit too easy on them.”

“We’re all very proud of you, Minerva. I hope you know that. And I am sure that Albus is, as well.”

Minerva nodded. “Thanks, Dad. It still means a lot to me that you and mother are proud of me.”

“And Albus.”

“Yes.”

“He was quite laudatory of you last he was here. He is very fond of you, you know, Minerva.”

Minerva swallowed and nodded.

“I think he cares for you a great deal. Not just as one of his teachers, I mean.”

Minerva nodded again. “We are becoming better friends.”

“I am glad to hear that. I know he has always meant a lot to you. It is good to know that you are becoming closer.”

There was that word again, “closer.” Poppy used it almost every time she spoke to Minerva of Albus. It was becoming an irritant. “Closer.” As though they could ever truly be close, as close as she wished they could be. Minerva sighed involuntarily.

“Something wrong?” Merwyn asked.

“Nothing. Although I believe you both overestimate Professor Dumbledore’s feelings and how close we might become. I am one of his teachers, as you pointed out. And he doesn’t appear to need friends, at least not many, and I doubt I would be one of those few who would actually become very close to him.”

“Every man needs friends, Minerva. And Albus as much or more than the next wizard. I don’t know him well, of course, but we have spent some time together, and I believe that he values your friendship a great deal. You shouldn’t dismiss that, not if you are becoming better friends, as you say. It is not fair to treat a friendship lightly.”

“I don’t! Don’t be ridiculous, Dad. I never said anything of the sort. But he does have other friends. And some far more suited to him than I am, without a doubt.”

Merwyn raised an eyebrow. “More suited than you? What do you think is wrong with you?”

Minerva couldn’t help but laugh. “Nothing is _wrong_ with me, Dad. It’s just that . . . I am so young and I am sure that there are other more interesting people with whom he could choose to spend his time.”

Merwyn shook his head. “Do you only choose your friends based on their age or how ‘interesting’ they are, Min? It seemed to me that he cares about you and enjoys your company. He certainly seemed quite happy when you two returned from your walk that afternoon, much happier than he’d been playing chess with me all afternoon, though I believe he enjoyed that.”

“I know he did; he said as much.”

“He _enjoyed_ my company, Min, but _your_ company made him happy.”

Minerva fought the blush creeping into her cheeks. Did her father guess at her feelings? She had never let one word slip, she was sure of it. And she was being so careful not to gush about him. . . .

“I am glad that you think so. And it is nice to have a few friends at Hogwarts,” she said noncommittally. 

Thankfully, her father took that as a cue to change the subject. “And how is Poppy?”

“She’s well. She’s on holiday for most of the summer, of course, but I have seen her a couple of times. We went out for her birthday last week. That was fun.”

“Melina told us about Brennan’s . . . whatever-you-call it that Albus did. She was very grateful to you both. She happened to mention that Brennan gave you tickets to a concert. Did you go?”

“Yes, we did. It was quite nice, too. Albus enjoys music.”

Merwyn grinned. “Nice to hear you finally call him ‘Albus’; I was beginning to fear you’d had a falling out, with all the ‘Professor Dumbledore this’ and ‘Professor Dumbledore that’ – seemed rather formal.”

“Just habit,” Minerva said, not liking her father’s grin.

“So you two had a good time?”

“Yes. As I said, we both enjoyed it. It was thoughtful of Brennan to give us the tickets.”

Merwyn just nodded, then said, “At lunch, you mentioned having some friends come to tea one day. Why don’t you invite Brennan and Melina? If you wish to, of course. But Brennan hasn’t been here yet and it would give him an opportunity to meet more of the family if you also invite your brothers. I don’t know if Morgan and his wife will be able to come, but perhaps you could persuade Malcolm. Of course, this is your occasion, and I don’t want to tell you whom to invite.”

“No, that’s a fine idea. It might actually make it more comfortable for me, in fact. One reason I am having friends by is in order to invite Gertrude Gamp and repay her hospitality to some small degree, but we aren’t what you would call ‘close’ by any stretch of the imagination, and if it were just a few people, I’m afraid it might become awkward,” Minerva explained. “I was thinking of inviting Poppy, anyway, and she and Melina get along quite well, so it makes sense to invite Melina and Brennan. Mother would like to speak with Johannes Birnbaum about her garden, so I hope he can come. I’ll invite Morgan and Fiona, but I won’t be surprised if they can’t make it, and Murdoch and Malcolm, as well. And Quin – he’s a wizard I met at the Gamps; I may have mentioned him. He’s quite out-going and I think he’d smooth any potentially awkward moments. I’m also hoping that perhaps he and Poppy might hit it off. She says she’s not interested, but maybe once she met him. . . . As Albus is always telling me, he’s quite a catch.” Minerva made a face.

“He says that?” Merwyn appeared puzzled.

“Yes. Quite persistently. It’s rather annoying. Quin really isn’t interested in dating, although I think if he met the right witch, that might change, and although I like Quin, I am not interested in him that way. Albus seems to think I should be. He’s worse than Mother.”

“That’s . . . interesting,” Merwyn said thoughtfully. “I suppose he thinks he is looking after your best interest.”

“Perhaps. Anyway, I think I will invite a number of people and see who can come. We’ll be a bit wizard-heavy, but I don’t think it should be a problem.”

“You didn’t mention Albus. Aren’t you going to invite him?”

Minerva hesitated. “I may . . . but I haven’t decided yet. I doubt it, though.”

“As I said, it’s your guest list! Now, what about another game? Or, if you promise not to tell your mother that I drew you in from the fresh air, you could come take a look at the proofs for my new book.” 

“I’d like to see the proofs, actually. Let’s go in.”

After they had looked at the proofs for a while, and her father told her she could take them upstairs with her and read through them at her leisure, Minerva looked around her father’s study at the books shelved two deep in the bookcases that lined the walls. 

“Interested in something in particular?” Merwyn asked.

“A book on wand-making, if we have one. It would probably be in the library, though, not here with your books.” Most of the texts in her father’s study were concerned with linguistics and ancient spells, though occasionally another book would end up there after he brought it into his study to use and then never returned it to its shelf in the library.

“Wand-making? I was unaware you had an interest in that craft, Min.”

Minerva looked over at her father. He might actually be able to help her find the information she was looking for if he knew why she was interested in it. 

“Do you remember bringing me to Ollivander’s for my wand?”

Merwyn laughed out loud. “How could I forget? That was a very, very long morning. Do you remember that I left at about ten and owled your mother to tell her that we wouldn’t be home for lunch as we’d planned, since we hadn’t even made it past the first shop yet?”

“No, I’d actually forgotten that. But the rest of the morning seems burned into my memory. I didn’t think I was ever going to get a wand.”

“Ollivander told me afterward that he had never taken more than a half hour to fit a student with their first wand.”

Minerva drew the wand from her pocket. “It turns out that this wand is rather special.” She paused, trying to determine how to proceed. “Have you ever heard of mated wands?”

“Mmm, yes, they’re like brother wands, but there is some special connection between the woods as well as their having near-identical cores.”

Minerva was surprised despite herself. She had never heard of mated wands before Albus had told her of them. Of course, her father was much older and had spent his entire life in study; she probably should not be surprised.

“Do you know anything more?” she asked.

Merwyn squinted at nothing, thinking. “I believe . . . I believe I knew more at one time, but whatever that was has moved on to make room for something else in this old brain. I do know that the woods are not the same; that would make the wands twins, not mates. And there are supposed to be some special attributes both of the wands and those who wield them.”

Minerva blinked. “And those who wield them?”

“Yes. But I don’t remember much about that, I’m afraid. No doubt we can find a book or two with more about it. Am I to take it that you have a wand that has a mate?”

“Yes, I just found out a few days ago, actually.”

“And may I guess as to the identity of the owner of the other wand? Albus Dumbledore?”

Minerva’s mouth almost dropped open. “Did you know about this already and not tell me?”

“No, but it makes sense. So I am right, then. You and Albus possess mated wands.” Her father grinned. “Well, isn’t that . . . interesting. I presume he told you?” At Minerva’s nod, he continued, “I am sure we can find some information for you, although I don’t know as it will go much beyond what Albus was able to tell you. Your wand is of ivy, so what is his? Oak?”

“No, that was something else I learned. My wand is of magical ivy, not common ivy – ”

“So his is of yew, I presume . . . he never struck me as an oak wizard. Yew . . . how interesting.” Merwyn smiled again. “And _Hedera pythonica_ ; quite an intriguing combination. Very appropriate, wouldn’t you say?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure what you mean.”

Merwyn shrugged. “Let’s go into the library, see if we can find you that book.”

A half hour later, they had pulled two dusty tomes from some upper shelves, and Minerva began to wonder whether she could also find a book or two about magical drains and instinctive staunching when there was a loud crack in the front hall. 

“Must be Melina,” Merwyn said. “She still makes a racket.” He looked out the window, judging the time of day. “She’s a bit early, but I think that she was anxious to talk to you. I think she wants your help with something to do with her young man.” Merwyn chuckled. “She introduced us a few days ago. Well-suited, I’d say, despite the rather obvious differences.”

“She’s too young to be marrying at all, let alone someone from such a different background. She’s not even twenty-one yet! I do wish someone could talk some sense into her.” Minerva sighed.

“I believe they will be fine. Normally, I might agree with you, but seeing them together, I have no doubt that it wouldn’t make any difference if they waited until Melina was a little older.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Melina’s arrival and her subsequently dragging Minerva back outside to walk in the garden. Minerva’s reading would have to wait until that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to keep track of the characters in the story? Take a look at the [Compendium of RaMverse Information](http://mmadfan.com/compendium-of-info-who-when-where/), which includes a Who's Who for _Resolving a Misunderstanding_.


	84. Mates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Melina talk; Minerva learns more about mated wands.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Melina McGonagall, Egeria Egidius, and Merwyn McGonagall.

**LXXXIV: Mates**

Minerva found herself yawning after dinner. Melina could be quite exhausting to be around sometimes. When she had come by late in the afternoon, full of boundless energy and enthusiasm, she spent more than an hour in the garden with Minerva, telling her all about all of the wonderful things that she and Brennan had been doing in the last few days since Albus had cast the various spells that permitted Brennan to experience the wizarding world and that allowed Melina to talk about it with him without violating any of the Muggle Protection laws. She begged Minerva to come out with her that Saturday morning to look at flats. She had three appointments set up to look at flats owned by wizarding landlords that were in Muggle districts. She now wanted a flat to which she could not only invite Brennan and his Muggle friends, but which she and Brennan could share after they were married.

“Oh, and one of the landlords says he knows you, Minerva. Rather nice chap, heard from him this afternoon – Irish, like Brennan, so maybe he’ll be sympathetic to our plight. Young couple and all, just getting started. I know that Brennan has his own shop, but he’s got some fierce competition, and he sometimes seems to work around the clock –”

“Wait, wait, wait, Melina,” Minerva said, holding up her hand. Finally getting Melina to stop talking for a minute, Minerva continued, “Someone I know? Irish? What’s his name? What does he look like?”

“Oh, I don’t know what he looks like. We’ve only communicated by owl. His name is ‘MacAirt,’ like the Divination teacher at Hogwarts. S’pose they’re related? Is that how you know him? What’s he like? Would he be a decent landlord?”

“Melina, I honestly don’t know how you expect me to answer any of your questions when you keep talking at me like that! I think it must be Quin. I mentioned him to you –”

“No, his name wasn’t ‘Quin’; it was Cormac. I remember because I thought it was a funny name for a real person to have – Cormac mac Airt – and his seal was a cup with a crack in it.”

“That’s Quin.” At Melina’s puzzled look, Minerva added, “He goes by his middle name with friends.”

“I can see why – I almost asked him if he was bringing his cup along with him. He must get those jokes all the time.”

“I imagine so,” Minerva said, giving up trying to figure out which of Melina’s questions to answer.

“So, would he be a good landlord?”

“I have no idea. Probably.” How much did this man own? Flats in Edinburgh now? And he dealt with such things himself? Seemed dreadfully menial to Minerva. “He wrote you himself?”

“He might be a decent landlord if he’s friends with you – that’s why he owled me himself, he said. He recognised my name. Well, ‘McGonagall,’ anyway. He has an estate agent that he usually goes through, but the estate agent is a Squib, and he runs all of the wizarding applicants by Mr MacAirt first, and that’s how he learned I wanted to look at a flat, because he uses Ferguson’s, the same estate agents I visited.”

Well, that was a relief. “I see – probably wants to check on them and make sure they wouldn’t be undesirable tenants in some way.”

“Mmm. But I gather from Mr Shycross – that’s the estate agent – that Ferguson’s rent mostly to Muggles. They just run the adverts in the _Prophet_ as a matter of course if a flat is adaptable for both Muggle and wizarding use, but there’s not a lot of call for these flats in Edinburgh; most of them are let to Muggles, who are none the wiser. Their other offices in London and Glasgow do more business with wizards, apparently. I’d only inquired about one flat that Mr MacAirt had advertised through this agency, but he recommended I look at another one, as well. It’s closer to McTavish Street, he said, and hasn’t been advertised yet. The other flat that Mr Shycross scheduled me to look at is owned by a Squib, actually. He and his wife have the flat below, and we’d be above them.”

“That doesn’t sound ideal. Unless they are particularly nice people, and tolerant. Living in the same building as your landlord can be . . . uncomfortable,” Minerva said, remembering the time she thought the very nice landlady would be wonderful to live downstairs from, but she regretted the move almost from her first night there. Minerva was what most would consider an ideal tenant – polite, quiet, studious, paid her rent on time – but this landlady, who was very nosy, didn’t seem to think so.

“Well, I’ll look at all three,” Melina said. “We don’t have to find anything immediately. We aren’t getting married until the end of August, anyway.”

“Next month?!”

“Yes, don’t look at me like that, Min – Minerva. We are sure of it. And it will make things easier for Brennan. He couldn’t talk to anyone in McTavish Street, it turned out, unless I spoke to them first and made a sort of introduction. It was very awkward. And I obviously couldn’t leave him on his own there. Couldn’t even turn my back on him, poor man! Anyway, we can always stay in his flat until we find something. It would simply be lovely to start life with our own place, you know? At least a flat. Brennan is saying we should look to be buying eventually, but I don’t know . . .”

“Can you afford to keep up two places? Wouldn’t it be wiser to find something that you can take in November? Perhaps even put off the wedding until then. You’ll have known him a year then, and you can –”

“No. We don’t want to wait. And I have a good deal put by, since I’ve been living almost rent-free since moving back up from London last year. Dad won’t hear of me paying rent, although I contribute to the household expenses. And now that I’m a fully-qualified Healer, my pay packet is quite a bit larger than it was.”

“It’s not just the money, Melina – although I’d like to know how much this Ferguson’s charges in fees – it’s that it is a major decision and will entail a large change in both your lives. And if Brennan has been a bachelor all these years, it could be quite difficult for him to suddenly share his life with someone else.”

“Oh, there’s no fee unless we actually apply for a flat. And I know you are only thinking of me and my happiness, Minerva, but Brennan and I are not children. We have talked about all of this and we will continue to talk about it. And he’s not always lived alone – and yes, I know it’s not the same as sharing your life with a spouse – but I think we will be fine. I know we will be. And because I know you are probably wondering, I am _not_ pregnant and that’s not why we are marrying, unlike Grandmother Egeria and Grampa. And that is all I am saying on that matter.” Melina crossed her arms in front of her.

“I actually didn’t think any such thing, Melina. And I don’t care to know any more than you told me.” Minerva shook her head. “Although, have you discussed whether or not you both want children? And have you told Brennan they are likely to be witches or wizards? That could prove quite a challenge for a Muggle to face.”

“We have discussed that. I told him that chances were that any children we had would take after my side of the family in that way. And really, Minerva, as much as I appreciate your concern, it’s not as though we haven’t considered these things. We may be in love, but we haven’t lost our minds!”

“Hmmph. Well, I look forward to seeing Mother’s face when you tell her that she has a month to prepare for your wedding – you do know that she wants to help you with it, don’t you?”

“Of course! But we’re just going to a Muggle registry office –”

“A _Muggle_ marriage? And at a registry office? That’s hardly a wedding! That’s more like . . . like getting your Apparition licence! Mother will go spare when she hears that!”

“If you would let me _finish_ , Auntie Min, I will explain! The registry office wedding will allow us to register the marriage with the Ministry and we can get rid of the final restrictions on Brennan. That’s why we want to do it so soon. And we’ll have a wedding breakfast and whatever else Grandmother Egeria would like, but this also lets us invite all of our friends over here – our Muggle friends – to the wedding. I know, too, that Brennan’s mother would like us to have a church wedding, and we may do that eventually, as well. So there’s no reason we couldn’t have a wizarding ceremony of some sort later on if it would make Grandmother Egeria happy. I would certainly enjoy having another party!” Melina said with a grin.

“You really are set on this, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am. You have no idea how happy I am with Brennan. It’s just being with him, sharing life with him . . . it’s hard to describe. I could tell you all of the little things about him that I adore, but it’s not just those things. Even now, just knowing he’s in the world and I will see him again soon . . . I could almost burst with happiness sometimes.” Melina seemed to glow as she spoke.

“Falling in love can be like that in the beginning, Melina. It doesn’t mean the feeling will last,” Minerva answered with a note of caution in her voice.

“I think it will. It’s not just the passion and the racing heart and all that. It’s just _him_. I wish you understood. I think Grandmother Egeria does. But, well, I suppose that someday, you may, too.”

“What makes you think I don’t understand now? Life does not always work out the way we sometimes wish.” Minerva sighed. “If you are sure and Brennan is sure, I am very happy for you both, and I will do whatever I can to help you out. But a month . . . I don’t know how much help I can be. I have to return to Hogwarts next week for the warding and to be installed as the next Head of Gryffindor House –”

Melina’s shout of congratulations combined with a bone-crushing hug cut off Minerva’s breath and ability to speak.

When Melina finally let go and Minerva was able to speak again, she said with a smile, “I will be very happy to help you, Melina, however I am able to on such a tight schedule.”

“Oh, Minerva, I am so excited! Head of House! I can’t wait to tell everyone! My Aunt Minerva, Head of Gryffindor House!”

“I’d prefer that until it’s a done deed, you not mention it to anyone. Of course, you can tell your father. And Brennan, although he won’t have much idea of its significance –”

“Oh, he’ll have some idea, Min – he read _Hogwarts, A History_ , and said he liked Godric Gryffindor and would have liked to have been a Gryffy if he were a wizard, but he did express appreciation for Hufflepuff.” Melina giggled and blushed, and Minerva could only imagine how he might have expressed his “appreciation.” “I promised him I would try to take him to a Hogwarts Quidditch game. I think it would be a bit difficult, him being a Muggle, to bring him to a league game, but Professor Dumbledore said that after we’re married, I was welcome to bring him to Hogwarts for a tour. We did go to Hogsmeade last week, and he could see the castle, but looking at it made him feel anxious and gave him a migraine. Hopefully once the last of the spells and bindings are cast, he’ll be able to see it without feeling sick. But Gryffindor Head! That’s so exciting! And we’ll both understand if you can’t be very involved in the planning. There won’t be much to do, anyway. And, well, I’ve decided on a small wedding party. That’s one of the things I’m worried about . . . I will invite everyone, of course, but on such short notice.” Melina stopped, suddenly looking apprehensive. “Do you think that people will feel left out if they don’t have some formal role? It is only a registry office marriage, after all.”

“It is your wedding, Melina. And the marriage itself is far more important than the wedding. You should do whatever pleases you.”

“If I do a wizarding ceremony, we could make it a bit grander.” Melina took a deep breath. “Min, do you mind, I’ve asked Jennie to be my maid-of-honour because she has been so good to Brennan and me and she didn’t have to be and she would leave her own flat just for me and –”

Minerva laughed and held up a hand. “Stop, stop, Melina! I don’t mind at all. I meant what I said about doing what pleases you, and I think it is a fine idea to have Jennie be your maid-of-honour. And even though this is a small affair, there will still be a lot that she will be able to help you with that I wouldn’t be available to do. As long as I am invited to celebrate with you, I will be very happy. Are you having a matron-of-honour?”

“I don’t know . . . as I said, it will be small and simple. I know that Grandmother Egeria will want to have a hand in the planning, so I suppose . . .”

“Why don’t you talk to her about that, then? I’m sure she’d do the same for you whether you gave her some special designation or not, and I doubt it’s something she will care particularly about – once she gets over the shock that you are having a Muggle marriage in a registry office, that is! I think you might start your explanation of the wedding by giving your reasons for the timing and such before breaking that particular news to her.”

Melina nodded. “Do you think that Professor Dumbledore could come? He wouldn’t have to do anything, unless he wanted to cast the final binding after the ceremony. We’d still have to register with the Ministry, but I would love to have him do the binding instead of some stranger at the Ministry. Really what I’d like, though, is to have him attend. I know Brennan would, too.”

“I don’t know. You would have to ask him. But school starts on the first, remember, so if it’s too close to the start of the school year, well, obviously I would attend, because I could hardly not, but Dumbledore is a busy wizard, and he will only become busier as the first of September approaches.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. But Head of Gryffindor! I can’t get over it! Do you get anything special with that? More pay, that sort of thing?”

Minerva blushed. She hadn’t even asked about such things. She knew most of the new responsibilities she would be taking on, and they were significant, but she had never asked about compensation or contract term or anything of the sort. She, who was always so pragmatic! 

“That’s not why I took the position, Melina. It’s an honour, and I will be able to contribute more to Hogwarts and the students. But I do get rooms in Gryffindor Tower, and I’ll have a separate study in addition to my classroom office, so they are a bit more posh.”

They talked for a while longer, then Orents fetched them for dinner, and conversation around the dinner table centred on Melina’s upcoming marriage, and Egeria was filled with advice for her granddaughter on everything from the wedding breakfast to the guest list to setting up a household to family planning. When her grandmother began to discuss sex and birth control, Melina blushed.

“You do remember that I am a qualified Healer, Grandmother; I really don’t think I need that kind of talk,” she said.

“And as happy I am for Melina and Brennan and as much as I wish them great joy of every kind in their marriage, I really don’t think I want to be privy to this particular conversation, love,” Merwyn added.

Egeria laughed. “All right! But you and I will have a talk later, Melina. There’s more than what you learn from books, you know!”

“All right, Grandmother, if you insist,” Melina said with a smile. “I really appreciate all of your help and advice.”

Minerva stifled another yawn as they all got up from the table. “Melina, I hope you don’t mind, but I am feeling sleepy. I think I’d like to just go upstairs with my books and do some reading. I’ll see you on Saturday morning at the apothecary – nine o’clock, right? – and we can talk more then. And I’m sure Mother will fill me in on any details I miss. Would you mind terribly?”

“Of course not! I think this is a conversation I’d rather have privately, anyway, if it goes in the direction of, um, family matters,” Melina answered.

Minerva chuckled. “Good. I’ll see you in a few days, then.”

She wished her mother and father good-night, then returned to the library to find the two books that she and her father had found earlier in the day. Minerva picked up the books and the proofs, and went upstairs to her bedroom. After getting ready for bed, she picked up the first book and noticed there was a bit of folded parchment marking a page in the book. Paying attention to which page had been marked before removing it, Minerva unfolded the parchment and read a note from her father.

_“Min,_

_“There are only a few paragraphs of interest in this book, but in the second book, there several pages that I found quite fascinating, and I believe you will, too. Of course, they are anecdotal accounts, and as such, should be taken with a grain or two of salt, but there is likely a kernel of truth to them._

_“I also remember that we have a book somewhere with more information on wandlore in general, although I think it has more to do with choice of woods and cores, with only a cursory mention of twins, brothers, and mates. I will try to find it for you._

_“It’s good to have you home for a while, Minnie-girl!_

_“Dad”_

Minerva curled up in bed with the books, deciding to read the few paragraphs in the first book before looking at the anecdotal accounts in the second book. Her father had been correct, though, and the information in the first book echoed everything that she already had learned from Albus, adding only a few intriguing notes that the author, unfortunately, did not expand upon. 

_“Bearers of mated wands, as those of twins and brothers, may also find that their wands cannot be turned on one another, but that they are able to accomplish great things while working together. Although this phenomenon might be expected from twin and brother wands, that effect has actually not been observed from brothers and twins. It is said that those possessing mated wands are able to amplify the effect of any spells they cast if they cast those spells in unison; indeed, it has been suggested that the mere presence of a mated wand in proximity to a spell cast through the other will be sufficient to affect the outcome of the spell. There have, however, been no definitive studies of this purported amplification effect that would quantify, or even prove, that such an effect exists._

_“There are theories regarding the origin or cause of this effect – if it does, indeed, exist – ranging from the sympathy between the woods to the natural resonance of the spell caster’s magic with that of the holder of the wand’s mate. We shall not explore these theories in this volume, however, as, until there is further study of the phenomenon, any such theories must remain pure speculation, possibly even lying in the realm of fantasy.”_

Minerva quickly flipped through the book using an indexing spell, searching to see if she could find any more information on magical resonance, but the only references to it were with regard to ordinary wands and how a wand is theorised to choose its owner, with one short footnote explaining that the resonance discussed with regard to wand and wand-bearer was to be understood as identical to the resonance involved in casting personal, individualised wards. Her father had been correct. The book had not been particularly helpful, although at least it confirmed the substance of what Albus had told her. Any wizarding child whose home had Anti-Apparition wards on it that allowed members of the family through had at least a rudimentary understanding of magical resonance before even beginning school, although they didn’t usually think of it that way. Minerva hadn’t even thought about the way in which the magical resonance between individuals might affect spells, though. She wondered whether it had any applications in Defence . . . if one understood the resonance of one’s opponent . . . but that was completely irrelevant at the moment. 

It was odd that she hadn’t really thought about the relationship between the magical resonances of individuals before now. After all, Albus had cast those diagnostic spells on her and her father before her first Side-Along Apparition with him. Given that her magic was apparently in some kind of harmony with Albus’s magic, however, it was likely that he could have cast the diagnostic only on her, and not on her father, and still have learned enough from it. Although casting it on them both may have given him the key that had made that Side-Along not only comfortable, but easy and seemingly effortless.

Minerva found that her father had marked the pages in the other, older book with his Bookmark Charm, and the book fell open to the pertinent pages. Looking at the first paragraphs, she thought it would be a dull read.

_“Tales abound of the Tragedies and Triumphs of those who have held Brother Wands, and who has not heard at least the Story of the Tragedy of the Twin Wands held by Mopsus and Calchus, and the Calamities that befell them, but to hear a Story of Mated Wands is rare, indeed, for Mates are shrouded even further in Mystery and Shadow than those other Related Wands._

_“It is said that Mates will wait Years before choosing their Witch or Wizard, biding their Time until the Magic of the One for whom they wait finally calls to them, interfering with all other Wands. It is even said that if a Wizard nears the Mated Wand which awaits him, his own Wand will fail, subsiding in deference to the Power of the Mate. While this is likely mere Fancy, there can be no Doubt that Fate drives the Mates into the Proper Hands that will wield them, just as She places Brothers with those whose Destinies are intertwined._

_“It is unconfirmed although highly likely that Brothers Crispin and Crispinian held Mated Wands, and those who were Healed by the Brothers confirmed that the most Powerful Magic was performed when the two worked together. Even after their famous Falling Out over Ancelin, daughter of Felix, their Patron, the two Brothers continued to work together for the Good of Others, although some say their Skill at Healing was wounded by the Injury to their Relationship, and there is little Doubt that Ancelin, in her Despair at the Rift which she created between the previously Loving Siblings, retreated from the World and spent her Days in Solitude and Contemplation. Thus these Mated Wands brought both Tragedy and Triumph to those whose Lives they touched._

_“The Tale of Timothy and Esmeralda, for those who are familiar with it, is one of far Greater Sadness, all must agree. These Young Lovers, kept apart by their Tyrannical Fathers, Sylvanius and Fabian, came together one Final Time and used their Mated Wands to bring about the collapse of Fabian’s Great Hall, dying together beneath its Stones as they could not live without one another. Many a Poet, both Wizarding and Muggle, has been inspired by this Tragic Romance of Timothy and Esmeralda!_

_“And no Collection of Stories of Mated Wands would be complete without the Tragic Tale of Clothilde, the Victim of Vengeance and Greed. Claudius, Father of this Sweet Maiden, grew in his Hatred and Envy of Livius, his Rival in all things, and determined he would discover a way to undermine his Enemy. Claudius, in his Sureness that his Knowledge and Acuity were unsurpassed and without Fault, brought the Wandmaker Apodis to his Home and directed him to provide Clothilde with a Wand well-matched to the Wand of Livius, believing in his Hubris that he could use his Daughter as a Tool against his Rival to undermine all his Endeavors. Apodis, skilled Wandmaker, produced a Wand of shining red Wood, saying that this Wand was a Perfect Mate to the Wand of Livius. Claudius, believing himself Wily and Sly, made a Pretence of Peace with Livius and as a Symbol of this Truce, he offered his Daughter’s hand in Marriage to his former Rival. Livius, taken by the Maiden’s Purity and Beauty, accepted Most Readily, but remained with Suspicion of Claudius and his Purpose._

_“Soon after the Wedding Night, Livius discovered his Bride attempting to bring down his Wards. The Girl cried and wept and lied as to her Purpose, stating that she missed her Mother and her Sisters, wishing only to allow them Access to her New Home. Livius suspected Clothilde, and watched his Bride most carefully. He told his new Wife that all of his Wards were tied to his own Wand and only he could lower them. Clothilde, in her Youth and Innocence, did not protest and did not beg her new Husband to lower the Wards and allow her Sisters to visit. Livius, spying on his Wife, discovered her again attempting to remove his Wards. As he watched, he was Most Astounded to see that the Girl, despite lacking Talent, was having some Success. Confronting her, he demanded her True Purpose. Frightened, Clothilde confessed that her Father wished to enter her new Home and carry her off. Livius took Clothilde’s Wand from her and with some Researches, discovered its Nature, and determined to use his Wife in his Work in exploring Arts most Dangerous and Dark to gather Power to himself._

_“As Livius grew in Skill and immersed himself in Darkness, his Madness and his Tyranny over his Wife grew likewise. Poor Clothilde, first Tool of a Vengeful Father then Tool of a Mad Husband, began to sicken and despair. All Attempts to escape her Vicious Spouse failed, and Livius did not allow Clothilde her Wand except during his Dark Practices, when he would exploit her Magic most cruelly. In Great Despair, Clothilde leapt to her Death, her only Escape from her Misery. Claudius, enraged, challenged Livius to a Duel. The Wizards fought all Day and all Night, until they met their Ends at each others’ Wands. Thus does the Tragic Tale of Clothilde end with the Deaths of Three who wished to twist the Mates to Foul Purposes.”_

The book went on in a similar vein, describing various people whose lives had been touched in some way by “Mated Wands” – Minerva was becoming deathly sick of the Capital Letters the Author so Dearly Loved – but with no historical references, dates, family names, and scarcely even a placename, mentioned. The stories did all seem to be in the “realm of fantasy,” as the previous book would have called it. Perhaps it was better that it did all seem rather fanciful, Minerva reflected, as many of the holders of mated wands came to bad ends (or “Bad Ends,” as the author no doubt would have it), and none of them seemed to lead ordinary lives with ordinary joys and sorrows. But then, such stories would not have interested the author of this particular book.

Minerva began skimming the text, thinking that she wouldn’t find anything else of interest, and after a dozen more fantastic stories, she was about to give up, when finally she found reference to genuine historical figures, rather than those of legend.

_“Great Sorrow can befall the Bearers of Mated Wands. To recount the Sad Tale of Godric Gryffindor and his great Friend, Salazar Slytherin, would be to No End, for who in the Wizarding World does not know of their Friendship, a Model for all Friends, and of their subsequent Quarrels and the Death of their Friendship? The Great Deeds they accomplished together will forever be associated with their Tragedy. (For the Uplifting Story of Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff, see the Chapter, ‘Sisters-in-Wand.’)_

_“In Bridget Wenlock and her Husband, the lesser-known Brian Wenlock, we see the Good that can be accomplished by those who hold Mated Wands and act with Nobility of Purpose. Although Arithmancers, the two were able to utilise the Power of their Mated Wands to devise new methods of Arithmantic Proofs, and it is said that Bridget’s Discovery of the Magical Properties of Seven is due to her Harmonious Work with Brian, with whom she lived in Conjugal Bliss until his Death in 1284.”_

Finally, a date! And Minerva had actually heard of Bridget Wenlock when she took Arithmancy. This seemed a rather unremarkable entry, however – nothing like the miraculous or tragic events that Aloysius Prewett, the author of this dreadful tome, had recounted in the previous paragraphs. The first entry that looked as though it might be more than a fairytale, and there was nothing remarkable about it whatsoever. Wenlock’s discovery of the magical properties of the number seven, as important as it had been, could have been the result of hard work, intuition, and intelligence, and have had nothing to do with whether she and her husband had mated wands or not. And the story of Gryffindor and Slytherin was so devoid of detail as to render it useless. Every schoolchild knew of the two and how their friendship soured until they had a final falling-out. Minerva had never heard of their wands mentioned at all in any context – nor those of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Well, perhaps the next paragraphs might hold something of greater interest.

_“In more Modern Times, we rarely hear Stories of Mated Wands. Wandmakers inform this Author that the Proper Woods to create Mated Wands, which were always hard to acquire, have become rarer and rarer over the last Few Hundred Years. In addition to this Sad Loss, there is also some Superstition in Wandmaker Lore regarding Mated Wands, and many Wandmakers, accustomed though they are to playing a Hand in the Fate of Witches’ and Wizards’ Lives, are wary of crafting such Powerful Objects as Mated Wands. For although the Wandmakers are secretive regarding the Reasons for this, it is rumoured that some Mated Wands may be of such Power that they could Work Together to bring down more than just the vaulted Stone Hall of Timothy and Esmeralda, but that they could bring down Wizarding Civilisation or could reshape it as the Wielders of the Mated Wands wished._

_“One pair of famous Mated Wands in more Modern Times, however, must surely include the wands of Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel. There can be no Doubt in this Author’s Mind that the Flamels’ Success in Alchemy, and particularly in their purported Creation of the Philosopher’s Stone, is due entirely to their documented Possession of Mated Wands of_ Rosa arcana _and_ Malus sylvestris _Woods with Cores of Thestral Mane Hair. The Philosopher’s Stone is an Object of such Great Power that it could pose a Grave Danger to all of Wizarding Civilisation. Most fortunately for us all, the Couple, rumoured to be living in a Village outside of Paris at this writing, has not shared the Secret of its Creation with others, nor have they used their unusual Knowledge and Power for anything but the simple Enrichment and Extension of their own Lives. Although many may argue that the couple, if they would not share their Secret with the Wizarding World, should nonetheless have done more to alleviate its Suffering, this Author believes that the Temptation to do Good with their Great Powers would have turned, whether they willed it or not, to Control and Dictatorship. Thus the Love and Nobility of Purpose of this Good Couple has saved the Wizarding World from another Tragedy of Mated Wands, one perhaps greater than all others together, for what could be worse than Incalculable Power wielded by Two who were both Strong in Magic and Immortal?”_

Prewett went on to say that no doubt there had been other mated wands throughout history that had played great roles in their owners’ lives, but that these were the stories he found “Most Compelling and Credible.” “Compelling” Minerva assumed meant “outlandish,” and “credible,” “fantastic.” Despite her scepticism, however, she did think that the one constant that ran through the stories – that the wands could be used to work together to an amplified effect – was likely true. It also seemed probable that holders of mated wands tended to have great roles in each others’ lives – usually as friends, partners, lovers, or spouses, but occasionally as enemies, as well. The book didn’t speculate on whether it was the wands that drew them together or whether what drew them together was the same force that drew the wands to them – or them to their wands, depending on how one looked at it – but Prewett’s speculations would likely to have been valueless, anyway. The man seemed obsessed with what he considered “Tragedy” and “Nobility of Purpose.” If the Flamels’ wands were made sometime in the few decades before they obtained them, that meant they were likely made sometime in the early fourteenth century, and since that was the most recent example that Prewett gave, despite having written the book in 1798, more than four hundred-fifty years after the couple had been born, it seemed that more recent examples of mated wands were rare, indeed.

What had Albus said about the Ollivanders and mated wands? That theirs were the first mated wands that they had made in four hundred years? If the period were that great for other wandmakers, it was hardly surprising that Prewett had been unable to find a more recent “Compelling and Credible” example of mated wands. Not to mention that she doubted people walked about advertising that they had mated wands. Albus hadn’t even told her about theirs until now. It was rather irritating that she hadn’t known of it sooner, but if she had learned of it as a teenager, she was sure that these stories would have led her to believe that she was destined for tragedy. Or “Tragedy.” Minerva smirked mirthlessly. Perhaps even now, it would have been better if she had not read these stories – after Quin’s divination and her own conflicted feelings, she was becoming more resigned to having “her joy die,” after all. But surely she should think of the positive examples Prewett gave – he did tend to dwell on the morbid, but he had mentioned some happy friends and happy couples. And even Crispin and Crispinian, who, Prewett remarked in a footnote, were not to be confused with the cobblers of the same name, continued to work together successfully in order to treat their patients, even after Ancelin left to lead a life of “Solitude and Contemplation.” Not all were doomed to tragedy or enmity. And she certainly could not imagine enmity between her and Albus, regardless of the circumstances. Not to mention that Albus had lived for decades with his wand, quite successfully avoiding tragedy, Minerva assumed, before she had ever received its mate. It had certainly sounded as though he had obtained his new wand after he was well into adulthood, some years after the death of his wife and his enraged defence of his friend’s fiancee.

Minerva placed the books on her bedside table and lay back, thinking about what Albus had told her about their wands. He had told her there was not much more to learn, except myth and superstition, but she wished he had at least mentioned some of the stories that had grown up around mated wands. Certainly he had at least known of Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel’s wands. He knew them personally, had worked with them. They weren’t storybook characters of myth and superstition. When she returned to Hogwarts the following week, she would see if she could find a more recent book that discussed mated wands, and perhaps even ask Albus about them. Or at least, about theirs. Minerva had the sense that there was much more that he hadn’t told her.

If only she had known of their wands during the fight against Grindelwald, she could have been of more use! Even after she had been promoted after having saved Albus in France, her work had been in research – very interesting research, to be sure – on using Transfiguration in the Defensive Arts and developing spells that could be used on the battlefield, but she herself never saw any of the spells implemented. Minerva could understand why Gordon Yaxley had wanted to go on that mission and see his work in action, though it was a pity he had been killed doing it. But she was more powerful than it sounded like this Gordon had been; she could have taken care of herself with a bit of training, she was sure. But instead of making use of the fact that she wielded a mated wand, Albus had made sure that she would be kept safe at the Ministry – doing such a good job of it that she hadn’t even used any magic during the first year and a half that she worked there. Of course, that hadn’t been Albus’s intent, but . . . even if he had wanted her safe, hadn’t it been foolish of him not to exploit the power of the mated wands? After their work together on the Hogwarts wards, he knew that the effects of their spells were amplified when they were working together. They could have accomplished so much! And once she had rescued him in France, he must have seen that she was capable of a great deal more than just staying safe at the Ministry. She was sure he had always known that, but it must have been clear to him by that point that she was no shrinking violet and that she possessed the wits and the skill to be of value in a direct fight against Grindelwald. She could have even helped Albus in his final defeat; it might have been easier on him than it had been . . . but that was, perhaps, unrealistic of her. Grindelwald was extremely powerful and very ruthless, the sort of opponent against whom she would not stand a chance . . . but Minerva still felt that Albus had neglected to exploit a useful resource by having her stay at the Ministry while he went off and hunted Dark wizards. Why would he do that? Pride? His desire to be the responsible one?

Minerva sighed and waved her wand to turn out the lamps. She didn’t know if she would sleep, she felt so restless. The texts gave her no real information and left her feeling dissatisfied and more curious than she had been before reading them. She couldn’t imagine why her father found them “fascinating.” She supposed that in a sense, it was interesting to see how the mated wands always seemed to find witches and wizards who became important to one another, for good or for ill. Of course, there may have been mated wands out there whose owners had never met; Minerva supposed that only the wandmakers would know such a thing for certain. Perhaps simply going to the Hippogriff’s mouth would be the thing to do; she could just go talk to Ollivander, ask him whether mated wands always went to owners whose lives intertwined in some way. That didn’t sound like some secret wandmakers’ lore, after all; surely Ollivander could at least tell her that much.

Deciding that she was too restless to sleep, Minerva lit the lamps and got out of bed. She shrugged on her dressing gown and shoved her feet into her slippers, then looked through what she had brought with her from Hogwarts. All that was left in her carpet bag was her small photograph of Albus, the nazar, the twin stones, a folder with applications for the Magical Creatures position, and the three books she had brought thinking that she might like something light to read. No blank parchment or quill.

Minerva removed the picture of Albus, the talisman, and the stones and set them on the bedside table. If someone saw them . . . it would look like a random selection of items; only Albus would recognise the connections among them. The frame, on the other hand – but she couldn’t bring herself to remove the rose. Turning back to her task, Minerva thought that there might be a quill and parchment in the small desk. She raised the top and found a small sheaf of fresh parchment, but no quill. A quick glance into the desk’s two drawers revealed only that this room was seldom used, as the drawers were empty.

Minerva cast a _Tempus_ and saw that it wasn’t even eleven o’clock yet. She could find a quill downstairs, definitely in either her mother’s or her father’s study, though she would look first in the library. Rather than lighting the lamps in the hall, Minerva merely used a _Lumos_ to help her find her way down the stairs of her childhood home. She entered the library and extinguished the light of her wand, noting that there were still two lamps lit. Perhaps her father or mother was still up working and was going to return, she thought, but as she walked toward the large table on the far side of the room, she saw why the lights were still on, and smiled. Her mother and father were curled up together on the sofa, her mother still holding a book that lay open across her stomach, another book on the floor beside them, no doubt dropped by Merwyn when he had put his arms around Egeria. Egeria had removed her glasses and they rested on her book, but her father’s glasses had just slipped down his nose.

Minerva tiptoed across the room and found the quill, ink, and some nicer parchment than what was in her bedroom. As she left, she looked back at her parents; with a little flick of her wand, she removed her father’s glasses and set them on the side table, with another, her mother’s book and glasses joined them. Before Minerva closed the door behind her, she lowered the lights and smiled again as she saw her mother turn her head against her father’s chest and his arms tighten reflexively around her.

Still smiling, Minerva trotted up the stairs to her room to begin writing the letters she’d been unable to get to that afternoon because of Melina’s early arrival. In addition to the invitations, she wanted to write to Poppy and ask her about borrowing the Pensieve. Now, she was more curious than she was disturbed about the conversation that Albus and Gertrude had been having before she witnessed the embrace. It wasn’t as though they could have expected privacy, after all, she reasoned; they had left the door open. And Albus already knew she had overheard something . . . if she wanted a closer look at what she had overheard, refresh her memory of it, where was the harm in that? Still, the thought made her uneasy. It had been a private moment, despite the fact that the door had been ajar. Minerva had the sense that viewing the memory in the Pensieve, which would give her access to more than she had been aware of when she had originally overheard them, would be like eavesdropping all over again. Well, she would ask Poppy about the Pensieve, then decide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, don’t take anything in the story as scientific fact. There is no such plant, for example, as _Rosa arcana_ , as far as I am aware, although _Malus sylvestris_ is a kind of crab apple tree. The only characters in the stories that “Aloysius Prewett” tells who are not wholly invented for RaM are Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel, the Four Founders of Hogwarts, and Bridget Wenlock – all of whom can be found in the HP Lexicon if you’re interested in them – and “Mopsus” and “Calchus,” who were derived from two seers in Greek mythology.


	85. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva writes some letters and has breakfast with her parents. She invites Gertrude, Johannes, Poppy, Quin, Melina and Brennan, and Murdoch, Malcolm, and Morgan and his wife, to tea on Sunday. She redesigns the Egidius seal to personalise it. Her father tells Minerva he found the Prewett book “fascinating.”
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Egeria Egidius, Merwyn McGonagall.

**LXXXV: Plans**

Minerva finished her letter to Poppy, inviting her to tea on Sunday and asking her nonchalantly about borrowing her Healer’s Pensieve sometime, then began her letter to Gertrude, dating it with the next day’s date. It was almost Thursday, anyway.

_“Thursday, 25 July 1957_

_“Dear Gertrude,_

_“As you may know, I am visiting my family home whilst on holiday. I am inviting a few friends for tea on Sunday and hoped that you would be able to come. It would be lovely to be able to repay your hospitality in some small way. I am afraid that my relatives are not quite as ‘interesting’ as your own, but you may enjoy meeting them._

_“Tea will be served at 4:00, but if you would like to arrive earlier, we will open our Floo to guests at 3:00, so please feel free to Floo through at any time. Our Floo is identified on the Network as ‘McGonagall Library’; if by some chance it has not been opened yet, just call through and a house-elf will fetch someone to admit you. If you would prefer to arrive by broom, I can owl you directions to the house. We are on the coast, however, and the headwinds can be somewhat unpredictable._

_“I do hope you will be able to attend, Gertrude. I plan to invite a few staff from the school, as well as Quin, so you won’t be surrounded by strangers._

_“I look forward to your reply._

_“Sincerely,_

_“Minerva”_

Minerva reread her letter. It was so awkward inviting someone who was neither a friend nor a complete stranger. She would have to talk to her mother about how to open the Floo connection to admit anyone who wanted to Floo through. They now had the default charm set that allowed anyone to Floo out, and anyone to call in, but it was tied to the Apparition wards and only those who could Apparate in could also Floo in. She knew that there was a way to change that temporarily, though. Some folk left their Floos open at all times, but Minerva thought that was a bit foolish. If someone wanted to Floo through, they could call through first and ask to be admitted; no need to keep it open all of the time. Of course, the Floo-Network was monitored, so if a thief Flooed through, or someone else intent on mischief, their Floo-Path could be traced, but with so many public Floos, Minerva didn’t think it would be difficult for someone to use a public Floo and escape identification. What thief would Floo from their own house, after all?

She doubted that Gertrude would arrive by broom – until the pick-up Quidditch game, she had never seen the witch on a broom – but she thought it polite to offer that as an alternative. Wondering whether she should have mentioned that she was inviting Johannes, Minerva set the letter aside and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment. It was clear that Gertrude and Johannes were friends, but mentioning him specifically might seem odd. Minerva would have to talk to her mother about seating arrangements. She doubted that one afternoon tea at the McGonagalls’ would draw Gertrude and Johannes any closer than fifteen years of teaching side-by-side had done, but it wouldn’t hurt to give Johannes another opportunity to get closer to the Arithmancy teacher. Minerva had considered mentioning to Gertrude that her father would enjoy seeing her again, but she worried that a mention of her father would only serve to remind her of her husband and his death that soon after the anniversary, so she omitted that. 

She composed the next letter to Johannes with somewhat less care. Although the Herbology teacher seemed fairly formal with his precise English and his close attention to etiquette, he was a very warm man, Minerva found, and not really one to stand on ceremony, and so Minerva didn’t think he would take offense at a familiar tone. The next letter was to Quin.

_“Dear Quin,_

_“Thank you very much for dinner at the Three Broomsticks. It was one of the best meals I have had there, and I enjoyed the company, as well. As I mentioned, I am inviting a few friends for tea this Sunday afternoon. I hope you can come. We are on the Floo-Network, ‘McGonagall Library,’ and we will open the Floo for guests at 3:00, though tea will not be served till 4:00._

_“You can let me know when we see each other on Saturday whether you are able to come or not. And you are now wondering what I am talking about, I’m sure. Melina, my niece, came to see me, and she tells me that a Mr MacAirt will be showing her two flats on Saturday morning. Since I have been dragooned into helping her find a flat, I assume I will see you. If, by some strange chance, there is another ‘Cormac MacAirt’ whose seal is a cracked cup and you will not be showing those flats on Saturday, just owl your response. Really, Quin, flats now?_

_“You will meet Melina on Saturday morning. She and her fiancé will be coming to the tea, as well, and I have invited Gertrude and Johannes, so there will be a few people whom you know – although I think you would do just fine in a room full of strangers! Probably having them all eating from the palm of your hand within minutes, the witches, anyway – or do you only do that with owls?_

_“I look forward to seeing you on Saturday. From what Melina says, your flats are the last ones we’re viewing. Perhaps you might like to have lunch after? I don’t know if Melina will be able to come, since she’ll likely want to get back to Brennan to tell him all about the flats, but it would be nice to have a chat with you._

_“I hope you and your children are well,  
“Best wishes,_

_“Minerva  
“25 July 1957”_

Now she only had to owl Malcolm, Murdoch, and Morgan and Fiona. Melina had said she would tell her father about the tea, but aside from the fact that Melina might forget, Minerva wanted to know whether he was going to attend or not – and she wanted him to know that she was inviting friends, too, that it wasn’t just a family occasion. She didn’t think that Murdoch was seeing anyone, but perhaps he might like to bring someone with him; sometimes it was easier to invite a date to a family occasion if it wasn’t just family. It seemed less . . . ominous or something. If there were a witch he was slightly interested in, he could invite her and explain that it wasn’t a “meet the family” occasion.

Minerva still hadn’t decided whether to invite Albus or not. She was inclined not to, as much as she would like to see him. She didn’t really want to see him in this large group of people where she would have to be doubly careful about what she said and did, and she certainly didn’t want to see him relax around Gertrude and . . . well, relax with her, if that was their way of interacting when they weren’t at Hogwarts. When she saw Albus informally, she wanted to have him to herself, as foolish and immature as that seemed to her. Besides, the point of this tea was to talk to Gertrude and try to get some sense from her about her relationship with Albus. Given that inviting Albus would only mean that she would see the two of them more relaxed around one another but not necessarily behaving as anything more than friends, regardless of their true relationship, Minerva thought it better to arrange things so that she could talk to Gertrude without Albus around. After all, that was what Gertrude had done when she invited Minerva to visit. 

That invitation of Gertrude’s . . . those days at the Gamps’ had certainly given her a new perspective on Albus. For one, she had learned about Valerianna. She could have done without meeting the vile old hag, but she had met her, and then Poppy had told her about the conspiracy that Gertrude had orchestrated to expose her true nature to Albus. And, of course, she had met Quin; his divination had given her a new insight into her feelings for Albus. Perhaps not into her feelings, but into the consequences of not acting on them . . . she might be able to avert the consequences now that she was aware of them, even without having to bare her soul to Albus and tell him how she felt about him. Nonetheless, there was that almost constant sensation of being pulled between joy and despair, contentment and longing, whenever she was with Albus or thought about him. 

The time at the Gamps’ had definitely changed something in her, and something in the way she viewed Albus. Oddly, she thought that although she had come to know Gertrude better over those three days, it was her perspective on Albus and her relationship to him that had changed the most. But that could just be the result of her reconciling with Albus before she left for Cornwall following her tirade about him in Poppy’s office. Minerva thought it was more than that, though. The timing of the trip after she and Albus had come to an understanding likely helped, but what she had learned about him at the Gamps’ – from Gertrude, Robert, Quin, and, much as she loathed the woman, Valerianna, then later, from Poppy – had changed something in her and the way she viewed Albus. 

Now, though, it was close to one o’clock in the morning, and she wanted to get up early and post her letters, so Minerva hung up her dressing gown and climbed into bed. Before she put out the lamps, she picked up the small photograph of Albus and looked at it and the rose. Minerva put a gentle fingertip on one of the rose petals, pleased with the way that the flower had held its deep red colour after she had charmed it. She sighed and felt a blush rise in her cheeks as she remembered how Albus had shortened the stem, then, touching her face lightly, had inserted the rose in her hair. “Allow me to be your mirror,” he had said, and then he had told her she was beautiful.

Minerva set the photograph down, extinguished the lights, and closed her eyes to sleep and dream of Albus.

* * *

Minerva turned in her sleep, and her eyes fluttered as the morning sunlight fell across her face. She sighed and pulled her pillow over her head in an attempt to recapture her dream. She and Albus had been picnicking on the mountain overlooking Hogwarts, much as they had that morning the week before, but this time, they were not reclining on opposite sides of the blanket. She was leaning back against him and his arms were around her. She snuggled against his shoulder, then tilted her head and kissed his neck just below his ear as she ran a hand down his beard. She moved her lips higher and drew his earlobe between them. Albus laughed softly and ran his hand up her stomach to her breast and caressed her as she hummed her happiness. He sighed in pleasure as her tongue traced the shell of his ear, and he opened her robes to tickle his fingers across her nipple before cupping her breast in his hand. His other hand was just travelling along her side to her hip then to her thigh, when sunlight struck Minerva and unkindly shifted her from her dreaming to waking.

Minerva sighed and opened her eyes, unable to recapture the dream, and pushed the pillow back. She shouldn’t be indulging in such dreams, anyway. It was one thing when she was asleep and had no choice in the matter, and another to deliberately turn her mind in such a direction. She was still feeling a warm, moist tingle, and it took some effort for her to push herself from her bed and steer her thoughts to the day ahead. She washed, dressed, and headed down to breakfast. Her mother was up, eating her porridge and drinking her tea, when she came into the small, bright breakfast room.

“Good morning, sweetness! Sleep well?”

“Yes, quite, and you? Did you and Dad ever get to bed last night?”

Egeria laughed. “I woke up at about two, and we went upstairs. I take it you were the kind soul who turned down the lamps?”

“Yes, I didn’t want to extinguish them completely. I just came downstairs to get some ink and a quill so I could write some letters. I am inviting everyone for Sunday afternoon, if that’s all right.”

“That’s fine. I’ve been thinking about the menu. Since you are inviting Professor Gamp in order to thank her for your hospitality, I was thinking something a bit special. Tobermory smoked trout is always nice, I think, and finnan haddie, too, with water biscuits and brown bread, and some caboc and cress with oat cakes, perhaps a cheddar, as well, and a nice fresh salad. The radishes are quite good this year. And for the sweet, my cream cakes with mixed berries, and clotted and heavy double cream. I don’t want to take over, of course, and if you have other ideas . . .”

“No, that sounds perfect. And I know that Johannes will be happy with the cream cakes – and with the trout, we might even be able to persuade him that the Scottish do something well besides sweets.” Minerva chuckled. “He was saying that English fare is a bit dull – though he didn’t use those words – and that the only thing they knew how to do well was sweets.”

“We could get some rollmops for him, as well. Hoping that he likes fish . . . Spending most of his time at Hogwarts as he likely has, it’s not surprising that he has not been exposed to better fare.”

“Mmm, and as you reminded me last night, the food is geared toward a younger palate. I never really noticed when I was a student, although I did get tired of certain things after seven years of it. Anything of interest in the _Prophet_ this morning?” Minerva asked, changing the subject.

“Not very much, except this new push to rename some of the positions at the Ministry and make the appointments based on experience and knowledge rather than on connections. I don’t think it will actually change very much whether someone is called a ‘Minister for Sport’ or the ‘Head of the Department,’ and I think that it will still be a political appointment with most of the actual work done by their assistants and deputies.”

“Technically, they’re sub-ministers,” Minerva reminded her mother.

“Ha! And when was the last time you heard anyone call themselves the sub-minister for anything? Never. It was a foolish change to begin with. It was one of Spavin’s more idiotic ideas, although it did win him a few friends, I suppose.”

“Yes, well, he was in office longer than most, so it must have paid off for him,” Minerva said. “But you are right, most of the work and decisions are taken by the deputies, and that’s unlikely to change. It seems that only the most barmy ideas actually come from the ministers.”

“What have you ahead of you today?”

“I’m going to send off the invitations – I’ve invited everyone to come any time between three and four, if that’s all right, and to arrive by Floo.”

“That’s fine, sweetness. I will have to find the instructions for changing the charm. So far, we’ve only let visitors through one at a time, and I have that down pat, but opening the Floo for anyone to come through freely is a bit different. I’m sure it’s quite easy, though. The wizard from Magical Transportation assured us of that. Who are you inviting?”

“Johannes – and I mentioned that you might like to talk to him about your garden – and Gertrude, of course, Poppy, Quin MacAirt, Melina, Brennan, the boys, and Fiona. Dad said that Morgan and Fiona might not be able to come, but I thought I would invite them, anyway.”

“Yes, they have been busy lately.” Her mother chuckled. “I think they are busy trying to make babies, but, of course, that’s not what their excuse was the last time. They did invite us to dinner last week, and they seem well. I keep wishing that Malcolm would spend time with them and see how nice it is to settle down . . .”

“Oh, Mother! Malcolm seems perfectly happy.”

“I know, sweetness. And I won’t harp about it during your party.” Egeria took a sip of tea. “I didn’t notice you mention Albus. Aren’t you inviting him, or was that a slip?”

“I don’t think I will invite him this time, Mother. Although perhaps I will have him to lunch soon.”

“We will both be going to Amsterdam on Monday. You could invite him then. He could spend the day, keep you company. I hope you don’t mind that we’ll be gone while you plan on being home –”

“No, I don’t mind at all. I asked Dad about Robert and Thea. He seems to think that you will be able to help them. I’m happy that you and Dad can also take some time for yourselves, as well.”

“We’ll be back on Tuesday, late in the day, so if Monday is inconvenient, you could invite him for Tuesday, instead.”

Minerva nodded. Really, it would have to be Monday or Tuesday, since she was likely returning Hogwarts on Wednesday or Thursday. Albus’s birthday was coming up soon, as well. She didn’t know what she was going to do, but it seemed she should mark the occasion in some way. Nonetheless, she was uncomfortable inviting him to the large, empty house on her own. It was foolish, really, since she had had breakfast with him in her rooms at Hogwarts and had spent time alone with him in his suite. She’d even taken a shower in his bathroom, she thought, blushing at the memory. But somehow, inviting him to the house was different. It was one thing when her parents were there, then it seemed that it was the family she was inviting him to visit. Still, she would write to him that day and ask if he could come to lunch on Monday. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be busy – or at least, not too busy to come for lunch, even if he couldn’t spend the day.

Her father shuffled into the room, leaned over and kissed the top of her head as he used to when she was a girl, then sat heavily in his chair and began to pour his tea. In deference to Merwyn’s semi-somnolent state, Egeria and Minerva sat quietly and read the newspaper, waiting for him to drink his tea and wake up a bit more.

After he had finished his first cup of tea, Merwyn called for Orents and asked for breakfast. “Would you like something to eat, too, Min? It looks as though you’ve only had toast. You need more than that.”

“All right, a boiled egg, please, Orents. Medium. How is Fwisky today?” Minerva asked.

“She be’s better, Miss Minerva. She sleeps last night.” Orents bobbed his head. 

“Good,” Egeria said. “Please let us know if you think she is doing poorly, Orents. It would make us very sad if she were to become ill.”

“Yes, ma’am! I tries to tell her to see you, but she be’s proud always.” Orents shook his head. “She thinks a good house-elf not bothering her family.”

“Well, it’s more of a bother if she is unwell and we don’t know and aren’t able to help,” Egeria answered. “Thank you for keeping an eye on her for us. And bring Minerva some fruit, too – an egg and toast is not a proper breakfast, sweetness!”

Orents Apparated away to fetch breakfast for Merwyn and Minerva.

“Did you take a look at Fwisky yesterday, Mother?”

“Yes. I don’t think she’s been eating or sleeping, which makes her feel worse. I gave her a potion to help her sleep and told her she must take it for three nights in a row, and I gave her another potion to stimulate her appetite. Both are quite safe for house-elves and I’ve used them before with them. It sounds as though she at least took the sleeping draught as directed.”

After their breakfast had arrived, Merwyn asked, “So, I noticed you had taken the books we found yesterday. Did you read them?”

“Yes, although I found the one by Prewett annoying to read. He was certainly given to melodrama.”

“Mmm.” Her father nodded and swallowed his toast. “I did find that other book on wandcraft last night, however, and that might appeal to your rational brain a bit more. I actually found the Prewett book quite fascinating, even if he did choose to emphasise the more lurid aspects of his tales. It certainly seemed that holders of mated wands are important to one another. In fact, I think the majority of the cases he cited were of couples – lovers, husbands and wives. Quite . . . fascinating.”

“Mmmph,” Minerva responded, trying to hide her discomfort at her father’s observation by being cross. “Happy couples like Clothilde and Livius, you mean?” she asked sarcastically. “Or perhaps Timothy and Esmeralda?”

Her father chuckled. “Of the many examples he gave, you focus on those.” He looked at her with an amused grin. “That’s my Minnie-girl, as stubborn as ever. But you are right, of course, that his selection of stories and the manner in which he recounts them is sensationalist, but I think there is a kernel of truth to most of them.”

“Yes, well, I would trust his accounts more if he distinguished the stories that were mere legend from those that are history. He treats them all the same, as though they were all equally valid and all deserving of the same degree of belief.”

“As I said, I will give you the other book I found, and you can look at that. I think, though, that mated wands are so rare, and so mistrusted by many witches and wizards, that you will find little more written about them. It would be worth looking in the Hogwarts library, though,” Merwyn said. “But I think that Albus would likely be the best source of knowledge about mated wands and about your wands, in particular. You should just talk to him about it.”

Minerva shrugged. “He doesn’t seem to feel there is anything more to tell me than what he already did, and that was scarcely more than what was contained in the first book we found.”

“Really?” her father said with a raised eyebrow. “Perhaps more will occur to him if you ask him the right questions.”

“Perhaps. If you leave the other book out in the library, I will pick it up a little later. Right now, I want to finish my letters and owl them.” Minerva turned to her mother. “I think I will go into Portree and send them via Owl Post. There are several letters, for one thing, and for another, I think that Gertrude may still be in Amsterdam and I don’t want to use Hengist,” she said, referring to her mother’s large Eagle Owl, “since you may need him. Is there anything you would like me to get from town?”

“No, thank you, dear, but Portree? I suppose if you are only going for Owl Post . . . and you’re Apparating, of course, so you won’t have to Floo into the Bugbear’s Bannock,” Egeria said with a shudder, thinking of Portree’s legendarily grimy wizarding pub. 

“I wasn’t planning on doing anything else, but there’s a nice stationer’s there – or there was last time I was there – and the little bookshop run by that funny little wizard with the green hair.” Minerva giggled. Portree really didn’t have much in the way of a wizarding district, despite the fact that they hosted one of the best Quidditch teams in the league, but she’d always liked the peculiar wizard with the green hair. She had never been able to figure out whether it was a colour charm, a Glamour, or a potion, let alone whether it was an accident or on purpose.

“If you wouldn’t mind stepping around to the Muggle shops, there’s a tobacconist there who carries my preferred pipe tobacco.”

“Of course, Dad. Just write down for me what it is you want, and I’ll get it.” Minerva stood. “But I think I’ll write the last few letters now. I’ll find you before I leave.” 

Minerva kissed each of her parents, then ran upstairs to jot quick notes to her brothers inviting them to tea, hinting to both Murdoch and Malcolm that if they would like to bring a guest, they were welcome to. She sealed each letter with a bit of emerald sealing wax, charming three intertwined M’s into each one. She paused before sealing Gertrude’s, then decided to use the simple intertwined M’s rather than the fancier seal she had used before. However, before sealing the letter, she charmed a version of the Egidius family seal at the top of the letter with its motto, _Consolari Sat Gignere Medella_ , Scottish-style at the top, again personalising the seal by replacing the red deer her mother used with a cat poised to spring. Looking at the ivy surrounding the seal, Minerva thought of her wand and its mate, and she replaced the Rod of Aesclepius in the centre with a yew branch, ivy entwined about it. She smiled, pleased with the effect. Next, she replaced the little sprig of holly at the top of the diamond with a rose. She would use this seal from now on, Minerva decided as she blobbed a bit of wax on the letter and charmed her initials into it. She might even use it on her letter to Albus . . . show him . . . show him what? That she placed greater value in what he had told her of their wands than he apparently did? She might use it, anyway . . . let him think what he would. It wasn’t as though it was a declaration of her undying love, after all . . .


	86. A Mother's Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva write to Albus, then she and her mother have a long talk.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Egeria Egidius.

**LXXXVI: A Mother’s Trust**

_“Thursday, 25 July 1957_

_“Dear Albus,_

_“It is good to spend time with my family. Melina came by yesterday for dinner and talked almost nonstop, as usual. She and Brennan are planning on marrying in a few weeks. You can expect an invitation soon. It’s to be a Muggle wedding in a registry office. While I am completely in favour of simple ceremonies, that seems utterly unromantic to me, but it seems as though Melina and Brennan are finding their romance elsewhere. I should warn you that she would like you to perform the final magical binding, rather than having some stranger at the Ministry perform it, but she told me that it was more important to her that you simply attend the wedding and she doesn’t want you to feel obligated to perform the binding. However, I know that it would mean a lot to her if you did._

_“My parents will be away on Monday and Tuesday – in Amsterdam with Robert and Thea, actually – and I was hoping that you would be able to find time to come for lunch on Monday and perhaps stay for the afternoon. I would enjoy spending some time with you away from Hogwarts. If you prefer not to Apparate, we are on the Floo-Network, as you know – ‘McGonagall Library’ – and you are welcome to arrive any time that morning. I do hope you are able to come._

_“I am inviting Gertie for tea on Sunday to thank her for her hospitality. It may not be the three-day party at the Gamps, but my relatives might also prove less ‘interesting’ and more amusing than some of the guests I met there. Mother wants to ask Johannes about her garden, so I hope that he is able to come, as well. I thought it might also be less awkward to invite Gertrude if Johannes were there, too._

_“There were a couple of books in our library that had some information on mated wands. I had thought I had read every book in our library, but I must have missed those or have forgotten them – it could be that the second one put me to sleep, however! You were right that there are a great many myths and legends about mated wands, and this particular author – Aloysius Prewett – didn’t make any distinction between legend and history. I’d be interested to hear what you think of his stories, though, and if there are any that have any truth to them._

_“I hope you can come to lunch on Monday, Albus – or if not lunch, then dinner? I enjoyed our chess game the other night and I would like the opportunity for a rematch. And as nice as it is to be visiting my family and to be having a change of scenery, I miss seeing you – with or without your Glamour. I hope you weren’t bothered by my reaction yesterday morning. It was just a surprise, and, as I said, I have always thought that your hair and beard were among your finer features. But if you feel the need for a change, I can understand that, and you are a very handsome wizard with or without them._

_“I hope you are well and look forward to hearing from you soon._

_“Yours,_

_“Minerva”_

Minerva hesitated, but then charmed the top of the parchment with her personalised seal. Perhaps Albus wouldn’t even notice it. That was most likely . . . why would he place the same significance on their wand woods that she did, or on the rose? He likely wouldn’t even realise that she had made any changes to the Egidius seal. Minerva smiled; he _would_ notice the cat, though, she was sure of that. She did hope he didn’t decide to get rid of his beard and hair, despite what she wrote, but she felt that perhaps she might have hurt his feelings a little by her obvious shock, and she certainly didn’t want to do that. But if he did return to the clean-shaven look, she would act as though she didn’t notice a thing. Albus shouldn’t decide on whether to shave or not based on her opinion, after all. Although it had been sweet, what he’d said . . . the two females in his life, she and Wilspy, didn’t like it, so he was going to return to his usual look. A warm feeling spread over her; she was a fixture in his life, just like Wilspy. Of course, Wilspy was his house-elf, and some people might take it amiss to be mentioned in the same breath as a house-elf, but Minerva knew that he was very fond of Wilspy . . . besides, she was one of only two females in his life. Two whose opinions mattered, anyway – he didn’t feel the need to wait and see what Gertrude thought of it. And it had been such a spontaneous statement. Not that she should place too much weight on it, of course . . . she was important to him, but as a friend. A close friend, though. 

Minerva sighed and sealed Albus’s letter with a blob of emerald wax and charmed her initials into it. Sometimes he made her feel so special, it was almost as though he cared for her as something more than a friend. She snorted softly to herself. “More than a friend”; a daughter or granddaughter, most likely. It was folly to imagine anything else. Yet, staring at the letter, she remembered how sweetly he had brought her that special dessert and then walked her down the backstairs, reassuring her. And how he had indulged her when she was tipsy, serving her chamomile tea, then walking her all the way back to her room – unnecessarily. And the last time they had walked down his backstairs and he had caught her. . . . A shiver went through Minerva as she remembered the sensation of his hand against her bare skin. He had removed his hand as soon as she was steady, but that brief moment was burned into her memory. And Albus had thought she looked beautiful in the gown, despite it being utterly inappropriate for Hogwarts, particularly at that time of day. Remembering how he had dropped the parchments he had been holding when she first walked into his sitting room wearing it, Minerva swallowed; could she allow herself to believe that he really did find her not simply beautiful, as he so often told her, but attractive, as well? He did seem to tell her often that she was beautiful; but he was gallant and charming. That could be an automatic compliment he gave her, a mere politeness. But his reaction to unexpectedly seeing her in the dress robes, that had been spontaneous, she thought. 

Minerva shook her head, clearing it of her foolish speculations. Even if Albus had found her somewhat attractive, that couldn’t change years of caring for her as his student or surrogate daughter. If anything, it was likely to make him uncomfortable, and if he were aware of her intense attraction to him, that would certainly make him uncomfortable, even though her attraction to him was intertwined with her love for him. Perhaps especially because of that, he would be uncomfortable . . .

Minerva sighed and picked up her letters. She ought to get into Portree and owl them to everyone. It was fairly short notice, as it was. Thinking of her new insignia, she cast the _Sigillum_ spell on a piece of blank parchment and recreated her new emblem so that she could show it to her mother. Minerva didn’t require her mother’s approval, of course – nor anyone else’s, since wizarding coats-of-arms weren’t officially granted or registered, and there weren’t any rules governing the different elements that comprised them, nor was there any standardisation, although there were some commonalities with Muggle heraldry. Technically, they weren’t even “coats-of-arms,” since they rarely referenced Muggle arms, let alone were they emblazoned on them, although many wizards did use a shield in their insignia; the Egidius and Parnovon families had always used a diamond as the central element of their seals, however. Nonetheless, Minerva hoped that her mother liked it and that she didn’t disapprove of her replacing the red deer with a cat. She thought that the deer had been present on the Egidius seal for generations, and the Rod of Aesclepius most surely had been. But she wasn’t a Healer, after all. Substituting the rose for the holly would be more difficult to explain, and for a moment, Minerva was tempted to replace the rose with the usual sprig of holly, but then she shrugged, deciding that she could just say she liked the way the rose looked, if her mother asked about it. 

Minerva trotted down the stairs, letters in hand, to find her mother. Egeria was in her study, writing, and she looked up and smiled when her only daughter entered the room.

“All set to Apparate to Portree to owl your letters, then?”

“Yes, I just wanted to make sure that you hadn’t thought of anything you wanted me to get, and I also wanted to show you something.” Minerva held out the parchment to her mother. “I used the Egidius seal a few weeks ago when I was responding to Gertrude’s invitation. She, of course, had used the Gamp family seal. I altered it slightly at the time to personalise it, but I’ve made a few other changes since, and I thought I would show it to you. Of course, I don’t plan on using it all of the time, but I thought it might be nice to personalise it for those occasions that might call for it.”

Minerva waited for her mother’s reaction, slightly nervous.

“I think it’s lovely, Minerva! I like the cat. Very appropriate, sweetness,” Egeria said, smiling. “Not only because of your Animagus, but because your spirit is a bit less docile than the doe might indicate. The fiery Tyree side of you, perhaps. And it certainly makes sense for you to use something other than the Healer’s Staff in the centre. It was very interesting, about your wand and Albus’s – I presume that was the inspiration for the branch?”

Minerva nodded. “I just thought that ivy twining around the yew branch was more appropriate than the Rod of Aesclepius, and it echoed the ivy that was already part of the design. I’m glad you like it.”

“The rose is a nice touch . . . I added the holly when I began using the seal about sixty years ago. Traditionally, it was a wreath of mistletoe, but as I thought the holly went well with the ivy and my wand is of holly, I changed it. And certainly the rose as a symbol of love complements the motto, which I see you kept.”

“Yes, I always rather liked the motto . . . although it takes a bit more than comfort or compassion to heal someone,” Minerva said with a sceptical half-smile.

“But _true_ healing requires compassion. You are right, of course, about simple physical healing – which is fortunate!” Egeria said with a smile.

“So did you think of anything that you might like from Portree?”

“No, nothing, sweetness,” Egeria answered, shaking her head at her daughter’s eccentric choice of Portree for her errand. “You go on ahead and post your letters. Are you going on to visit friends or will you be back for lunch?”

“I haven’t any plans; I want to spend some time with you while you are here, anyway, so I’ll be back for lunch.”

An hour later, Minerva returned home and looked for her father, first in his study then in the library, finally going to her mother’s study. 

“Mother? I was looking for Dad – I have his tobacco for him – but couldn’t find him.”

“I encouraged him to take a walk. I imagine he’ll do more sitting and thinking than actual walking, but at least he got out of the house. He’ll be back for lunch. Just leave it in on his desk,” Egeria answered.

“You didn’t go with him?” Minerva asked.

“No, I had some work to do, but more than that, if I were to go for a walk today, I would want to do more walking than sitting,” she said with a grin. “Why don’t we get out for a walk this afternoon, you and I, sweetness? We can talk and walk and get some good fresh air in our lungs. I should be able to finish this before lunch if I keep at it,” she said, gesturing at her parchment.

Minerva smiled. “I would like that. And I know what you mean about Dad. I like a casual stroll occasionally, but it seems he only knows how to stroll and has no idea how to take a good, brisk walk, let alone climb about on the rocks.”

“Good! I will look forward to that.”

Minerva dropped her father’s tobacco on his desk, then went into the library and found the book that her father had dug out for her the night before. She wasn’t sure she was in the mood to read it at that moment, although if it did have anything to say about wands and magical resonance, that could be interesting. Thinking about magical resonance reminded her of the other topic she had wanted to research while she was home, magical drains and how they are staunched. Not entirely sure what sort of book would have that kind of information, she began to peruse the shelves. Minerva became distracted when she found a book on the history of Animagi that she hadn’t seen before. It was a relatively new volume, only published the previous year. Odd that she hadn’t noticed it on one of her many trips to Flourish and Blotts. Of course, those trips were much less frequent than they had been when she lived in London, and if this hadn’t been released until she had moved to Hogwarts in December, that might explain why she hadn’t seen it before.

Minerva perched on the arm of the sofa and began to look through the table of contents. About thirty pages into the book, she slid down onto the sofa, kicked off her shoes, and curled her feet under her. An hour later, Orents popped into the room and announced that lunch was going to be served in ten minutes.

“Uh-huh. Thank you,” Minerva said, not raising her eyes from the page.

Fifteen minutes later, Orents returned. “Miss Minerva, lunch is served. Parents is waiting.”

“Mmmhm. All right.” Minerva uncurled, sat up, and slid toward the edge of the sofa, still reading.

Orents sighed and Disapparated. Two minutes later, Egeria walked into the library and plucked the book from her daughter’s hands. “Lunch, Minerva! I swear, it’s as though you were twelve again.”

Minerva looked up, confused. “What?”

“Orents has been in twice to fetch you for lunch.”

“He has?” Minerva asked, puzzled.

“Mmm. But he apparently has forgotten that you can give an impression of hearing something when you’re reading, but actually be entirely unaware of anything. I swear, Minerva, a dragon could swoop in on you and you wouldn’t notice unless the books started burning! Come along, you can read later, and,” Egeria said, looking at the book in her hand, “I actually bought this book thinking to give it to you; since I’ve read it, you may take it with you when you return to Hogwarts.”

“Oh, thank you! It’s quite good. I know most of it already, but the way the author has put it all together is really fascinating.” Minerva stood. “I’m sorry about making you wait for lunch. I’m not usually this bad anymore; it’s just a particularly good book.”

Egeria laughed. “That’s all right, sweetness. It feels like old times.”

“I’m starving! Let’s go eat!” Minerva grinned. “Then we can go on our walk and talk – in fact, I have some questions. I was actually looking for something else when I found this book. You can probably help me find what I want, and you may even know something about it.”

“That sounds perfect,” Egeria answered. “Now let’s not keep your father waiting! You know how he gets when his meals are late,” she said with a wink.

* * *

“I hope that when Gertrude visits, the weather’s nice and I can get her out for a walk. She likes a good hike,” Minerva said.

“I’ll ask your Aunt Maisie what she’s predicting for the weekend,” Egeria answered, before stumbling slightly on some loose stone and catching hold of Minerva’s arm.

“Hmmph. Weather divination. Not my cuppa, but Maisie’s doing well enough, I suppose,” Minerva said, thinking of Maisie’s “Words for the Weatherwise” column that ran in the _Prophet_ and a few of the smaller newspapers. “Have you seen her recently?”

“A few weeks ago, when we went to visit Siofre and Herbert. She is a peculiar one, that Maisie, and her daughter, well, she’s still quite young, I suppose, and I should reserve judgment on her until she’s a bit older.”

“I saw Dorcas once in Hogsmeade. I waved at her, but she just stared at me as though she didn’t know who I was. I couldn’t decide whether she honestly didn’t recognise me or if she was just pretending not to. At first, I even wondered whether it was I who was mistaken and I’d been waving at a total stranger, but then I noticed her scarf – you know, she always wears those long scarves knit of different coloured wool, none of them matching.” Minerva shook her head. “I hadn’t seen her in a few years, but I’m sure it was her. It actually made me slightly sad that she didn’t at least wave back.”

“Takes after Herbert; he’s always been a quiet one – though her father was a bit of an odd duck, they say. I think it’s just as well Maisie never married the fellow, though I’d never say that to Siofre. She’d think I’d sprung a leak in m’ cauldron, as your Grandfather Egidius was wont to say,” Egeria said with a chuckle.

“But Herbert is . . . pleasant, even if he’s quiet. And Maisie, for all of her barmy notions, is cheerful and outgoing. Dorcas just seems antisocial.”

“Yes, well, when she was a child, I suggested once that she be brought to St. Mungo’s for a thorough going-over because I was concerned about her development. You’d have thought I’d suggested that she was a vampire or something! Maisie went off on me about how her daughter was a brilliant child and no Squib and the like – I had never suggested that she was a Squib, mind – and that she wanted the girl to develop her creativity without being restrained by conventional morality, as though I were some ancient, repressed, hypercritical old busybody. Siofre, I think, agreed with me, but she told me that she hadn’t interfered with the way I raised you children, and she wasn’t going to interfere with her daughter now. And she was right, more or less. She did an admirable job, even when she still lived with us before she married Herbert, at keeping her opinions to herself unless asked.” Egeria quirked a smile. “I suppose that’s why I went to her for advice. She never foisted it on me – or rarely, anyway. She’s the one who suggested your brother Murdoch’s playroom, and it was an excellent idea. It kept Murdoch out of my things, and he agreed to allow me to restrict what ingredients he messed about with, and he was happy as a Kelpie in a loch. Probably knew more about Potions when he entered Hogwarts than most third- or fourth-year students as a result.”

“I always resented the fact that I couldn’t practice Transfiguration and Charms during the summers, while those who enjoyed Potions could do whatever they wanted,” Minerva said. “Not to mention that until I got to Hogwarts, I couldn’t do anything interesting at all, to my mind.”

“I think that’s what spurred Malcolm’s interest in wandless magic when he was in school, and if you believe any of the tales he tells, it’s saved his life on more than one occasion.”

“Hmph. That’s _if_ you believe his tales,” Minerva said with a laugh.

“Well, I doubt you wanted to talk about Dorcas or the boys,” Egeria said, referring to her sons, “so what was it you were looking for in the library before _Animagi from Antiquity to Modernity_ distracted you?”

“I was interested in the phenomenon of magical draining, what it is, what causes it, and how it can be prevented, staunched, and treated,” Minerva answered.

“Well, you were looking in the wrong part of the library. When we get back to the house, I’ll show you where the books are – they are in the Healing Arts section.”

“Thank you. What do you know about it?”

Egeria laughed. “And how would you answer if I were to ask you what you know about organic Transfigurations?”

Minerva blushed. “Well, I suppose that I would ask you what you wanted to know, specifically, and if you had any particular questions in mind, since I know a great deal about organic Transfigurations and could lecture for hours on them.”

“So, do you have any specific questions?”

“When I was a student, I had a bit of an accident and there was some magical drain. I have just become curious about it.”

“Oh, the accident during your sixth year; I should have guessed,” Egeria said, nodding.

“You knew about that?” Minerva asked, startled.

“Of course. You were in the Hospital Wing overnight, for one, but Albus had also promised us that he would take good care of you during your Animagus training and make certain that no harm came to you, although I do believe he would have told us about an accident of that magnitude even if it were unrelated to your Animagus training. He was your Head of House, after all.”

“Albus told you? I didn’t realise – and you never said anything.” Minerva was slightly perturbed.

“Yes, he did. As was his duty, even though you were of age. We didn’t get many letters like that about you – or Morgan – when you were in school. Malcolm and Murdoch, though – they were terrors. I was always half-afraid that Malcolm would get himself eaten during some unauthorised expedition in the Forest, and Murdoch, with him it was poisonings and explosions I feared.” Egeria shook her head, remembering her two sons and their somewhat reckless pastimes. 

“What did he say?”

“That you had had an episode of magical syncope accompanied by a drain and emotional lability. He said that it had been precipitated by his unexpected entrance into the classroom while you were performing some kind of exercise. He may have said what exercise, but it’s been a long time, and I don’t remember much else about it. He did say that although you appeared to have recovered physically, you still seemed affected by it. He also thought we should know so we could keep an eye on you, in case you had some kind of . . . relapse or something, I suppose, while you were home on holiday.” 

“Oh. I see. You never mentioned it.”

“Neither did you. And although you seemed more quiet than usual that Christmas, you didn’t appear ill, and I thought it best not to broach the subject unless you did. You were at that age, remember, when you felt you didn’t need parents anymore. You had always wanted to be grown up and independent, rushing into adulthood before you even enjoyed your childhood, I always feared, but at that point . . .” Egeria shrugged.

“Yes, I understand. And I was a bit moody at the time. I likely wouldn’t have responded well if you had said anything. And I would have been embarrassed that Professor Dumbledore wrote you.”

“I still have it, if you’d like to take a look. The letter. It’s with your school papers. It confirmed what we believed about your professor.” In response to Minerva’s questioning look, Egeria added, “That he would take good care of you, that our trust in him was well-founded. Animagus training is not without risks, and although it was something that you were set on, I believe that Albus would have delayed your training until you were out of school if your father and I had opposed it. But your father had a good feeling about him, and having met him myself and seen how kindly he treated you, I believed he could be trusted to take good care of you. It’s one thing to be a powerful and brilliant wizard, which everyone knew him to be, and another to be worthy of entrusting the life and future of your child to him.” Egeria smiled at Minerva. “And now you are no longer a child, my daughter, and still I trust him. He cares for you very much.”

Minerva nodded. “Our time together when I was training to be an Animagus did create a bond.”

“Mmm. Yes. Of course it did, sweetness. Speaking of your training, have you heard from Herr Magister Sachs recently?”

“No. I had a card from him at Christmas, of course, and sent him one. I should write him sometime this summer and find out how he is. In his card, he mentioned that he had just taken on his last new apprentice, he thought.”

Egeria nodded. “And your friend, the Apotheker?”

“Rudolf sent a card on my birthday, but he didn’t write a note. I suppose I should write to him, see how he is.” Minerva sighed. “It turns out that Johannes is friends with Rudolf’s cousin, of all things, and wants to sell him potions ingredients after he moves back to Germany and establishes his own greenhouse.”

“Mm. I am looking forward to meeting Johannes. I hope he can give me some pointers about what I am doing wrong with some of these plants.”

The two witches had walked along the cliffs to the very edge of the McGonagall property; they had avoided any climbing, but they were now far enough above the house that they could look down at it. 

“Sit for a bit?” Egeria suggested.

Minerva signalled her agreement by taking a seat on a low, flat rock, and her mother settled down beside her.

Egeria smiled, gazing down at the house. “That old wreck looks fairly good from here, doesn’t it? I grew to love that house and these cliffs, though they were nothing I wanted, or thought I wanted, when I was young. Your father had been pestering me for years to marry him, but I saw no reason to change things when I was quite happy as I was. I told him that if we had children, I’d marry him, but not before. You know that I didn’t want to share a house with his mother – or any other woman, for that matter. What witch doesn’t want to be the mistress of her own house? And I certainly couldn’t imagine living way out here after having spent most of my life in Edinburgh. But then your father challenged me to abide by my word. He said it was all well and good to talk about children and marriage, but if we weren’t having any, it was only talk. He said he always had wanted a family, and this Apparating to and fro . . . he was tired of it. So I agreed, threw all caution to the winds, and let him try to make babies. Even with all of my education and experience, I still thought it would take a while once I’d stopped the spells and potions,” Egeria said with a laugh, “but three months later, Malcolm was on his way, and the following month, your father and I married and I moved up here with him – which was also part of the deal. 

“I think if I had been utterly miserable, Merwyn would have agreed to move us to Edinburgh, or perhaps to Aberdeen, somewhere near family, but to my utter astonishment, I was not merely happy here . . . I was somewhere beyond happiness. And your father was always quite content to have me flit about the country doing my work, always coming home to him – even if the unpredictability of my practice meant that I was sometimes gone overnight, or even two or three days at a time. He would just send me cheery little letters with funny little drawings in them . . . I couldn’t have had a happier life than I have, even if it wasn’t the one that I had thought I wanted. 

“Your father and I were so different, and many people thought we were both slightly barmy to try to make a life together. And even after more than ten years of ‘courting,’ I wondered if we might not be barmy to be getting married. But I couldn’t imagine my life without him, sweetness, and that life brought me you, and your brothers, and that house and these cliffs. We have had some sorrows in that house, but we have had so much joy . . . and that is what I told Melina. She and her young man haven’t waited a decade, or even a year, to marry, but she shouldn’t worry about the differences between them as long as they have the most important things in common, as your father and I do. We aren’t opposites, we’re complements, I like to say. Remember that, Minerva, that differences aren’t what determine the success of a relationship, but whether the things that matter most to you both are things you have in common, or that they easily fit together.”

Minerva nodded, but looked at her mother with a slightly worried expression. “You aren’t . . . are you well? You aren’t ill, are you?”

“No, sweetness! Why would you think that?”

“Well, it just sounded so . . . it’s not as though I’m Melina, about to make my life with someone, after all. I wondered what brought on that speech,” Minerva said.

“Just nostalgia, looking at the house, and, no doubt, having talked with Melina last night. For all that she appears confident about her decision, she is nervous about it. She is quite aware of all of the differences between her and Brennan, and if she forgets, you remind her of them. You really should leave her be, Minerva. She has worries enough as it is.”

“Oh, I have already decided that. I told her that if she was certain of it, then I was happy for her and I would celebrate with her. I am just worried about her, that’s all.”

“I know, sweetness, but you must also remember that love can remove many an obstacle. Love is a very powerful force; don’t underestimate it. It can drive people to the greatest acts of bravery and sacrifice, if the love be true. Love will even sacrifice itself, and that is a tragedy.”

The two sat for a while longer, then Minerva said, “Well, that was not a particularly cheering thought, but I will take your word for it. I am getting hungry for tea now. Let’s head back and you can show me the books you have in mind and we can have our tea.”

“Yes, and I’ll fetch you that letter, too,” Egeria said, standing. “Now, I wonder what your father and Fwisky have planned for our tea!”


	87. Of Altruism and Magical Accidents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva reads Albus's correspondence with her parents more than fifteen years earlier and learns more about her magical accident.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall and Egeria Egidius (and Albus Dumbledore, by letter).

**LXXXVII: Of Altruism and Magical Accidents**

“Hmm, I’d forgotten that there was more than one letter – time must have conflated them in my memory,” Egeria said. “You can keep them, if you like. Now, I need to go talk to your father about our trip. You can just make yourself at home, sweetness.” 

Egeria gave Minerva a quick kiss and left her in her sunny study with the parchments. Minerva looked at the letters her mother had handed her. Three of them. She took a breath and prepared to be transported back more than fifteen years into the past.

_“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
“11 December 1941_

_“Dear Madam Egidius:_

_“I write to inform you that Minerva had an accident yesterday evening whilst practising an Animagus exercise. Please do not be alarmed, however, as Madam Valentius, the School Matron, has assured me that Minerva will be fine, and I fully expect to see her at breakfast this morning._

_“Minerva was performing an exercise that concentrated her magical energy whilst focussing her intent. Unfortunately, I was unaware that she was in the midst of the exercise and I entered the classroom, disrupting her attention and causing her to suffer from magical syncope. The nature of the exercise led the syncope to produce a magical drain. Fortunately, I was able to staunch the magical drain and avert magical exhaustion, so she should be completely recovered very soon, possibly even today. She was quite emotionally labile immediately following the accident, which Madam Valentius tells me is to be expected under these particular circumstances, as the exercise she was doing had left her emotionally open, but Madam Valentius also reassured me that she should suffer no lasting harm, magically, physically, or emotionally._

_“When I left Minerva last night, she had taken a Headache Potion and a Calming Draught and was feeling considerably better. Madam Valentius was going to give her a light meal, as well, to help her recover from the side-effects of the drain. She stayed overnight in the Hospital Wing as a precaution._

_“I will write again in a few days and let you know how Minerva is faring. Do not hesitate to contact me, though, if you have any questions before then. Please give my best wishes to Merwyn._

_“Very sincerely,_

_“Albus Dumbledore  
“Deputy Headmaster”_

_“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
“11 December 1941_

_“Dear Egeria,_

_“You need not thank me; it was the least I could do, especially as my entrance was the immediate cause of Minerva’s accident. It was kind of you to inquire after my well-being in the midst of your worry for your daughter, but please be assured that I am fine, particularly after a large breakfast! And you must call me ‘Albus,’ as well, of course._

_“Minerva was, indeed, at breakfast this morning, although she seemed a bit pale, and Madam Valentius has given her leave to attend all of her classes today, but with the instruction not to tax her magic for another day or two. There is no need for you to come to the school unless you feel you absolutely must see her._

_“I will keep you informed and let you know if Minerva has a relapse, although I believe that to be highly unlikely._

_“Sincerely yours,_

_“Albus Dumbledore”_

_“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
“18 December 1941_

_“Dear Merwyn and Egeria,_

_“I am glad to be able to tell you that Minerva is fully recovered, physically and magically, from her accident. Nonetheless, I am concerned about her emotional state. Minerva seems atypically nervous. I believe the accident was traumatic for her, but she will not discuss it with me. I hope that her holiday will give her the time to recuperate fully, however, and that she will return to school refreshed. No doubt some rest and time with her family will be a perfect tonic for her._

_“I am sure, Egeria, that you would know what to do if Minerva suffers a relapse, as unlikely as that may be, and I need not ask you to keep an eye on her whilst she is home. If you need anything at all from me during the holidays, please do not hesitate to contact me, day or night._

_“A very happy Christmas to you and your entire family, and best wishes for the New Year!_

_“Sincerely,_

_“Albus”_

So, her mother had expressed concern for Albus’s well-being. As a Healer-Midwife, she would be aware of any dangers associated with staunching a magical drain. Albus had downplayed any risk to his own health when he had explained the staunching to her. Had the risk to himself been greater than he had admitted to her? And her mother had said that this incident had confirmed her parents’ faith in him. An accident that sent a student to the Hospital Wing could have just the opposite effect on a parent. Was it the fact that he had informed them so soon after the accident that had confirmed their trust, or his actions immediately following the accident? Accidents can happen; a simple accident would not have alarmed her parents unduly, unless they had thought it had been preventable. This accident hadn’t been – unless she hadn’t been doing the exercises at all, which would have meant she wasn’t studying to become an Animagus, and she would not have wanted to have sacrificed that.

Poor Albus. He had been so clearly worried about her. And she had refused to speak to him about the accident or how she was feeling, which had increased his concern. But what could she have said to him? She had tried to hide the tension she felt when she was around him, but she had obviously been unsuccessful. Fortunately, that phase had passed as she became more used to her feelings about him and she fell back into her routine and her Animagus training, and, of course, once she was confident that he would not discover her feelings for him through Legilimency.

“So, did you read the letters? Did they jog your memory?” Egeria asked as she came back into her study.

“Yes, yes, they did. But they weren’t particularly informative about what it was that Professor Dumbledore did after the accident.”

“I suppose this is where your questions arise, sweetness.” Egeria sat down in one of the small armchairs and thought for a moment. “First, I’ll explain a little bit about magical drains. There are a few different common causes to them. One that I have not seen since I was in training, because of the nature of my practice, is brought about when a wizard or witch is attempting a spell with which they have little or no experience and which requires a good deal of magical power to effect. The wizard, and it usually is a wizard, casts the spell and in his determination to bring about the effect, loses control over his magic and rather than the controlled flow of just the proper amount of magic to cast the spell, he expends too much in a large burst. The spell is often successful, but the wizard’s magic is depleted. This type of drain is usually self-limiting unless the wizard continues to cast unintentionally, in which case, the drain continues until another person intervenes or the wizard loses consciousness.

“Another instance of magical drain can occur with small children. Generally – and fortunately – most magical accidents that children have when they are frightened or angry do not cause magical drain. However, if the stress on the child is severe, the accident can cause a magical drain. Magical drain in children is particularly dangerous because it can result in magical exhaustion, not to be confused with simple magical depletion, and magical exhaustion in children can have long-lasting consequences on their ability to control their magic in the future. It is extremely rare for magical drain in children to result in magical exhaustion, however.

“Magical drain can also occur if a witch or wizard is attempting to cast a powerful spell at the same time that she or he receives a sudden, traumatic physical injury. This type of drain is more often seen with witches and wizards who have greater innate magical power, paradoxically enough, perhaps because in a weaker witch or wizard, the spell cannot be cast with the same degree of force.

“In your case, the magical drain was precipitated by magical syncope and the type of exercise you were doing. It would have been a sudden and violent drain. Fortunately, because your magic had been mature for a couple of years already, even if the drain had not been stopped and countered, you would have suffered no lasting harm, even if it went to the point of magical exhaustion. You would have been ill, however, and it would have required a long period of recuperation during which you would have had to have abstained from using any magic at all. So you are very fortunate that Albus was able to staunch the drain.”

Minerva nodded. “I guess that is really my question, then. How did he staunch it? The Hogwarts wards protect underage witches and wizards from magical drain, but I was of age, so they didn’t actively protect me. Professor Dumbledore told me several months after the accident that he had staunched it – instinctively, he said. He was also able to draw on the Hogwarts magical field or something, but I am not clear about what that may have involved, either.”

“Because severe magical drain in children can have such dire consequences, there is an instinctive reaction that allows a parent to staunch the drain before there can be any permanent damage to the child’s magic. This instinctive reaction isn’t limited to parents and their children, though. It has also been known for other older relatives – an aunt, grandparent, older sibling, and the like – to staunch a magical drain in this way. The person doing the staunching is usually unaware of it initially, though they generally do become aware of it at some point, since their own magic is being drawn down; the staunching is initiated when the older person touches or embraces the child. If the adult, the donor, breaks physical contact, the staunching is stopped, but she, or he, can also consciously rein in their magic and stop it. The adult, if talented enough, can also control the staunching at the point they recognise what is happening and increase its effect, even counterbalancing the drain. I imagine that Albus did that.”

Minerva knit her brow. “I see all that, and Albus explained some of it, but I still don’t understand how it was possible. I was of age, technically not a child, and certainly not his child or related to him in anyway. I don’t understand how the instinct could have been triggered.”

“The reaction doesn’t occur only between related individuals. There have been known cases where an unrelated adult instinctively staunches the drain in a child to whom they are particularly close – it has even been heard of for a complete stranger to effect it, although I don’t believe there has been a documented case of this occurring where the child is older than about three or four. And, of course, it can also happen that an adult staunches the magical drain in an adult relative, or a spouse or lover. Your professor clearly felt very close to you, Minerva, cared for you very deeply. That is why our faith in him was confirmed. He could not have performed the magical staunching as he did if he did not have your best interests at heart, and we knew that he would do anything he could to protect you. It was clear to us that he would not allow any harm to come to you if he were able to prevent it.”

“I see, I think. Because of the amount of time we had spent together over the years I studied with him, he had come to view me as a young relative . . .”

“I wouldn’t put it that way, sweetness. It wouldn’t have mattered how he ‘viewed’ you, as you put it. The instinctive staunching originates at a visceral level; it was his feeling toward you that was operative, not his conscious thoughts about you. The person has to feel love toward the other person in order for the instinct to be triggered. It would have been different, of course, if he had been a Healer. Magical drains can be stopped by a Healer using an advanced healing spell and without requiring any physical contact. It is difficult to cast and it is rare to have the opportunity to practice it on someone suffering a genuine drain. As talented as your Professor Dumbledore is, I doubt very much he could have cast that spell, even if he knew of it, so we are very fortunate that he was able to staunch and counterbalance it instinctively, as he did, or you would have been in for a long period of recuperation.”

Minerva said, “I see, I think . . .”

“You seem troubled, Minerva. What is it?” her mother asked.

“Well . . . so many things. I don’t know where to begin.”

“What bothers you most?”

“Professor Dumbledore told me that neither of us was in danger, that he was perfectly well and that it was safe for him to have done what he did, but you apparently expressed concern for him in one of your letters.”

“Yes, because it is harder on a witch or wizard – the donor – when the person afflicted is someone whose magic is matured, particularly in the event of a violent drain such as the one you suffered. It was clear to me from what he had said about your treatment and prognosis that not only did he staunch the drain, but he counterbalanced it, which takes far more magical energy. I was naturally concerned that he had caused himself some injury in preventing yours. He is a powerful wizard, but it could, nonetheless, cause him extreme . . . fatigue and discomfort. If circumstances were particularly dire, he could have triggered magical drain in himself, although I doubted that was likely.”

“But he told me that he couldn’t be injured by it . . .”

Egeria hesitated. “Perhaps that is because of what you said about drawing on the Hogwarts magical field. He is also an extremely powerful wizard; he likely has what might be considered an excess of magic. Still, I don’t doubt that it tired him. He did far more than anyone could have asked or expected of him.”

“Can this staunching and counterbalancing cause any side-effects, long- or short-term? I mean something other than fatigue and that sort of thing,” Minerva said.

“No, none – only if the donor in the counterbalancing loses control and suffers a magical drain himself, but that is unlikely, and would be no more serious than any other magical drain. Of course, if the recipient were suffering from magical exhaustion or were close to magical exhaustion, the donor could experience magical exhaustion in attempting to help them, but I doubt that your situation was that dire, and even if it had been, Albus Dumbledore is powerful and skilled enough to remain in control of his magic, and, as I said, he does seem to have a surfeit of magic, more than enough to share. If he were also able to draw on Hogwarts magical field, that would offer him some protection, as well.”

“You know that our wands are mates; apparently the magic of the individuals who hold mated wands resonates harmoniously. Would this have any bearing in this situation?” Minerva asked.

“Only in that it was likely easier for Albus to counterbalance the drain and to infuse you with some of his magic. Instinctively staunching the drain, though, that was triggered by his love for you, not by some magical harmony.”

Minerva swallowed at her mother’s repeated use of the word “love” and attempted to maintain her calm. Love . . . he had loved her as a child, someone dear to him, but she had been a child to him then, and there was no reason for her to believe that anything had changed in his view of her or in the way he felt about her.

“But infusing magic . . . into another person. That sounds, I don’t know . . . invasive.”

“In a sense I suppose it is, but the magic flows in to fill the void left when your magic escaped in the drain. It is purely altruistic, sweetness. And the recipient could reject it, although it would be difficult to do so – like holding your breath too long and starving yourself of oxygen.”

“But surely receiving someone else’s magic must affect your own . . .”

“No, as soon as it enters your magical system, it is integrated and is as much yours as the magic you were born with. There is no distinguishing it. It’s like water. I pour one cup of water into a container with another cup of water, and there is no way distinguishing between them,” Egeria explained.

“But our magic is resonant – ” Minerva said.

“It might be more accurate to say that your magical _systems_ resonate in harmony. It is the way your magic works, the way it flows in you both, that resonates so well together, not the magic itself.”

“So what Albus did . . . it couldn’t have done anything to me or my magic.”

“No, your accident may have had some untoward effects on you, of course, depending on the kind of exercise you were doing, but even that would likely be short-lived.”

“I just became concerned that perhaps it damaged my magic or implanted something that wasn’t there before, something like that.”

“No, highly unlikely. Of course, if his intent had been other than it was . . . it is possible to affect the resonance of another’s magic, or to influence their . . . magical proclivities, one could say. But that is a different phenomenon altogether, and once someone’s magic is fully matured, it cannot be influenced that way, or more precisely, it is very difficult to do so. In long ago days, fathers would sometimes attempt to influence the development of their sons’ magic, or, more rarely, their daughters’, by having someone cast a powerful and invasive spell on the child, generally before the age of eight. This magic has been discouraged for hundreds of years, and is now known only to happen accidentally. It isn’t precisely Dark Magic, but it certainly is morally questionable, and can be dangerous to the child. An accident like yours and what Albus did to treat you are of quite a different nature altogether, sweetness, and what he did was completely altruistic. But as far as any long-lasting effect . . . I do know that some people who have had accidents of the sort you did – magical syncope brought about while performing particular internal magical exercises – have reported a spiritual experience, and that experience can sometimes have a lasting impact on them. They feel they have gained some remarkable spiritual insight, and they are usually very frustrated once they recover because they can’t recapture whatever the insight was. They have a sense that there was something that they experienced, but they can’t remember it. Others report intense memories – vividly reliving some emotion-laden event from their past.” Egeria shrugged. “I think this has to do with the type of internal exercises they are doing; something is activated by the syncope in combination with the exercise.”

“I had . . . I had a rather emotional reaction,” Minerva said, “and Madam Valentius said that it was not unusual. She said that the emotions were ones I already had, the accident didn’t create them.”

Egeria nodded. “She was right. It’s the same as with the memories I spoke of – the emotions were already there, but the incident brings them out and intensifies them. They are not new or somehow manufactured by the accident.”

“I see . . . and it was unrelated to the staunching?” Minerva asked.

“Completely. Well, that may not be precisely true. The staunching may influence which emotion or which memory is triggered, but it wouldn’t create it.”

“Oh . . . I suppose that confirms what Madam Valentius said.”

Egeria leaned forward in her chair and put her hand on her daughter’s. “Do you want to talk about it? What happened then . . . you can talk to me about it, you know, sweetness.”

“Yes, I know. But I was curious about the phenomenon, that’s all,” Minerva said, feeling slightly guilty at dissembling. “And I had some new questions, of course, now that I know about the mated wands. I had surmised that whatever it was that drew us to have mated wands might have made it possible for Dumbledore to perform the staunching.”

“His emotional connection with you is what made it possible; the magical resonance likely made it more effective and easier for him,” Egeria answered, giving Minerva’s hand a pat. “If you ever want to talk about it, or you have any other questions, you know I am here, sweetness.”

Minerva smiled, though her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I know that, Mother, and I do appreciate it. I think I just want to digest this, and if I have any questions, I will let you know.”

Egeria nodded. “That’s fine . . . I did find another letter from Albus from that December. As it wasn’t directly related to your schooling or the accident, Merwyn had it. I’m surprised he kept it, but more than likely, he just never threw it away,” she said with a grin, handing Minerva a small, folded parchment. “I’m going to go do some work in the garden now. I’d love your company if you’d like to join me in a bit.”

“I may do that. Thanks, Mother – I really appreciate your taking the time to explain this all to me.”

Egeria laughed slightly. “I enjoyed it, really. I’m glad I could answer some of your questions.”

When Minerva was alone again, she unfolded the small parchment.

_“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
“23 December 1941_

_“Dear Egeria and Merwyn,_

_“Thank you very much for the wonderful bottle of Scotch. I am sure I will enjoy it very much. There was no need to thank me in this way, but I will accept your gift in the spirit of the season._

_“I was glad to hear that Minerva seems to be enjoying her holiday and that she is looking forward to your family festivities. After time at home with her family, she will hopefully be fully recovered and returned to her usual bright and confident self. Thank you for letting me know that she is well._

_“Thank you again, and I wish you all the blessings of this season!_

_“Sincerely,_

_“Albus”_

So her parents had expressed their gratitude by sending Albus a bottle of whisky, one of her father’s favourite gifts – both to give and to receive – and they had told him that she was doing well. And he had been so hopeful that she would be returned to her usual self when she returned to Hogwarts in January, and she had no doubt disappointed him or, more likely, worried him. Of course, their relationship did eventually return to normal, despite her constant battle with her feelings for him. 

Minerva was just preparing to leave her mother’s study to join her in the garden when there was a familiar clattering at the window. A large owl was banging forcefully against the glass. Minerva hastened to let it in before it injured itself. With a rather disgruntled sounding hoot, the owl settled on the back of the chair that Minerva had just vacated and offered her a leg to which was attached an envelope. Minerva opened the top right-hand drawer of her mother’s desk, where she knew her mother kept owl treats, and offered the bird a large handful before closing the drawer.

Minerva now recognised the writing on the envelope. Her first response to the invitations she had owled that morning. She drew her wand and sliced open the envelope neatly.

_“Amsterdam  
“25 July 1957_

_“Dear Minerva,_

_“Thank you very much for the invitation. I am very glad to be able to accept, and I am looking forward to seeing your family. I believe I shall Floo in, as you suggest. I will be at my family’s home on Sunday, and it is a bit far on a broom._

_“Thank you again. I look forward to seeing you on Sunday afternoon._

_“Sincerely yours,_

_“Gertrude”_

Minerva thought it slightly odd that she should have used an envelope – her previous letters had been rolled and sealed – but if she was visiting her son and daughter-in-law, she probably just used what they had handy. Now that Gertrude had accepted, Minerva desperately hoped that her other guests would, as well. It could be awkward if it were just her, her parents, and Gertrude. Of course, Melina and Brennan would be there, too. She hoped her brothers would have the courtesy to respond since she’d taken the trouble to actually owl them with the invitations. Hopefully they would understand that it wasn’t just a casual invitation and that she would like a response. Malcolm, though, could be somewhat derelict in such social niceties. Perhaps she should call around to see him if she didn’t hear from him by morning.

Just as she was speculating about her brothers, Melina’s obnoxious little owl, Bootsie, flew in through the open window and let out a squawk. Minerva hurriedly took the letter it carried and gave it a few treats, hoping to avoid being pecked at or bitten by the ill-tempered bird.

This one was from Murdoch, letting Minerva know that he would be arriving with Melina and Brennan on Sunday afternoon, and they would likely arrive shortly after three o’clock. Minerva let out a sigh of relief. Even if no one else could come, there would be enough people there to keep any awkward silences at bay.

Minerva tucked her letters into her pocket with the ones from Albus to her parents and headed out to the garden to keep her mother company as she worked. She was likely gathering herbs, which was why she had asked for company rather than help; she was very fussy about what parts of the herb were picked, which leaves or flowers, and she preferred to do all of her gathering on her own, although she did sometimes let Melina help her. First fetching two glasses of lemonade from Fwisky in the kitchen, Minerva left the house to find her mother in the garden.


	88. From Albus, Sincerely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see Albus at Hogwarts; Minerva hears from Albus and helps her niece.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Egeria Egidius, Melina McGonagall, and Quin MacAirt.

**LXXXVIII: From Albus, Sincerely**

Albus was sitting at his desk reading through some documents for the Wizengamot session the following afternoon, when a Tawny Owl flew in through the open window. After taking the letter and giving the owl a few of Fawkes’s seed-cluster treats, Albus looked at the parchment. A letter from Minerva. He broke the seal and read through the letter quickly, a slight smile on his face. How lovely! She was having Gertrude for tea. That was certainly a positive step. He had been hoping that Minerva would get over whatever reservations she had about the Arithmancy teacher and become more friendly with her. And that was very kind of her to say what she did about his foolishness with the Glamour the other day. But the invitation . . . as much as he would like to see Minerva sooner rather than later . . . 

Albus shook his head. He had had some thought to visit Robert Pretnick on Monday and take him to lunch. The former Defence teacher had turned down his offer to use his small cottage, or even to return to Hogwarts, for the rest of the summer. Instead, Pretnick was staying in London at the Leaky Cauldron after his discharge Saturday morning, and would report to St. Mungo’s before the next full moon rose, where he would be locked in a small cage for the duration of his transformation. Albus was concerned about the younger wizard’s emotional state and hoped that a friendly, encouraging visit would help him.

Beyond those somewhat hazy plans, Albus was disturbed by his own mental state and the behaviour he had been exhibiting lately. It would probably be best to get more distance between them – not as much as he had created during the previous term, of course, but enough so that he would not slide further into his foolish behaviour. No fool like an old fool, they said, and he was certainly living, breathing evidence of that. Best for him to suggest that they have dinner after she returned to Hogwarts. Minerva might be a bit disappointed, but Albus was certain she could find better ways to spend her time than having lunch with him while on holiday. It would only be a few more days . . .

Despite his decision, Albus was reluctant to put quill to parchment and write to Minerva and actually decline the invitation. He may have been more inclined to accept if her parents were going to be there. He liked them both, for one, and for another, their mere presence would keep him from saying or doing anything too inappropriate. But what worried him more than his behaviour, were his feelings. The more time he spent with Minerva, the closer he felt to her, and the harder it was for him to keep his feelings in check, even if he didn’t act on them. He thought that he was bound for some pain and loss, but there was no reason for him to cause Minerva any discomfort or embarrassment along the way, as well. He would write her a letter after lunch, later in the afternoon. There were a few more response to the advertisements for the Care of Magical Creatures job, and he could send those along, as well.

* * *

_“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
“25 July 1957_

_“Dear Minerva,_

_“It was lovely to receive your letter this morning. I am very glad that you are enjoying your time at home with your family. I am sure that they are happy to see you, as well._

_“I was very pleased to hear that you have invited Gertrude to tea. I hope that she will be able to accept your invitation and that you can both take this opportunity to become even better acquainted. I believe she is planning to return to the Gamp Estate on Saturday after visiting Robert and Thea._

_“Unfortunately, I must decline your own sweet invitation to lunch. I will be having lunch with Robert Pretnick in London on Monday and planned on spending time with him in the afternoon if my other business at the Ministry permits. As I may have mentioned, he has decided to stay at the Leaky Cauldron and report to St. Mungo’s upon the full moon. I am concerned for his mental state, as you may imagine, and hope that my visit cheers him up and reminds him that he has a future. Thank you very much for the invitation, though, and I hope that after you have returned to Hogwarts, we may spend some time together and perhaps have dinner._

_“With regard to your return, I would like to ask that you arrive back at Hogwarts on the 30th or early on the 31st, as I have decided to begin reconfiguring the castle a day or two in advance of the warding, since there are several rather extensive changes this year. Have you given more thought to your new rooms and what decoration and refurbishment you might like?_

_“As you can see, I have included the next batch of applications. Thank you once again for helping with these._

_“Please give my best wishes to your parents, and to you, my apologies once again that I am unable to accept your invitation to lunch. I look forward to seeing you next week._

_“Sincerely,_

_“Albus”_

Minerva’s disappointment settled heavily in her stomach. Albus hadn’t even mentioned whether he could have come in the evening for supper, as she had suggested as an alternative, although it seemed fairly clear to her that he would be busy all day Monday, and he had apologised, but scarcely seemed to regret he had to decline the invitation. It seemed foolish to invite him for lunch on Tuesday, if he was expecting her back in the castle that day or the next. Minerva sighed. It was a weekday, after all, and Albus was a very busy wizard; it was hardly surprising he was unable to come. Perhaps when she resumed her holiday after the warding, Albus would be able to come for lunch at the house. She might suggest that next time she saw him; he could plan for it, then. Minerva did wish that the letter had been a bit more . . . _personal_ , though. But of course, he was concerned about Hogwarts business, and Pretnick was definitely a priority; she could understand that. And she’d only been gone since the previous morning. It was probably only her imagination that it seemed more distant than his other recent letters had been.

“Bad news, sweetness?” her mother asked from the other corner of the library.

“No, well, yes. Albus can’t come for lunch on Monday. He has other plans and business to attend to.” Minerva put the letter down and stood. “But I understand. He’s a very busy wizard. And I’ll be returning early, too. Tuesday evening or Wednesday morning.” She shrugged, trying to display a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “I’ll see him soon enough, after all.”

“That is a pity,” Egeria said sympathetically. “Well, if he has other plans, you must make some, too. Perhaps with Poppy? And in the evening, go around to Murdoch’s for some supper. If Melina’s home, you can help her with her wedding plans, and if she’s not, you can keep Murdoch some company!”

Minerva nodded. “Yes . . . that would be sensible, I suppose. And if Poppy can’t get together with me on Monday, I’m sure I can find something else to do.” She grinned. “I could just luxuriate in having the house and the cliffs to myself.”

“I’d really rather you didn’t climb about the rocks when you’re here on your own, sweetness. If you were to fall and hurt yourself, no one would know. Take walks all you like, of course, but . . . just be careful.”

Minerva laughed. “I’m hardly likely to take a foolish risk like that, but I will bear it in mind – I promise not to get carried away!”

“Good. Now you write to Poppy this minute; don’t wait until Sunday to ask her! Make plans! Have something to look forward to – no moping about in this house,” Egeria said with a smile.

“Right! I will do that. Not that I would mope about. I was just slightly disappointed, that’s all.”

“Of course. You know, if you like, you could come with your father and me to Amsterdam –”

“No, no. That is time for you and Dad. And I think that Poppy and I could find something to entertain us. And if she’s not available,” Minerva said with a shrug, “I can always Apparate into London myself, stop by the Ministry, see if Claire wants to go to lunch, spur-of-the-moment, perhaps do some shopping – I am sure I won’t be at a loss for things to do. Thank you for offering, though. And be sure to say ‘hello’ to Robert for me, and to Thea, as well, of course.”

“All right, sweetness, but if you change your mind, you are welcome. You could keep your father company while I am seeing Thea.”

“I will remember that, Mother. But now I’ll write my note to Poppy. I am glad she’s able to come to tea on Sunday; it looks as though everyone will be coming except Morgan and Fiona, as you and Dad both predicted. Fiona wrote me a nice note, though, and asked me to lunch next weekend. Unfortunately, I had to decline that invitation, since I don’t believe I will be back from Hogwarts by then, and although I could go anyway, I don’t know what my schedule will be like and I would rather not make any commitments. We have another full staff meeting scheduled, and I want to be sure I am prepared for it” – Minerva smiled nervously – “especially since I will be the new Head of Gryffindor. I want to be completely prepared; I can’t let Professor Dumbledore down.”

“I am sure you will do very well and he will be proud of you, so don’t you worry about that! But it sounds as though there is a lot going on at Hogwarts right now, especially with poor Professor Pretnick afflicted as he is, and I think it is wise that you remain available to the Headmaster while you are at Hogwarts.”

Minerva let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. “Yes, yes there is a lot going on, more than usual for the summer, anyway.” She smiled. “And it is good to be able to help Dumbledore, as you say.”

“You know, I have to make a call in Ripon tomorrow morning. Would you like to come with me and we can have lunch after? Go Muggle and do some sight-seeing? York is a pretty little city. And there are some wonderful ruins in the area – Muggle and wizarding – and I don’t know if you have seen them since you were very small.”

“That sounds nice. I can’t think of a better way to spend the day, in fact,” Minerva said happily. “I’ll just go write to Poppy, then we can plan – you don’t think Dad will mind us both abandoning him?” Minerva turned and asked before she headed out the door.

Egeria laughed. “Oh, hardly. He’ll be happy enough to see us when we return, but I doubt he’ll notice he’s in an empty house, since he spends most of the day working in his study, anyway, and he’s used to having lunch on his own.”

* * *

_“Dear Poppy,_

_“I was wondering if you are free on Monday. If you are, I thought we could spend the day together – lunch, shopping, whatever you would like to do. We can also talk about the Healer’s Pensieve then, rather than Sunday during tea when others are around._

_“I look forward to seeing you Sunday! I was very happy that you can come, and not only because I wanted to see you. I am nervous about having Gertrude for tea, and having a few friendly, supportive friends there will help! Thank you! Of course, Melina and Brennan will be there – I wonder what Gertrude will make of Melina’s Muggle – and my brothers, Malcolm and Murdoch, too. I believe you’ve met Malcolm before, so I needn’t warn you about him and his outlandish tales. Morgan and his wife aren’t able to come, but I hadn’t thought they would. Oh, and you will be able to meet Quin, I hope._

_“Give my best wishes to your aunt and grandmother!_

_“Minerva  
“25 July 1957”_

Minerva sealed the letter, then went back downstairs to the library. She would write to Albus in the morning, she decided, after she had finished reading through the applications he had sent her.

“Mother? May I use Hengist to send Poppy’s letter?”

“Yes, he returned a few hours ago. I think he’s rested up enough,” Egeria answered. She smiled. “I told your father we’d both be gone tomorrow, and you don’t need to worry about him. He’s going to take the opportunity to pop around and see Siofre and Herbert, and he’s sent a note with Drest to let them know. They’ve been wanting to have him come around, anyway – some sort of dull family business, I presume – so this is a good opportunity for him.”

“I think that Poppy is still at her grandmother’s, and it would be a bit far for Drest to fly, anyway.” Minerva started out the door to find Hengist, hoping he was up in the attic.

“Supper in a half hour, if you’re hungry, sweetness,” Egeria called after her daughter.

* * *

Albus began sorting through his Friday morning post when he saw Minerva’s familiar handwriting on the outside of one letter. He unsealed it, and noticed she had again used a seal at the top of the letter. He smiled at the whimsical cat. He believed that her mother’s seal had had a deer in that position, but it had been several years since he had received a letter from Egeria. Albus was certain, however, that Egeria’s seal had a Rod of Aesclepius in the centre of the diamond, and Minerva had substituted a branch with ivy entwined about it. No doubt yew and ivy inspired by their wands. More suited to Minerva, he supposed, than a staff with a snake entwined about it.

_“26 July 1957_

_“Dear Albus,_

_“I was disappointed that you will not be able to come for lunch or supper on Monday, but I do understand that you are busy. I hope that Robert is doing better. Please give him my regards when you see him._

_“Because my parents will be returning late on Tuesday from their trip to Amsterdam, I have decided to wait until Wednesday morning to return to Hogwarts. I hope that this is soon enough._

_“I looked through the applications that you sent along, and with the ones that we received before, I think that there are three possible candidates, one of whom seems particularly well-qualified. There may still be more applications in the next two weeks, however, so there may be others by then. I will have a list of the candidates prepared for you on 12 August, as you requested._

_“I have been having a nice time with my family, and this morning, I will be going to Yorkshire with my mother. She will look in on a patient, then we will do some sight-seeing and have lunch in Muggle York. Mother knows of a few wizarding ruins in the area that she thought I might find interesting, and we will also look at a few of the ruined Muggle abbeys, which Mother says are worth seeing. Tomorrow, I will be helping Melina in her hunt for the perfect flat in Edinburgh, and then Sunday, as you know, I will be having Gertrude and a few others to tea, so the next few days will be quite full. As I mentioned, I am disappointed that you will be unable to come by on Monday, but I’m sure I will find something to keep me occupied for the day. I may see Poppy in the afternoon._

_“I am looking forward to seeing you on Wednesday. Perhaps we could meet that day, possibly have lunch, and you could tell me more about what will be expected of me as Head of House. It will also just be nice to see you after being away for a week. I was not mistaken when I said that I would miss you while I was away._

_“I hope you have a good weekend._

_“Yours,_

_“Minerva”_

Albus sighed as he skimmed Minerva’s letter a second time. It seemed that she was genuinely disappointed . . . perhaps it would have been better if he had accepted her invitation, but now it was too late. He had finalised plans with Robert, for one, and for another, it sounded as though Minerva was trying to make other plans of her own. It wouldn’t be fair to her to change his mind now. He would make the time to see her on Wednesday, if not for lunch, then for tea, but he would try to make up for having disappointed her. He had promised himself that he would deal with his feelings himself and not burden Minerva with them or have her suffer as a result of them. Apparently, she had been looking forward to having him for lunch . . . but Monday was not the best day, and had it been anyone else, he wouldn’t have given a second thought to declining the invitation – nor to accepting it, if he had the time for it. But because it was Minerva . . . Albus sighed again. Perhaps he should have at least expressed greater regret . . . well, he would write her a letter over the weekend and tell her he was looking forward to seeing her on Wednesday. That was certainly the truth. Although the castle was no more deserted than it had been other summers he had spent there, it felt inexplicably emptier now that he was becoming accustomed to Minerva’s presence and her company. It was good that he was as busy as he was, Albus thought, and that he didn’t have a great deal of time to dwell on her absence. With that thought, he picked up a heavy, rolled parchment bearing the Wizengamot seal, a wide red ribbon encircling it, and began to prepare for his day.

* * *

Saturday morning found Minerva quite cheerful as she Apparated to Murdoch’s flat above the apothecary. Melina had told her just to Apparate right into the flat, and when she arrived in the sitting room, she could smell eggs frying. Since her brother was likely already in his shop, Melina must be fixing herself breakfast. Minerva hoped she was quick about it; their first appointment was at ten o’clock, and Minerva wasn’t sure where they were going or how they were getting there.

Minerva walked into the kitchen to be greeted to the sight of Melina Levitating eggs, fried potatoes, and bacon onto two plates, which then settled on the table, also set for two.

“Good morning, Minerva! Breakfast? I hope so. I cooked enough for a Quidditch team here!” Melina said brightly.

“I already ate, but,” she added, seeing Melina’s face fall, “that was almost two hours ago, and I can always eat a bit more breakfast.”

Looking at her plate, Minerva didn’t think she’d be able to eat even half of it, and she wasn’t fond of fatty bacon, and this was what might generously be termed “well-marbled,” but she picked up her fork and tried some of the egg.

“So, I’ve arranged things so that the first place we see is the one with the Squib landlord, then we’ll move on and see the two that Mr MacAirt is showing us. Mr Shycross is meeting us at five before ten. He mentioned that there was one other flat he could show us if we wanted, but I told him to hold off on it till next week. I’m going to help out in Brennan’s shop this afternoon until he closes at two, and then I’ll have lunch with him and we’ll talk about the flats I’ve seen today.”

“That sounds fine,” Minerva said. “How are we getting wherever it is we’re meeting Mr Shycross?”

“Apparition. Do you know the Five Disenchanted Ducks? No? Then I guess I’ll Side-Along you.”

Minerva put down her fork. No more eggs if she was going to Side-Along with Melina. She took a sip of tea. “What are you looking for, other than a place that can entertain either wizards or Muggles?”

“We would like two bedrooms, just in case, you know,” Melina giggled. “And if there were a room we could turn into a separate library for me, that would be very good, since I can’t very well leave my books lying about the house when our friends come over. Not that they’d recognise them for what they were, most likely, but some of Brennan’s friends are more observant than others, and best not to take a chance with it. Other than that,” Melina said with a shrug, “I think we’ll know it when we see it. Of course, it has to be affordable, and we’d prefer to pay in pounds than in Galleons.”

“Actually, wouldn’t it be more cost-effective to pay in Galleons? For you to exchange Galleons for pounds is quite a bit more expensive than the reverse. In fact, given the premium that Gringotts offers on Muggle money, you’re likely to be better off exchanging Brennan’s pounds for Galleons.”

“I know, and it does seem to make sense, but if anything were to happen to me, Brennan might have difficulties.”

“Well, I doubt very much that anything is going to happen to you, Melina, but if it does, Brennan is family now. I can promise you that I would make sure that he didn’t have any problems in that regard, and I am sure that Murdoch, and Mother and Dad, feel the same. I don’t think that should be a consideration. It would, of course, be nice to have the option to pay in either pounds or Galleons. You could inquire about it, though, if there’s a place you are interested in. Now, do you have a solicitor if it’s a Muggle lease? I imagine Mr Shycross is in the employ of the landlords, particularly since there is no fee unless you apply for a flat.”

“Dad gave us the name of one who is used to dealing with wizards and Muggles. I hope we just have a wizarding contract, though. Grandpa could look that over for me; he knows all the usual contract terms and spells.”

“Did you ask Shycross about that? As a Squib –”

“Yes, I did, and they have a wizard on retainer who handles any wizarding leases. I did get the impression he would prefer to go the full Muggle route, though.”

“Easier for him, and doesn’t cost the firm anything extra. Although they may charge an extra fee if you do a wizarding lease or put a magical clause in a Muggle document. Another thing to inquire about when we see Shycross.”

Melina waved her wand and cleared the table. “I’ll take care of the washing up later, or Quimpy can do it, if Dad doesn’t need him in the shop this morning. Let’s go find me my first grown-up flat, Auntie Min!”

“All right, but please don’t call me that when we’re in public – especially not around Quin. I don’t want him to begin thinking he can call me ‘Min.’ I don’t even like it when Poppy does it.”

Melina laughed. “I’ll try! Really! Now come on,” she said, reaching out a hand to her aunt, “we don’t want to be late meeting Mr Shycross!”

* * *

Minerva looked out the dirt-streaked front window of the empty parlour. Melina was with Shycross, a round little man, in the back bedroom. After seeing the kitchen, Minerva had already made up her mind about the flat. Of course, the fact that the landlords lived downstairs was also a negative point, in her view. 

Edinburgh certainly looked grey and grimy to her that day, soot covering just about every surface. A good rain would wash a lot of it away . . . but Minerva’s mood had shifted to match her current view on Edinburgh, and she sighed deeply and waited for Melina to finish looking at the flat.

Apparating with Melina was never a comfortable experience for her, and that morning was no exception. When they popped into the side alley, Melina let go and began to walk toward the street, but Minerva, dizzy, reached out and clung to the wall next to her. She had felt sick when they arrived, but as she took her first deep breath, trying to dispel the vertigo, the nauseating odour of rotting vegetables filled her nose, and her stomach rebelled. Minerva stumbled toward the street, trying to get away from the stench, and Melina came back over and supported her, gently rubbing her back.

“I’m sorry, Minerva! I forgot you don’t Side-Along very well. I should have brought along a potion for your stomach. A little fresh air, and you should be fine.”

“Mmm,” was the only reply that Minerva could manage. She swallowed several times, overcoming the urge to vomit, and remembered how easy it was to Apparate with Albus. She loved to have Albus give her a Side-Along, if he held her and brought his magic in tune with hers before Apparating, and this experience suddenly made her miss Albus all the more. Embarrassingly, tears rose in her eyes as she thought of Albus, and she wasn’t able to blink them away before her niece saw them.

“Oh, Minerva, I should have remembered . . . we could have left a little earlier and Flooed to the Fireball’s Flagon, then just walked a ways. Are you feeling very ill? Would you like to go somewhere and sit down for a while? Perhaps a cup of tea?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine. Let’s just walk for a bit,” Minerva answered, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Foolishness! She had been perfectly cheerful when she arrived at Melina’s. She and her mother had had a lovely time the day before, and she was looking forward to tea the next day, and Poppy had invited her for lunch at her grandmother’s on Monday, after which they were going to go shopping. Still, she wished that she had heard something from Albus. She had been gone three days, and the only letter she had received from him had been the rather formal one he had written to decline her invitation to lunch and to ask her to return by next Wednesday. He had written her several letters while she was in Cornwall, sweet letters . . . but he was busy, she reminded herself. Very busy. And he had the Wizengamot every Friday. Perhaps he would owl her over the weekend. 

“You look positively white, Auntie Min. We have a few minutes before Mr Shycross will arrive. Why don’t we go into the Five Disenchanted Ducks and have some tea? We can sit by the window and keep an eye out for him.”

They had just turned the corner, and Minerva saw a sign showing five ducks in different stages of becoming disenchanted back to their usual wizarding selves. 

“All right. Just a cup of tea. And if we can’t get a table by the window –”

“If we can’t get a table by the window, I will wait outside for him and fetch you when he arrives.”

When the little round man showed up fifteen minutes later, he had spied them through the window and come in. He expressed sympathy for Minerva; having only ever Side-Alonged, he was well-acquainted with the nausea that could accompany it. Shycross insisted on waiting for Minerva to finish her tea before they left to view the flat. 

And so now Minerva was standing in front of the window in an empty flat, looking out at what seemed to her a dismal and grey day, despite the sunlight streaming in past the grime. She wondered whether she would find any of the flats acceptable, given her current mood. She was half-tempted to Apparate back to Hogwarts that afternoon under the pretense of having forgotten something, but Albus might not even be there, and if he were, having forgotten something in her quarters or her office would not be sufficient excuse to stop by and see him. Of course, if she timed it for the dinner hour . . . but her parents were expecting her back, and she still had some things she wanted to talk to her mother and Fwisky about for Sunday. She could certainly go one week without seeing Albus! And she would.

Melina’s voice came closer, and it didn’t sound as though she was any happier with the flat than Minerva was. Just as Minerva turned to go meet her niece, there was a clattering at the window, and Minerva looked over to see a large Snowy Owl perched on the ledge outside the window, rapping at the glass with its beak. Minerva pulled her wand out and opened the window. It was so stuck, it took her two tries to open it wide enough for the owl to hop through. She was only slightly surprised when it held out its leg to her, offering her a letter. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t any treats for you,” Minerva said to the bird. “I wasn’t expecting you, you see.”

The owl gave a soft, low hoot, and glided away out the window, unperturbed by the lack of reward. Minerva looked at the letter. From Hogwarts, and the writing was Albus’s. Just then, Melina and Mr Shycross entered the room, and Minerva felt a wave of annoyance. She would have to wait to read her letter. She put it in her pocket.

“Well, Min-erva, we can go on to meet Mr MacAirt now. We can each Apparate directly from here individually, since we are meeting him inside Aphrodite’s Apple,” Melina said, naming the tearoom that provided an entrance between McTavish Street and Muggle Edinburgh. Although there were a few wizarding establishments scattered about Edinburgh, such as the Five Disenchanted Ducks and the Fireball’s Flagon, most of them were on wizarding McTavish Street, just as Diagon Alley was home to most of them in London. “We’ll have some time, though, since he’s not arriving until quarter to twelve, and it’s only gone eleven, now.”

Minerva perked up at that thought; she would have time to read her letter from Albus before Quin arrived, then! She was sure that Melina wouldn’t mind; the letter _was_ from her boss, after all.

Shycross explained that he wasn’t accompanying them, since Mr MacAirt had assured him that he could show the flats on his own, and he had to be getting back to his office, so Minerva and Melina Apparated directly from the sitting room as soon as Shycross had left. It always seemed slightly insensitive to Minerva to Apparate in front of a Squib, although perhaps she was making ill-founded assumptions. But if she were unable to Apparate, she didn’t think she would want to see other people doing it right in front of her, flaunting it. She thought it must be much more difficult to be a Squib, knowing about magic and living on the edge of the wizarding world, than to be a Muggle, even one who was marrying into a wizarding family, as Brennan was. They must feel cheated, somehow, never completely Muggle, but not able to function in the wizarding world, either.

Melina and Minerva Apparated to within a few feet of one another not far from Aphrodite’s Apple.

“You look much better, Auntie Min. I was rather worried about you after that Side-Along. I will remember to bring a tummy potion for you if we ever have to do that again,” Melina said, taking her aunt’s arm.

“‘Tummy potion’?” Minerva asked. “Is that a new Healing term I haven’t heard before?”

Melina laughed. “It will always be ‘tummy potion’ to me, Min-erva! You were right about that flat, though. Even Mr Shycross didn’t argue when I raised the question of living above one’s landlord. The kitchen was rather horrid, too, and the bedrooms were positively tiny.”

The two witches entered the tearoom and a pleasant wait-witch wearing a crisp white pinny led them to a small table near some hanging plants and the entrance door to Muggle Edinburgh. The tearoom smelled of apples and cinnamon, and it alway reminded Minerva of autumn and fallen leaves, even in the middle of the summer. Although they did serve other foods, the tearoom specialised in apple dishes. Apple kuchen, apple fritters, apple and onion bread, pork and apple sandwiches, duck with apple and chestnut dressing, apple dumplings, American apple pie á la mode – if it could have apples in it, Aphrodite’s Apple served it, it seemed.

Melina ordered American apple pie á la mode and Earl Grey tea, and Minerva ordered apple dumplings and rosehip tea.

“Do you mind if I read my letter?” Minerva asked, pulling it from her pocket.

“Ah, so there was an owl – I thought I heard one, but I wasn’t sure. Go ahead, I don’t mind.”

“It’s from Dumbledore, you see. It may be business,” Minerva explained.

“That’s fine – I wouldn’t mind, in any case. And I can make a few notes about the last place I saw. I told Brennan I would tell him all about it, and I didn’t feel comfortable writing, ‘dingy little rooms’ while Mr Shycross was standing next to me.”

Minerva just nodded and unsealed the letter. It was on lovely heavy, cream-coloured parchment, and he had used purple ink – perhaps the ink that she had bought him. She envisioned him sitting at his desk, using his plumy purple quill as he composed the letter to her that morning, perhaps a cup of tea steaming beside him, and she smiled.

_“27 July 1957_

_“Dear Minerva,_

_“I, too, am disappointed that we will not be having lunch on Monday, and I will be sure to give Robert your best wishes when I see him. I am glad that you understand that Monday is a busy day for me, though not as busy as yesterday was. The Wizengamot ran until eight o’clock, with not even a tea break, and we started at two. We will be having an extra session on Tuesday. There have been so many alterations in some of the laws recently, and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has been so vigorous in enforcing them, that we have a good number of appeals from fines and penalties they have levied over recent weeks. We let almost everyone off with a warning and instructions to read the new regulations carefully, but this meant that the few serious cases we had didn’t have sufficient time to be properly heard, and we have to reconvene Tuesday, or else I would pop over to see you for an hour or two Tuesday afternoon, since Wednesday morning feels very far away right now. But that is likely weariness speaking, as I came home last night to find a box full of Owl Post waiting for me, and not wanting to put it off till today, I worked through it all last night. I know what you will say, my dear Minerva, about not burning the candle at both ends, but sometimes it is difficult for me not to do that. I promise to have an early night tonight, however! In fact, I promise not to do any work at all after dinner tonight and to read the novel you so kindly lent me._

_“I miss you, too, but I am very happy to hear that you are having a good time with your family. I myself have very little family left now, and after having been estranged from my brother for some time, I have done my best to make up for my previous long absences and neglect. We have lunch together the last Sunday every month, which is, of course, tomorrow. So I appreciate it that you value your time with your family. And you do have lovely relatives! Please do give my best to them all, and I am looking forward to Melina’s invitation. She will be a beautiful bride, without a doubt; she does take after her aunt, after all._

_“It was good to hear your assessment of the applicants for the Magical Creatures position. I look forward to reading your recommendations. I knew I could leave it all in your capable hands!_

_“With regard to the position of Head of House, we could discuss that over lunch on Wednesday, if you like._

_“I hope you have an enjoyable weekend, my dear! I look forward to seeing you Wednesday morning._

_“Yours,_

_“Albus”_

Minerva sighed and smiled as she read the letter for a second time, taking a distracted sip of her tart rosehip tea. He did miss her. He had just been very busy, just as he had said. And he wanted to have lunch on Wednesday.

“Nice letter?”

“Hmm?” Minerva asked, looking up at Melina.

“I asked, was it a nice letter, then? You looked almost like it was a letter from a lover, not from your boss, the expression on your face –”

“Melina McGonagall! What a thing to say!” Minerva could feel her face flushing.

“Well, I just meant that you looked quite pleased, that’s all,” Melina said, blushing at her faux pas. “I’m sorry . . . of course, it was from Professor Dumbledore. Um, that was an inappropriate remark. But it was a good letter?”

“Yes,” Minerva said briskly, folding the parchment and replacing it in her pocket. “We are having lunch on Wednesday to discuss the Head of Gryffindor position, and he also told me that I was doing well in the assistance I am giving in the search for a new Care of Magical Creatures instructor. He is an extremely busy wizard, Melina, and he values my assistance.”

“Of course he does. And that is so exciting about the Head of House job! Brennan said to congratulate you. He was as pleased as I was, I think.”

“That’s very nice of him. Thank him for me.”

“I will – this pie is very good. You haven’t touched your dumplings,” Melina said, gesturing with her fork.

“Oh, yes. They look nice.” Minerva added a dribble of honey to her tea, poured a little cream over the dumplings, then picked up her fork and tried one. “Yes, very good.” She nodded. “Very good, indeed. Try one?”

Melina and Minerva swapped bites of their desserts; both agreed that they were very tasty, and that each was quite distinctive. They were just finishing up when Minerva heard, or felt, someone swishing in through the door behind her, and she knew that it was Quin, or someone of equal energy and panache, anyway. Sure enough, a moment later, his mellifluous Irish tones met her ear.

“Professor McGonagall! And her fair niece, I presume!” Minerva looked up to see Quin’s smiling face. “Please, stay seated, Miss McGonagall, finish your pie – you had it with ice cream, I see! Very good choice. I’ll just have a quick cuppa, meself, if you don’t mind.” He shook Melina’s offered hand, leaned over and pecked Minerva fondly on the head, and pulled out a chair for himself. Quin had, indeed, arrived.


	89. A Perfect Flat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva, Melina, and Quin seek the "perfect flat" in Edinburgh.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Melina McGonagall, and Quin MacAirt.

**LXXXIX: A Perfect Flat**

“Why don’t we order a large pot of something, then?” Melina asked. “Would you mind, Min-erva? I know you had rosehip tea, but –”

“That’s fine, as long as it’s not Earl Grey. I don’t mind it, but I think I’d prefer something else today.”

“An’ a fine idea that is, Miss McGonagall,” Quin said, signalling the wait-witch.

After they had ordered their pot of tea, Quin turned to Minerva. “In response to your invitation, I would be pleased t’ come to tea tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good! I’m glad. I must say that I was somewhat surprised when Melina told me you were one of the potential landlords.”

“Technically, they’re not me properties; they’re Alroy’s, inherited from his great-grandfather. I’m just takin’ care o’ them until he’s of age. Though I don’t normally do very much, just peek in on Ferguson’s now and again to see that they’re doin’ right by him. But when I saw the McGonagall name,” Quin said with a smile at Melina, “I couldna’ let Mr Shycross show them, all impersonal. And there’s th’ other property, as well, which I haven’t listed with them yet. No application fees if you like that one, Miss McGonagall.”

Melina frowned slightly. “That doesn’t seem quite fair to Mr Shycross, since I found you through his agency.”

“Ah, don’t worry yourself about Ferguson’s. They will thrive with or without your fees, and I’ll take care o’ Mr Shycross.” Seeing a protest forming on Melina’s lips, Quin said, “Consider it a wedding present, Miss McGonagall, if you must!”

“How did you know what I was going to say?” Melina asked.

“’Tis a business man I am, Miss McGonagall. Anticipatin’ an objection is part o’ me livelihood. And,” Quin added with a quirked smile, “you do that same thing with your brow that your aunt does just before she objects to somethin’ I’ve said.”

Melina laughed and Minerva snorted.

“Now, ’tis important that a couple has a flat they can live in comfortably. Don’t you go and feel you must take one o’ mine just because your aunt and I are friends – and I hope we become friends, too, even if I’m your landlord. If you like one of ’em, we can have your young man come and look at it, too. An’ unlike some, though, either o’ you can sign the lease. I’m not t’ be insistin’ on it bein’ your fiancé. I just think he should see it, and I don’t mind makin’ the time for it.”

“We thought we’d both sign the lease, actually,” Melina answered.

“Well, that’s fine, then. Let me tell you a little bit about them.”

The wait-witch brought their tea, and they interrupted the conversation for a few minutes.

“So, they’re both on the Floo-Network,” Quin continued, “and we’d just need to change the address to one that identifies it with you. Both are also close to Muggle bus lines, as well. I don’t know if Mr O’Donald is in possession of an automobile, but the second property I am after showin’ you has parkin’ in the back. Bein’ as they’re also Muggle properties, they also have telephone, electric, gas, and all that. Kitchens are fully Muggle, too. There’s no cooker in the second place I’m showin’ you, as it belonged t’ the previous tenants, not t’ the property, but we could talk about that.”

“That sounds ideal – the flat Mr Shycross showed us wasn’t on the Floo-Network and it didn’t have a telephone line, either. It also wasn’t particularly attractive.”

Minerva snorted. “That’s an understatement. I don’t know what your flats are like, Quin, but this one was dark, dingy, grimy, and the rooms were tiny.”

Quin took a sip of his tea. “The first place I’ll be showin’ you is a wee bit on the small side, I’ll admit that to you, but the second one is . . . spacious, you might say. But neither of ’em could be described a ‘grimy,’ I’m thinkin’.”

The three finished their tea, Quin insisted on paying the bill, and they set off for the first flat. 

“I could Apparate one of you, but not both, and it’s only a mile and a half, so unless you wish t’ brave the Muggle bus system – and I’m not familiar enough with Edinburgh t’ say what bus we should take – I suggest we simply walk.”

Melina said she thought she knew which bus to take, but the two witches agreed the walk would be pleasant, and about twenty-five minutes later, they were standing outside what Minerva thought was termed a “brownstone,” and Quin was taking a ring of keys from an inside jacket pocket. He found the one he was looking for and unlocked the front door.

“It’s a walk-up. The downstairs tenants are sisters. The older one is a Squib and works for the railway doin’ somethin’ or other; the younger one works for the Ministry, local magical accidents office, I think. There are two floors to this flat, but it’s still fairly small. But it may meet your needs.” They followed him up the stairs and stood behind him on the narrow landing as he unlocked the door. “You can feel free to set up wards, but I do expect to be able to enter the flat only using the key. I’d never enter without givin’ you advance notice, though, unless there were an emergency o’ some sort. And I can’t say that I’ve ever entered a flat when a tenant wasn’t home, except for one time when there was a gas leak, unless I was showin’ it to prospective tenants. These tenants moved out at the end of last month, so it’s completely empty, as you can see.”

The first floor of the flat had a small sitting room in the front of the building, a small dining room in the middle with an archway leading to the sitting room, and a kitchen in the back. The stairs to the next floor were off the dining room, and there was a cupboard under the stairs that opened into the sitting room. Upstairs, there was a bathroom combined with a loo in the back, with a frosted glass window that could be cranked open, a small, dark, windowless bedroom next to the bathroom, and a larger, sunny bedroom in front. There was a door between the two bedrooms.

“’Tis small,” Quin admitted. “The previous tenants used the small bedroom for their baby. You would be welcome to create a false magical window, o’ course, as long as it wasn’t anythin’ a visitin’ Muggle could see and wonder about. There’s not much street noise here, but if you found it bothered you, you could use an Imperturbable at night.”

“It’s much better than the previous flat,” Melina said, “but it’s smaller than what we hoped to find.”

“There’s an attic, too. It’s unfinished, but you could use it for storage or your owl.” Quin led them into the small bedroom and waved his wand at the ceiling. A trapdoor opened and a set of stairs – more like a ladder, actually – lowered itself into the room. “It can be opened manually, too, o’ course, though it takes a bit of doin’ not to get knocked off the ladder or chair when the stairs lower. Or you can tie a rope to the handle, but I wouldn’t recommend that if you have any kiddies around. I’ll just step outside and wait for you on the pavement if you and your aunt would like to look around in private.”

“No, that’s fine, Mr MacAirt. Why don’t we move on to the next flat?”

“Y’know, Miss McGonagall, you could be callin’ me Quin, if you’d like.”

Melina laughed. “That would be lovely, and I won’t wonder who you’re speaking to when you say ‘Miss McGonagall.’”

“Ah, that’s right! You’re a Healer! I have been rude . . . apologies, Healer McGonagall,” Quin said with a slight bow.

“No, that’s not what I mean – I just think you might be addressing Aunt Minerva, then I realise you would call her ‘Professor’ or ‘Minerva,’ and you must be speaking to me. Please, call me ‘Melina.’”

The three walked back toward McTavish Street.

“This next property is quite a bit larger, you will find, and it’s only three streets up from Aphrodite’s Apple – you’d be only about a fifteen minute walk from your father’s apothecary, I believe, Miss – Melina. This is the one that hasn’t been listed yet.”

They reached a large building on a corner. It was another stone building, likely mid-Victorian, Minerva thought, and the street, slightly broader than many in the vicinity, was lined with trees. Looking up at the house, Minerva was impressed by the number of windows, including a large bay on each of the three stories. There were also stairs outside leading down to what appeared to be a basement flat, and for half a moment, she was afraid that was the flat Quin was going to show them. Although it appeared there were windows, they were all half-below ground. But Quin walked up the broad stone steps and opened the front door. Minerva took hold of the wrought iron rail and followed the other two up the stairs and into the building.

“Strictly speakin’, ’tain’t a flat, but a house,” Quin said as he opened a second door leading from a small vestibule into a larger foyer. “There’s a small flat below, rented by a watch wizard who works nights. There are three floors and an internal Floo-Network. There’s a loo on each floor and two bathrooms, a large one on the first floor and a smaller one on the second. I know it’s a bit more than you were lookin’ for, but take a peek around. There’s a bit o’ furniture that comes with the place, but it’s been empty since the end of April. Just hadn’t got around to decidin’ whether I wanted to let it or sell it,” Quin said with a shrug.

“Oh, my, it looks . . . lovely,” Melina said as they entered the large, bright front room. “But I don’t know . . . we do have a budget.”

“Look around. See what you think. I’ll just wait for you here. If you have any questions, ask me when you’ve finished. And don’t worry too much about your budget. We can work somethin’ out, I’m sure, if you like it.”

“I don’t –” Melina began.

Minerva tugged on her niece’s elbow. “Let’s look at the place, know what it is you are turning down before you do, hmm?” Minerva, knowing Quin’s nature and something of his financial situation, had the feeling he would prefer to let the house to someone he liked at a bargain price than make a large profit and rent to someone he didn’t care for.

Melina, smiling at the sight of the polished parquet floor in the foyer, didn’t need very much encouragement to look around the house. There was a telephone in the hallway, on a small, built-in cupboard. It was quite old-fashioned, pre-War, but they could get a new one from the telephone office if they wanted.

The two gave themselves a tour of the three-story house. The ground floor held the usual – front parlour, large dining room, kitchen, pantry, loo, and a smallish sitting room that could serve as a little office or study – and the first and second floors had several bright rooms of varying sizes, including a large one on the first floor that appeared to be meant as a library, as the walls on either side of the door contained built-in bookshelves. The back bedroom on the first floor was large, had a door connecting it with the bathroom, and the rear windows looked out onto a courtyard with a small garden and a paved area that was apparently intended for parking. By the time they had finished tramping through the house, opening cupboard doors and admiring the bathrooms, Melina looked near tears. 

“Oh, it’s wonderful, but we could never afford it. It’s perfect . . . just perfect,” Melina said in a desperate sort of cry.

“You don’t know you can’t afford it. Quin said he could work things out. Let’s hear what he has to say before you give up,” Minerva replied.

“But I don’t want to be beholden –”

“Listen to what he has to say, Melina. And although I haven’t known him long, I think I know him well enough to say that he would not have you feeling beholden to him.”

“He might not, but I still would . . .”

Melina let Minerva bring her down to talk to Quin about what he had been thinking when he said that they could work something out. It turned out that he would “reduce” the rent if they looked after the downstairs flat and dealt with any problems that cropped up and, if the current tenant moved out, they took responsibility for finding a new tenant and showing the flat. The price he named for the flat was on the upper end of what Melina had told Minerva she could afford, but then she was concerned about the cost of upkeep, and Quin promised to owl her the records of the last year’s electric, gas, and heating oil bills. The Floo-Network and telephone bills would be the same wherever they lived, since the internal Floo-Network didn’t have any fees attached.

“Spells are all well and good, Minerva,” Melina said, putting a hand on the radiator cover, “but Brennan’s a Muggle. I can’t have him relying on my warming charms or my lighting magical lamps and candles. It just wouldn’t be right. I want him to be able to live here as though there was no such thing as magic.”

“Think on it, lass, and I’ll send along the records for you. I’d like t’ have you and your young man livin’ here, though. Speakin’ o’ which . . . I don’t know when the pendin’ nuptials are, but, um, I don’t inquire into the livin’ arrangements o’ me tenants.”

Melina blushed. The Squib landlords had made it clear that until the two had married, they did not expect them both to spend the night under the same roof. It had quite embarrassed Melina that they had brought it up, and it had embarrassed Mr Shycross to have to relay their wishes, but it had convinced her that Minerva had been right about the dangers of living in the same building as your landlord. Melina hadn’t even given that aspect of things very much thought, but it struck her that it was her private business, and it wasn’t as though she was going to have a different man in every night of the week.

“I’d like to show it to Brennan.” Melina paused. “I don’t know if it would be an imposition, but do you suppose you could show it to us both tomorrow morning? Or early afternoon, before Minerva’s tea?”

“O’ course. Tomorrow at, say, two o’clock? And the Floo-Network is still open. We could Floo direct from here. I’ll owl the records to you this evening so you can look at them before you return with Mr O’Donald.”

Melina nodded happily. “I know that Brennan will like this, too; it’s just the cost, to be honest. I’d take it this minute, otherwise. And I have no idea how we’ll furnish a place this big. I always took furnished rooms when I was a student, and Brennan’s just got a small flat above the shop, and he thought he’d leave most of the furniture and try to rent it out.”

“Our attic is full of furniture, Melina. I am sure that Mother and Dad would be pleased to have you go through it and put some of it to use.”

“Yes . . . she actually said something about that, but I’d forgotten. She’d just finished talking to me about, well, you know – it wasn’t dinner table conversation – and my mind was elsewhere.” Melina turned back to Quin. “I suppose I shouldn’t seem so eager to have this place, but it’s more perfect than anything I imagined. We could even stay here after we have children – which is a ways off, but it’s a consideration. And it’s so close to my work and McTavish Street, but it’s not far for Brennan to get to his shop – he could even walk to work in good weather, if he liked. Or cycle. He has been trying to get me on a bicycle for weeks; he can’t believe I don’t know how to ride one. Well . . . let’s look at the expenses involved, and Brennan can look at it, and we’ll see.”

“Good! So . . . it’s getting to that time. I’m peckish. Would you ladies care to have lunch?” Quin asked.

“I’m meeting Brennan back at his shop. In fact, he’s probably wondering where I am, so I will have to decline. But it was good to meet you, Quin,” Melina said, holding out her hand, “and I look forward to seeing you here tomorrow afternoon.”

“It’s me own pleasure, Melina!” Quin said, shaking her hand. “Feel free to pop off right from here, if you like.”

Melina gave her aunt a kiss and then Disapparated with a loud crack.

“Mmm, she’s a loud one,” Quin said, shaking his head dramatically as though to clear his ears. “If she takes this flat, we’ll have to put some charms on the place to muffle that or the Muggles will think there’s been an explosion!”

Minerva laughed. “She’s always Apparated loudly. She’s never Splinched, though, and I can’t say what it is she’s doing that makes it that loud, but it certainly is rather deafening! And don’t ever accept a Side-Along Apparition from her if you are at all prone to nausea. I was quite sick this morning, and we only Apparated a few miles.”

“I will bear that in mind,” Quin said with a grin. “But what about you, love?”

“What about me?” Minerva asked.

“Lunch. Care to join me?”

Minerva hesitated.

“If not, or if you have someplace to be, that’s fine –”

“No, I would like to. I’m just trying to think of where. I would love to have lunch with you, and to talk to you about . . . what we haven’t discussed, but I don’t want it to be someplace public, and Mother and Dad are home –”

“Chez moi, ma Grande Dame de la Metamorphosis?”

“Your place?”

“At my place in London. As I said, the Floo is still hooked up, we can Floo. I’ll go through first and open it for you. It won’t be anything fancy; Mrs Manning doesn’t work on Saturdays if the children aren’t home, but I can do us up a simple lunch and we will have all the privacy that you could ask for.”

Minerva smiled. “I’d like that. And don’t worry about what we eat – as long as you aren’t like your cousin Carson, and apologising for everything as you serve it, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Quin smiled wistfully. “An’ ’tis a pity Carson ain’t standin’ here in me stead. He would’ve been a good friend to you, I’m sure, and you wouldn’t be needin’ me.”

Minerva nodded soberly. “I was thinking something similar recently, in fact – before I’d met you, though. Not that I wouldn’t want to be friends with you or talk to you, but I thought that I might have been able to tell Carson and he would have understood.”

Quin reached out and gently caressed her cheek. “I’ll try t’ be the friend you need, Minerva. I’ll do me best,” he said softly.

Minerva smiled slightly. “Well, if we’re going to eat, and you’re going to cook, we ought to be going.”

Quin nodded and went over to the fireplace, pulled out his wand, lit a small, blue fire in the grate, and picked up the pot of Floo-Powder. 

“Just give me a minute when I get to th’ other side to let me open it for you, then follow on.”

Minerva nodded and took the Floo-Powder pot from Quin and watched him Floo away. She sighed, some apprehension beginning to settle in her stomach at the thought of confiding in him, and wondering at the wisdom of it, but considering Quin already seemed to have half a notion anyway, she thought it might be a relief to finally share her secret with someone.


	90. A Confidant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva has lunch with Quin and takes him as her confidant. He has some suggestions for her.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall and Quin MacAirt.

**XC: A Confidant**

When the room stopped spinning – it had been a very long Floo trip – Minerva was pleased at what met her eyes. The room was bright, cheerful, and simply furnished. It was simple and cleanly furnished without being Spartan, and reminded her a bit of Hafrena MacAirt’s rooms at Hogwarts. The furnishings seemed entirely authentic Art Deco to her, not that she was by any means an expert in such things, right down to the lamps. There were a few simple patterns, but most of the furniture and accessories were in solid colours or stripes.

“All right, there, Minerva?” Quin asked.

“Fine, just getting my bearings. It was a long Floo trip,” Minerva answered. “It’s a nice room.”

“Ta. We like it. You’re welcome to stay here while I cook, and I’ll come fetch you – or I can show you to the library. It’s nothing like the Gamps’, o’ course, but ’tis a bit more interesting than sittin’ here an’ lookin’ at the four walls –”

“No, let me keep you company, Quin. And perhaps I can lend a hand.”

“I’ll accept your charmin’ company, but I’m the host. You’re not to lift a finger.”

Minerva raised an eyebrow at that – she’d never known a man who could have a woman in his kitchen without expecting her to do half the work then claiming all the credit, not that she was much of a cook herself – but she smiled and agreed with him.

True to his word, though, Quin had Minerva sit at the kitchen table, with nothing but a cup of tea in front of her to keep her busy, while he reheated soup and baked fresh scones. He used a peculiar combination of magic and Muggle methods in his cooking, but given that Minerva’s skills in the kitchen were nothing that she would ever brag about even if she were prone to bragging, she wasn’t complaining or criticising. After he had finished the scones and popped them in the oven, Quin sat down with her and poured himself a cup of tea. 

“’Tain’t really cookin’ – well, the scones are, but the soup is somethin’ Mrs Manning left for me, and I just have to heat it up. I have some bread, too, and cheese. As I said, ’tain’t much, but it’s a meal, and Mrs Manning’s soups are always good.”

“It smells good, Quin. Who is Mrs Manning?” Minerva asked.

“Sort of a house-keeper, cook, an’ baby-sitter all rolled into one. Her husband works for me, too, and sometimes picks up a few extra quid takin’ care o’ the garden. Good couple. Both Squibs, so ’tis handy that we don’t have t’ be careful ’bout usin’ magic around ’em, and they can make use o’ the Charmed objects, all without breakin’ any Muggle Secrecy laws. Their son Davey is goin’ into his last year at Hogwarts. Proud as all get out, they are. Course, he’s been given a hard time by some of the other students; havin’ Squibs for parents is considered by some to be worse than bein’ Muggle-born.” Quin’s eyes narrowed at that thought. “He won’t let on to his folks, o’ course, but I’ve tried t’ give the boy a few tips on how to deal with folks such as that without lowerin’ his self.”

Minerva furrowed her brow. She hadn’t taught any sixth-years, but she thought she recollected a tall, thin, blond boy named Manning.

“Is he a Ravenclaw?” At Quin’s nod, Minerva said, “I think I know who he is – tall, thin, lots of curly blond hair? I’ll keep an eye out for him. If I see or hear anyone saying anything, I’ll step in – discreetly. I won’t embarrass the boy. I’ll try not to, anyway, but that sort of thing just shouldn’t be stood for, and turning a blind eye to it is the same as approving it, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Would you like the lightnin’ tour of the place while the scones are finishin’?” Quin asked, changing the subject. “We’ll have to be quick about it; don’t want them to burn.”

Minerva agreed, and they took the lightening tour, as Quin called it. The place was no larger than the one they had just seen with Melina, perhaps even a bit smaller, but it was elegantly decorated, and the architecture pleasing. There was a central courtyard, and its small garden was pleasingly laid out, with a little fountain in the centre. Minerva only saw it from above; the house had been designed with balconies on three sides of the courtyard on the first and second stories.

“I had the place completely refurbished and freshly decorated for Aileen. She enjoyed the garden for the short time she was . . . able to,” Quin said as they looked down at the garden. “Come, lunch will be ready now.”

Minerva wondered how it was that Aileen had died; perhaps she had been ill.

“You’ve never said, and I will understand if you don’t want to talk about it, just change the topic and I will pretend I never said anything, but you’ve never said how Aileen died, nor has anyone else. She was so young . . .”

“That she was. It was a Muggle . . . accident,” Quin said, but his voice was emotionless and his expression so hard that Minerva almost didn’t recognise the Quin she had come to know.

“Um, an accident?” she asked, figuring that if he didn’t want to answer, he could change the topic.

Quin went over to the cooker, stirred the soup, then started the ladle dishing it out as he opened the oven and Levitated the golden scones over to the countertop.

“Murder, actually. ‘Accident’ always has a nicer ring to it, though,” Quin said as he moved the dishes of soup over to the table. 

“Murder?” Minerva blinked. She shouldn’t have asked. If he had wanted her to know, he would have said something earlier.

“Mmm. Blew up the boat she was on. We were on holiday in Greece. Some Muggle friends of ours borrowed a boat, a yacht, I s’pose you’d call the thing, and we were all to go out in it one day. But Alroy got sick. I agreed to stay with him, and I kept Aine with me, since she was just a baby . . . I wanted Aileen to enjoy herself.” Quin sat down and waved the scones over to the table where they settled themselves on a plate he’d set out for them. “Oh, butter, I forgot the butter –” he said absently. Quin took a breath and Summoned the butter from the pantry. “I never asked you if it was all right to eat in here. Shoulda’ served you in the dining room . . .”

“No, this is fine, really. We’re friends, after all, and it’s just a nice lunch between friends. And the scones smell wonderful,” Minerva said, patting his hand. Quin looked distracted, his eyes unfocused, as though he were caught somewhere between memory and presence.

“I insisted she go . . . she said I could go an’ she’d stay with the kids, but she always worked so hard and she liked the water.” He looked down at his plate of bean and barley soup. “The yacht belonged to some rich Muggle. ’Parently he had political opinions that weren’t appreciated by some other Muggles. They had no idea nor any concern that the object o’ their hatred wouldn’t be on the boat. It exploded. Out in the middle of the Mediterranean. I’d say that’s murder, wouldn’t you, Minerva? Five innocent people, two o’ them just children, blowed t’ smithereens for some –” His voice cracked and he stopped speaking and just shook his head. After a moment, he said, looking away from her, “Sorry, sorry, Minerva. Still find it hard – but, ah, that’s how she died so young.”

“I’m sorry, Quin. I oughtn’t have asked.”

Quin shrugged. “’Tain’t a secret. And, as you say, we are friends.” He looked over at her and tried to smile, though there was a slight shimmer of tears in his eyes. “She was the better of us, the best, and if life were fair, ’twould’a been me out there, an’ not me angel.” He gestured to her soup. “Now eat up; you’ll enjoy Mrs Manning’s bean an’ barley soup, t’ be sure. Now, would you be after wantin’ some bread and cheese?”

“After the apple dumplings this morning, I think the soup and scones suit my appetite just fine, Quin. Thank you.”

Minerva picked up her spoon and tasted the soup. “Very good. Delicious. You’re right.” She split a hot scone and put a little butter on it. “And this scone is excellent.”

“Don’t sound so surprised, love,” Quin said, but he wore a pleased smile. “One o’ the things I like t’ make in the mornings for the kids. They like ’em. I’ve experimented some, but now I stick with sultanas or currants. Some o’ me experiments were less than popular with me wee beasties.”

Minerva laughed. “I won’t ask about them, then. These are very good, though. I haven’t had better, in fact,” she said truthfully. 

“Would you like somethin’ to drink? Pumpkin juice, butter beer, beer, wine, water?”

“Um . . .”

“I’m havin’ a beer, meself, I think.” Quin waved his hand and Summoned a beer from the pantry, and a glass sailed along behind it. “It’s a nice lager. Would you like some?” He raised his hand, ready.

“No, although . . .”

“Don’t be ‘polite,’ Minerva! What would you like?”

“Some wine?” she said tentatively.

Quin rolled his eyes. “’Tis the very moon she’s askin’ for now!” He got up. “Be right back – don’t like to Summon wine. Disturbs it. Doesn’t seem to bother beer, though,” he said as he disappeared through the door.

“Hope this meets your approval,” he said, uncorking the bottle with a flick of a finger. “It’s just an easy-drinkin’ Chardonnay. Oaky. Thought it would go well with your soup. Which you’ll be needin’ more of, I see.”

“Yes, it’s good soup. I love barley. Your Mrs Manning is quite a gift, I’d say, if she does everything as well as she does this soup!”

“That she is, Minerva, that she is. And the children love her, which is most important t’ me,” Quin said as he poured her glass of wine. He served her a second bowl of soup, then sat down with her and the two ate in comfortable silence.

Quin rose and ladled himself another bowl of soup, doing so by hand rather than using magic. 

“So, how have you been keepin’, love? I am sure you’re enjoyin’ your time with your family, but are you after missin’ Hogwarts? Or her Headmaster, perhaps?” Quin asked, paying close attention to ladling his soup into his dish.

Minerva sighed and put down her wineglass. “Yes, as I am sure you know already . . .”

“Know, Minerva? I can only guess, love, though I’d rather not guess, rather be told.” Quin sat down and began to eat his soup.

“When did you first guess?” she asked.

“Well, I don’t know that I’m right, but the thought crossed me mind at some point when we were at that lovely party at the Gamps. But it was just one idea of many that occurred to me. Then the way you reacted to his name that afternoon in the Leaky Cauldron made me wonder . . . then we went to Fortescue’s, and I suppose that is when you would say that I guessed. But I still don’t know that I am right. For one thing, you said it was impossible and it was hopeless . . . I had thought it had to be someone who was” – Quin shrugged – “impossible and unattainable, or somehow unsuitable. I wasn’t sure how the particular person I had in mind was any of those things.”

“And you don’t think he is impossible and unattainable?” Minerva asked, flabbergasted. “We can’t be speaking of the same person.”

Quin set down his spoon and looked at Minerva. He asked softly, “And whom are we speakin’ of, Minerva?” He sat and waited for her response.

Minerva fiddled with her wineglass. She had never uttered it aloud, not even when she was alone. She had avoided thinking about it for years, and had only recently admitted to Quin that there was someone . . . someone whom she loved.

“I love him, Quin,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I really do . . . it’s not . . . it’s not some crush, or something . . . cheap.”

“I know, darlin’, I know,” Quin replied, almost equally softly.

“I love him . . . Albus, I love Albus,” she breathed, then suddenly, tears welled up in her eyes, and she felt a confused sense of relief mixed with despair.

Quin’s hand was warm on hers, and his thumb gently rubbed the back of her hand. “Tschhh, shh, shh, love. It’s all right. It’s all good.”

Minerva covered her eyes with her other hand, hiding them, and tried to stop her tears. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying, she just couldn’t help herself. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually . . . I just . . .”

“It’s all right, love. Here,” Quin said, handing her a fresh handkerchief. “It’s good that you finally said it. Was that the first time ever you did?”

Minerva nodded and blew her nose. “It sounds so . . . so absurd.”

“Why? I don’t think it does. Listen to it: you love Albus Dumbledore. Minerva loves Albus. She loves him. And he’s a lucky wizard, is that Albus, to have such a witch as Minerva lovin’ him. You love Albus.” He squeezed her hand. “See? Not absurd at all!”

Minerva looked up to see Quin smiling gently at her. “I suppose . . . I don’t know. He’s Albus Dumbledore.”

“He is, and _you_ are Minerva McGonagall. And I can’t say how he feels about you definitely, but I could tell he’s very fond of you, at the very least, likely lovin’ you, too. I can’t say how, but . . . don’t you think you should give him the chance? Give him the opportunity to be lovin’ Minerva McGonagall, fine witch that she is, the way that she loves him?”

“But he doesn’t, Quin. Oh, he’s _fond_ of me. He may even care for me like a . . . like a surrogate daughter, or something,” she said, her face distorted, expressing her discomfort with the term. “But he . . . he’s a busy wizard, and he has Hogwarts, and Gertie, and half the time, I don’t even think he likes me anymore than he does any of his other teachers, he can be so distant . . .”

“Well, I think I can say with a fair degree o’ certainty that Hogwarts and Gertie cannot hold a candle to Minerva McGonagall, la Grande Dame de la Metamorphosis, and a kind, clever, generous, and beautiful witch, she is,” Quin answered her with a kind smile. “And if he’s unsure of his own feelin’s, that could go far in explainin’ his contradictory behaviour. Could be he’s seein’ his Transfiguration mistress in a new light and don’t know how to act,” he said with a shrug.

Minerva sniffed. “I don’t know . . . but he can be so . . . sweet. Almost romantic. Well, if it were someone else, it would be romantic, but he couldn’t mean it that way.”

“He couldn’t? And why ever not? I think you should talk to him, Minerva love, tell him how you feel –”

“No! No, I couldn’t. It would be awful. It would ruin everything. He . . . he would be kind, but feel sorry for me. And he’d never be comfortable with me again. I know it. I just can’t. I can’t risk our friendship. You must see that! Imagine if you were in his position, and some former student, someone you were fond of, like a daughter, confessed she was in love with you, and you didn’t feel at all the same way . . . it would be awful, Quin!”

Quin sighed and considered her words. “I still think you should give him a chance, though, Minerva. If he’s been romantic, even if he doesn’t realise it or mean it quite that way, he could still have some glimmer o’ feelin’ for you, an’ he just needs a little encouragement to discover it. He is a wizard, after all . . . he can’t fail to have noticed how beautiful you are, and how, um, feminine.”

“He’s says that, that I’m beautiful,” Minerva said softly, shyly. “But –”

“I don’t like that word today, Minerva! ‘But’!” Quin shook his head. “Look here, you needn’t confess your complete, undying love and devotion to him and that you’re utterly and eternally in love with him, though it’s clear to me that’s all true. You can just . . . give him some hints of your feelin’s. Maybe he just needs to have his own feelin’s prodded a bit, if he’s unaware or unsure of them. Or if he feels somethin’ more for you already, but is confused about it and how to behave around you, he might only need to see that you’re . . . willin’ and open to him. It’s probably harder on him, really, Minerva. Think of what it would be to be Albus Dumbledore, harbourin’ feelin’s for a former student, a much younger witch – he’d likely dismiss them. He could think you see him as a father figure, just as you assume he thinks of you as a daughter. And he probably did, once, or somethin’ like it. To admit to himself that the little girl he cared for as a child has grown up into a beautiful and desirable witch . . . that couldn’t be easy, especially for a wizard who has, well, who has had little opportunity to tend to his personal life, shall we say. He’s been swallowed up by his duty and his work. D’you see what I’m sayin’, love? That it could be even harder for him than for you? And even if I’m wrong, and he doesn’t have some wee inklin’ of a feelin’ for you somewhere in him now, who’s to say that if he were aware o’ the possibility, he might not be . . . interested, at least, in explorin’ it?”

“But I don’t think I could bear it if we . . . if he . . . if he courted me, then he changed his mind. If he wanted to go back to being just colleagues. I just couldn’t . . .”

“It will only get worse, though, love, this needin’ and lovin’ and not sayin’ and not havin’. Just . . . just _think_ about what I’ve said, all right? Will you do that? Consider makin’ it easier on the wizard, anyway, if he already has feelin’s for you?”

Minerva sighed. “He doesn’t. But I will think about it.”

Quin grinned. “The first ‘but’ that I’ve liked hearin’! Good for you, Minerva. I know – you’re only thinkin’ about it, but you’re a Gryffindor. You’ll take action! I know you will, Minerva. I hope so, anyway.”

“Well, I was thinking . . . not anything like what you suggested, but I had been thinking of doing something special for him for his birthday. But he probably already has plans . . .”

“There’s that negative ‘but’ again! Even if he already has some plans, unless he is goin’ t’ be away somewhere, you can still do somethin’ special for him. You just have t’ time it right and make some preparations of your own. And you can start by gettin’ him a present – unless you already have? You haven’t? When is his birthday?”

“The first.”

“The first of August? That’s Thursday.” Quin nodded, thinking. “When are you returnin’ t’ Hogwarts?”

“Wednesday.”

“Well, you haven’t much time, but as soon as you get back to Hogwarts, you will have t’ stake a claim to some of his time – now, don’t look at me like that, Minerva! You’re the one who thinks he may already have some plans. You must make yourself a part of his plans. Have a few different alternatives in mind, just in case how you’d best like to celebrate with him does not fit with his schedule. And, o’ course, arrange to give him his present. Preferably in private.” Quin nodded to himself. “Yes, that’s a start. You know him better than I do, o’ course, and I’m sure you have ideas of what you’d like to do for him, so I won’t try to advise you on that, but I am thinkin’ we should work on that present . . . a gift is imperative, even if ’tis only a small one.” Quin pulled out his watch. “’Tis gettin’ late, but there will still be some shops open in Diagon Alley. We can at least look now, and if we don’t find anythin’, well, there’s always Monday and Tuesday.”

“Wait!” Minerva interrupted him. “I don’t know about this, Quin. I thought I’d just get him a book and, I don’t know, have lunch with him, or possibly dinner, if he were free. Maybe invite him to the Three Broomsticks –”

“That’s not a good idea – unless it’s the only option that can be managed, o’ course. Much better to have him on your own, if possible. Dinner in your rooms? Or his?”

Minerva nodded. “Yes, I think if he were available, he’d come to dinner if I invited him. He’s had me to dinner in his suite, and we’ve had breakfast in my rooms a few times.”

“Good! Well, let’s be off for Diagon Alley, then, and we’ll start the hunt for the perfect gift!” Quin popped up, full of energy and ready to go. 

“The food –”

“Oh, o’ course.” Quin pulled out his wand and waved it, putting a freshness charm on the scones and a cooling charm on the soup kettle. “That’ll hold it until I get home. Let’s be goin’!”

Twenty minutes later, Minerva and Quin stood outside of Scribbulus’s, which they had quickly looked through before the shop closed.

“Well, I already bought him a quill and ink not too long ago, so I didn’t really think I’d find him anything there, anyway,” Minerva said with a sigh. “Should we move on to Flourish and Blotts now?”

Quin hesitated. “Books are wonderful presents, I agree, and if you found somethin’ really unusual and special, it could be the perfect present, but I’m thinkin’ that he probably gets a lot of books o’ the ordinary sort, and you could give him a book at any time. I think somethin’ a bit . . . different for his birthday.”

Minerva nodded, looking up and down the street. “I don’t know where to begin, though, or how to find him something that he doesn’t already have.”

Quin furrowed his brow, thinking. “There’s always jewellery, o’ course. A nice belt buckle, or a watch fob, or a badge o’ some sort for his hat . . . or some other accessory. A hat or scarf . . .” Quin turned to her. “What about a sheath for his wand?”

“Quin!” Minerva blushed.

Quin laughed loudly. “I see where your mind is, love! But I didn’t mean it that way – though perhaps I should have – or not!” he said as her sharp elbow poked him in the ribs. “Still, I got a nice one at Madam Malkin’s once. And she has hats and scarves and such. Then, if there’s nothin’ suitable there, I think that Krebbin’s is still open,” Quin suggested, naming a high-end jewellery shop further down Diagon Alley. 

Minerva let Quin drag her down to Madam Malkin’s. The shop was still open, and young Madam Malkin was measuring a customer. Minerva looked around, certain that she would find nothing in this place. A hat or a scarf didn’t seem particularly special to her; then, just as she was about to give up and tell Quin that they should move on, she spotted a display with the most beautiful set of wizard’s robes. She couldn’t tell whether they were dark blue or black; they seemed to shimmer as she looked at them. Entranced, Minerva walked toward the display. They were midnight blue, she realized as she approached them, with silvery-blue piping and delicate embroidery along the seams, but what really mesmerised her were the sparkling stars that were woven through the fabric. They seemed to twinkle. Minerva walked around the display, and the back of the robes were even more spectacular. The Milky Way seemed to have been incorporated into the material, but the effect was subtle, not at all overwhelming. The robes were cut very similarly to those that Albus had worn the first morning they had breakfasted together that summer, perfect to emphasise broad shoulders, a strong torso, and long legs extending from slim hips. Minerva raised her hands to the shoulders, trying to judge the size. Without Albus here to try them on and have them fitted . . . but this would be too much. She couldn’t give him anything like this. And they must cost a fortune. The fabric alone, with its charms, would be expensive, but made up in robes, particularly ones that were obviously of a special, original Madam Malkin design, not just some common, everyday cut, they would surely cost far more than she would ordinarily spend on robes, or on anything else, for that matter.

“Like ’em, then, love?” Quin’s voice came from behind her. He reached around her and touched the sleeve. The silk seemed to fall like water across his hand, and Minerva noticed for the first time that there were actually two layers to the robes. “They are fine,” he said.

“Yes, but . . .”

“There’s that negative ‘but’ again! ’Twould be a special present, t’ be sure.”

Minerva stood and looked at the robes. They were beautiful, and they would certainly suit Albus. She thought they were something he would enjoy wearing, too. They certainly would be a special, and unique, present.

“I don’t know if they would fit – you know, you’re about his size, only a little taller.” Minerva turned and placed her hands on Quin’s shoulders, judging his size. “Yes, I think . . . could you try them on? If they fit you, more or less, they’ll fit him, I think. Close enough so he could simply have a few alterations done, anyway.”

“Your mannikin I’m t’ be, then? Very well.” Quin smiled, then turned and signalled Madam Malkin, who was just finishing up with a customer.

“Aunt Gussie!” young Madam Malkin called. 

An older witch emerged from the back and saw Minerva and Quin standing by the dark, brightly shimmering robes.

“You like these, then? Very good taste. The fabric was woven to my own specifications, and the charms are of my own design and bear our one-hundred-year guarantee.” Madam Malkin looked Quin up and down. “Yes, they will suit you well.”

“They aren’t for me, although I’ll be tryin’ ’em on. They’re a gift, you see,” Quin said.

Madam Malkin looked from Quin to Minerva. “For your husband?”

“No,” Minerva said with a blush.

“Well, he’s a lucky wizard, whoever he is. I had a wizard in mind when I designed these, but as he’s not been in recently,” the old witch said, shrugging, “your young man should enjoy them.”

“They’re a present for the lady’s mentor. Sort of a . . . an apprentice’s gift, wouldn’t y’ say, Minerva?” Quin said.

“Something like that,” Minerva responded, thinking that if she did purchase them and they needed alterations, Albus would likely have Madam Malkin do them, and so she should have some explanation for her having given such an extravagant gift to the Hogwarts Headmaster. “It’s someone to whom I owe a great deal, and I would like to give him something special.”

“These _are_ special,” Madam Malkin agreed as she waved her wand and removed the robes from the display mannikin. She handed them to Quin. “You know where the dressing room is, sir.”

When Quin emerged a few minutes later, Minerva’s eyes widened. The robes were even more beautiful on, and she could just envision Albus wearing them, his grey and silver beard and hair flowing down over the dark fabric and glimmering stars. Quin’s eyes seemed bluer, and in her mind, Minerva could see Albus’s bright blue eyes twinkling at her, brighter than the stars in the robes. The robes swished and rippled as Quin walked toward them, and Minerva admired the drape and fall of the fabric. They suited Quin, and they would no doubt suit Albus even better.

“They are absolutely gorgeous, Madam Malkin,” Minerva said.

“They will look a bit different on your wizard. The charms gradually tune themselves to the wizard’s harmonics and the stars and constellations will twinkle differently depending on the wizard wearing them. After he’s worn them a few hours, the charms will settle permanently into the pattern brought out by the wizard’s magic.”

“Like ’em, then, love? Is this the thing?” Quin asked.

“I . . . I need to think about it.”

Madam Malkin shrugged. “Let me know what you decide. I’ll be in back. Just have my niece call me.”

Minerva touched the fabric again, admiring the subtle embroidery stitched at all the seams. “They are beautiful. But they must cost a fortune.”

“You think on it, then, Minerva, and I’ll just change into me rather dull-seemin’ Muggle suit while you do.”

Minerva dithered as she waited for Quin to reemerge from the dressing room. If she didn’t buy them, she would regret it, she was sure, but it was such an extravagant gift. Whatever would Albus think? Of course, she could say something similar to what Quin had told Madam Malkin, that it was a birthday present, but much more, as well, a thank-you for all he had done for her over the years . . . a token of her esteem and affection. And it had been twenty years, almost, since they had met – and twenty years since he had begun working at Hogwarts. It could also be a sort of anniversary present. Yes, she would buy them. She swallowed, thinking of the dent the purchase would make in her bank account, but she had never lived above her means and had a good deal of savings. No point in not spending money on the ones she loved, not for something special, anyway. Yes, she would buy them, and not think too much about it afterward, either.

Quin stepped out of the dressing room, the robes draped across one arm. “Decided, Minerva?”

“Yes, I’m getting them. They are perfect, and I can’t imagine anyone else wearing them but him, and any other present I could consider now would seem inadequate compared to these. Thank you for modelling them for me, Quin.”

“Me pleasure, Minerva! Anything to promote the cause o’ . . . your cause,” Quin said with a grin, avoiding using the word “love” in public; he was well aware that Albus might return to Madam Malkin’s to have the robes altered. “And the wizard would be a fool not to appreciate these. They aren’t t’ me usual style, and I thought they were grand. He’s sure to like them.”

The two went to the counter, and young Madam Malkin fetched the older witch, who carefully packaged the robes in a specially charmed box that would keep them straight and wrinkle-free. When the witch quoted the price, Minerva swallowed. It was over a month’s salary, but she nodded, and drew her wand to charge them to her Gringotts account using a wizarding cheque.

“And although I do recognise you as having visited us before, madam, you haven’t an account with us, and I do need your address and your particulars . . . just in case. Gringotts goblins, you know,” the witch said.

“I assure you, Madam Malkin, there are sufficient funds,” Minerva said, indignant.

“I don’t doubt you, madam,” she replied politely. “It is our policy, though, for all purchases of this magnitude when a customer doesn’t have an established account with us.”

“Madam Malkin, I am sure the good Transfiguration Professor would be happy to give her address at the Hogwarts School, but I really don’t think you need to be askin’, now do you?” Quin asked, eyes sparkling, a warm, open smile on his face, looking more handsome and . . . angelic than Minerva had ever seen him appear. Minerva could feel sincerity and trust-worthiness emanating from him. This must be an example of the “charm” that Gertrude had mentioned; there was definitely something different between this and his normal demeanour with her, even when he was being charming and amusing. Minerva thought she would recognise this “charm” coming from him, if he ever did try it on her.

“Oh, of course, yes, Madam Professor. No need for any formalities. None at all!” Madam Malkin smiled warmly at them both. “I look forward to serving you _often_ in the future! And no need for an account. Your custom is _always_ welcome here at Madam Malkin’s!”

After they had finished up and were walking out with the package – Madam Malkin had added a matching hat at no charge, she was so pleased to serve them – Minerva turned to Quin and said, “So that’s the MacAirt ‘charm’?”

They reached the pavement, and Quin offered Minerva her arm. “’Twas an example of it. But worry not! She will be as well-disposed to you when next you return as she was just now, unless you do something in the interim to distress her, o’ course. An’ before you ask, Madam Professor, Madam Malkin did nothin’ that she wasn’t already inclined t’ do, particularly once she heard that you teach at Hogwarts.”

“But the hat –”

“At the price you just paid for the robes, she had better be throwin’ in a hat, as well! Don’t get me wrong, Minerva, I think the robes were well worth every last Knut you paid for ’em, or I would’a had you haggle a mite, but people deserve t’ be recompensed for their artistry and originality, as well as the materials and time, so I’d say you both did well,” Quin said. “You got a unique and very special gift for your Albus, and she got a fair price for her work.”

Minerva smiled. “Well, as long as you didn’t force her . . .”

“Never – and certainly not o’er somethin’ as piddlin’ as security for the purchase o’ some robes, nice as they are.”

Minerva squeezed his arm. “Thank you, Quin, for all your help!” She looked up at him, eyes bright. “I wasn’t sure what to make of you when we first met, and sometimes, I’m still not sure, but I am very glad we did meet and become friends.”

“I feel the same, love,” Quin said, smiling down at her. “And I’m very happy to be of some help. Now, I need to be after gettin’ home, I’m afraid. I have t’ send those documents on to your niece this evenin’.”

“Oh, yes, I had almost forgotten. Well, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Quin. I hope that Melina and Brennan decide to take that house of yours. I think it would be nice for them – and I wouldn’t have to go off viewing more grimy little flats with her next week. I haven’t much time for that, anyway.”

“I’ll do what I can to make it possible for them – and no ‘charm,’ if you were worried about that!”

“No, actually, it hadn’t occurred to me that you would do that with them – though now I’ll be wondering!” Minerva said with a raised eyebrow, before she laughed, reassuring Quin that she had just been joking.

“I’ll be leavin’ you here, then,” Quin said as they reached the Leaky Cauldron. “Get home safely – takin’ the Floo-Network?”

“No, it’s easiest to Apparate, I think.”

Quin’s lips twitched. “O’ course. Probably won’t even be huffed when you arrive, either.”

Minerva rolled her eyes. “Bye, Quin. See you tomorrow.”

Quin stepped away and nodded at her. “Tomorrow, Minerva,” he said, and watched as Minerva grasped her wand, held her package close, and, with a muffled crack, Disapparated.


	91. Hope, Suspect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva shows her mother the robes she bought for Albus, and is pleased with her reaction. She contemplates her relationship with Albus and her feelings for him, and writes him a letter.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall and Egeria Egidius.

**XCI: Hope, Suspect**

Minerva opened the box that lay on her bed, and she ran her hand over the fabric of the garment within. The stars shimmered faintly under her hand, and Minerva sighed. They were beautiful. Her mother had thought so, as well. Minerva had expected some uncomfortable questions about the robes, but her mother hadn’t asked a single one; on seeing the box and asking Minerva what she had bought, Egeria had expressed natural curiosity about the contents of such a large parcel. Minerva had hesitated slightly, then admitted that she had bought the Headmaster a birthday present.

“But it’s not just a birthday present, although that is the occasion I bought them for. It’s for everything he has done for me, you see. I thought . . . after reading those letters you gave me, and remembering all of his support over the years, and everything he has taught me, and what a good friend he has become, I wanted to get him something special. Once I saw these, I couldn’t imagine getting him anything else,” Minerva explained.

“Well, what is it? It’s a big box. Is it from Madam Malkin’s?”

Minerva nodded. Her mother stood there expectantly.

“Would you like to see?” Minerva asked.

“Yes, if you would like to show me. I love presents, even when they’re not for me! Perhaps especially then – the anticipation, you know,” Egeria said with a smile.

Minerva brought the box into the library and set it down on the long table. She took a breath, wondering what her mother would say when she saw the obviously very expensive robes, and then she lifted the lid. She heard her mother’s intake of breath.

“Oh, Minerva, they are . . . absolutely exquisite! Take them out, hold them up?”

Minerva removed the robes from the box and held them up for her mother to see. Egeria lifted one of the sleeves, felt of the fabric, then let it drift from her hand.

“They are beautiful, Minerva. A wonderful gift. And I see why, once you saw them, you couldn’t imagine giving him anything else. They are so well-suited to him.”

“I hope he likes them. And that he . . . well, they are somewhat more extravagant than other gifts we have given one another in the past. I hope he doesn’t mind, or take the gesture amiss.”

“I can’t imagine that . . . well, I suppose he might feel you shouldn’t have spent so much on him, but they are gorgeous and I think he will get over it, particularly if you explain that this is a . . . special present, for more than just congratulating him on his birthday.” Egeria nodded in approval. “Very good choice, Minerva. Now, I don’t know if you are hungry, but we were going to have a light supper, just an omelette and some fruit. If you want to join us, you are welcome to, and if you are very hungry, I am sure that Fwisky can whip up something more for you, if you like.”

“That sounds fine. I will just bring this upstairs and join you in a few minutes, then.”

Minerva smiled, remembering her mother’s reaction. _She_ didn’t think it an outrageous present to be giving Albus. Hopefully Albus wouldn’t, either. Minerva replaced the lid on the box. 

Over supper, she told her parents of her trip to Edinburgh and the different flats that she had seen with Melina, not omitting a description of the grimy little flat whose landlords were concerned about Melina’s fiancé spending the night there before the two were legally wed. When she described the house that Quin showed them, and the low rent he would charge in exchange for some minor services, Egeria and Merwyn both agreed that, unless there was some hidden catch or defect, Melina and Brennan would be foolish to pass up that house.

“I look forward to meeting this friend of yours, Min,” her father said. “Sounds an interesting fellow, and somewhat the iconoclast, but a decent sort. I’d be interested in learning more about this free magic of his. I have some theories about the difference between nonverbally casting incanted spells and casting completely nonverbal spells, and I’d be interested in his thoughts on it.”

“He’s read some of your books – I don’t know which ones – but he is likely somewhat familiar with your spell-theory and some of your research into early spell-forms. Although it could be the linguistic aspect of your research that interested him, I don’t know.”

“You mean you haven’t spent hours with him discussing your father’s theories? For shame!” Merwyn scolded jokingly. 

“Very funny – speaking of which, Quin has an odd sense of humour, and he occasionally finds it amusing to answer questions with questions or with answers that don’t really address the intent of your question. At least he does with me, sometimes, but he can also be quite serious when need be. I think you will like him,” Minerva said.

“I’m more concerned about whether he would be a decent landlord,” Egeria said. “Someone can be quite glib and charming and appear helpful but have no scruples. Do you trust him, Minerva?”

“Yes, I do, and I don’t think it’s misplaced. And Gertrude doesn’t let herself get very close to many people, and she obviously thinks highly of him. Albus doesn’t know him well, but he’s expressed to me, more than once, that he thinks he’s a fine wizard.” Minerva made a slight face.

“Ah, then he’s the one whom Albus thinks is quite a catch,” Merwyn said. “I had forgotten that little detail. But you say he’s not interested in that sort of relationship – Quin, I mean?”

“No. I think he’s still mourning his wife, actually, although it’s been several years since she died. But it could be habit, and he is very devoted to his children, and he has business interests in both wizarding and Muggle worlds, so he is very busy. I am actually hoping that he and Poppy might hit it off, though I don’t want to play at matchmaking.”

“He might meet someone eventually, though, whom he likes well enough to forget he doesn’t want to see anyone, and introducing him to Poppy and other eligible witches isn’t a bad idea,” Egeria said.

“On the other hand,” Merwyn said, “it seems if the chap lost his wife and has young children, he might very well have no desire for another relationship and people should not try to force the issue, no matter how well-intended they may be.”

“That’s why I’m not doing anything but offering introductions. If they hit it off, I will be pleased, though.”

“And yourself?” Egeria asked.

“What do you mean, Mother?” Minerva asked, bracing herself for the “nice wizards” speech.

“Just wondering if you hit it off with someone, whether you would . . . express your interest, or possibly pursue him vigorously, I suppose, or whether you would just sit back and wait for him to decide to court you.”

“Mother! I don’t see myself as the sort of witch who chases men – ”

“That’s not what I was suggesting, Minerva. I simply meant that sometimes, after the introductions are over, one party or the other has to make a move. If not, some fine relationships could be passed right on by. I wasn’t suggesting chasing someone who wasn’t interested, or throwing yourself at a man. Just . . . displaying your own interest, that’s all. If there were such a person, of course.”

“Yes, well, there isn’t. So it is all just theory,” Minerva said, feeling slightly cross now. How they had gone from discussing Melina’s flats to her relationship status, she wasn’t sure, but she didn’t like it. It made her think of Albus, and that made her uncomfortable.

Fortunately, the conversation moved away from that topic and back to the furniture that Melina and Brennan would need if they were to take the large house. Minerva agreed to help her mother in the attic in the morning to try to identify some possible pieces of furniture the couple might like and clear some paths through the generations of trunks, boxes, and discarded furniture so that the two could look through it all with ease. If they found things they wanted, then Orents and Quimpy would be enlisted to move the furniture to the new place.

Minerva spent a little time in the library with her parents after they finished supper, but she was tired after her long and emotional day, so she excused herself and went upstairs to get ready for bed. She had to look at the robes one more time and run her hand over them. They were beautiful, and perfect for Albus. But they were far more extravagant than any gift they had given one another before, with the exception of the gift that Albus had given her when she came of age. A very, very old copy of _The Book of Taliesin_. That had been an extravagant gift, to say the least. She had been in awe when she had first laid eyes on it, but the more she learned about the book and the more she was able to discover about her own copy, the more impressed she had been. Her first impulse had been to refuse the gift, but Albus had said that he would be very disappointed if she didn’t accept it. These robes may not be on the order of an early copy of _The Book of Taliesin_ , but she could remind him of that gift, if need be, and ask him to accept hers graciously.

Suddenly, Minerva wished she had brought the book with her. It was still carefully wrapped in a special archivally-charmed cloth, residing in a cupboard in her bedroom rather than out on a bookshelf, where air and light could damage it. It was a beautiful book, and over the years, she had occasionally spent stretches of time reading it, translating the poems, trying to identify the origins of the ones that didn’t appear in other extant copies of the book, and simply relishing its age and its distinctiveness, and, of course, the fact that it had been a very personal gift from Albus. She remembered when she had first received the book and her initial research into its origins. She could have simply asked Professor Dumbledore, of course, but doing the research was enjoyable for her, and it felt that she received a new gift each time she uncovered some new small fact about the book. She remembered how, during the weeks after her birthday that year, she had spent every free moment learning all she could about the manuscript, and how she would take it out when her roommates weren’t there and savour the words and brilliant colours of the pages.

One night in early October, Minerva began a routine that she followed for weeks after that – until her magical accident drove any thought of archaic Welsh poetry from her mind. She retired early to her room, pulled out her carefully wrapped copy of _The Book of Taliesin_ , got into bed, and closed the curtains around her. She was sure that this was older than the oldest copy she had ever heard of. The Muggles had a copy in the National Library of Wales, she knew, that supposedly had been copied by a scribe in the early 1200s, and the oldest extant copy in the wizarding world, according to her researches, belonged to the Idevean family, with it currently in the possession of Cynog Idevean. If one was a serious scholar, one could make an appointment to view the text at the Idevean Manor between the second of February and the first of May, whereupon it would be returned to rest in a Gringotts’ vault until the following February. The Idevean text had been dated to the early eleventh century, and possessed only thirty-two of the poems that were contained in the copy held by the National Library of Wales, but it also contained six poems that were not present in the Muggle copy, two of which were said to contain language of such power that one must skip every third verse when reading it aloud. Minerva thought that was rubbish, herself: even if the poetry was comprised of a series of incantations, merely reading them aloud would very likely do nothing without the proper intent behind it. She would have to remember to ask her father about that notion the next time she saw him.

Minerva believed the copy that Professor Dumbledore had given her to be even older, perhaps seventh or eighth century. From what she had been able to tell without doing any magic on it – which she was loathe to do without knowing more about whether it could damage the manuscript – at least two scribes had copied the texts. They had used four colours of ink: green, blue, black, and red, with the predominant colours being blue and black. There were only thirty-nine poems in the bound volume, nine of them written on a different, narrower parchment from the others. To compensate for the different sized sheets that resulted when they were cut up and sewn into book form, some well-intentioned, though perhaps not very bright, bookmaker had glued the narrower parchments to new, wider parchment to match the predominant width of the other pages. The glue had no doubt been good – perhaps it had been more of a potion than a simple glue, thought Minerva – since most of the pages still adhered to their backing parchment, but wherever the potion had been placed, the text on the reverse side had darkened and bled slightly. Minerva was just glad that whatever had been used hadn’t caused the parchment to rot away. 

In doing her research, she discovered that her manuscript contained the six poems that were contained in the Idevean copy but not in the Muggle version, and twenty-four of the poems that both the other versions had in common. The remaining nine poems were only in the Dumbledore copy and not in either of the others. At first this troubled her, and she wondered why there were so many poems in both the other versions that did not appear in her copy, but then she realised that if her manuscript was older, then that meant that the poems they had in common were likely the oldest of them, and not later additions written by other bards. A chill ran down her spine when she realised that the other nine poems in her copy were likely unique and were among the earliest extant Welsh literature in either the wizarding or the Muggle worlds. And nowhere in her research did she find a reference to this manuscript that Albus had given her. It puzzled Minerva some that this copy seemed entirely unknown to the rest of the wizarding world, but she felt that fact made the gift even more precious.

Minerva had spent hours with the manuscript, probably lending to her fatigue the day of her magical accident. Perhaps if she had been more well-rested that day, she wouldn’t have suffered from magical syncope. She sighed; it didn’t really matter, not anymore. Minerva now believed that even if she hadn’t had the magical accident and the dramatic arrival of _It_ , she nonetheless would have fallen in love with Albus, and likely sooner rather than later. Perhaps during her work with him that summer between her sixth and seventh years, perhaps before that. There was no telling when her childish love of her mentor would have metamorphosed into the love of a young woman for a man, but given the small physical reactions she had been having toward him in his presence prior to that day, and the fact that her thoughts had been dominated by him – his kindness, his warmth, his brilliance, his power, his sparkling blue eyes, and his broad shoulders, across which swept his long, luxuriant hair . . . now, fifteen years later, Minerva felt a familiar tingle and warmth begin to grow within her. She swallowed and shoved the box with Albus’s robes into her wardrobe, and determined to turn her thoughts to some more neutral subject.

Minerva took her nightgown and dressing gown with her into the bathroom and ran a hot bath, adding a fair amount of her mother’s rose bath soap. It foamed nicely, but she waved her wand to enhance the bubbles. She did enjoy the feel of bubbles around her neck and shoulders. She stripped off her clothes and dropped them all in the hamper by the door, then lowered herself into the water. Heaven! Minerva lay back and closed her eyes, lazily passing a flannel across her chest and down one arm. She sank a bit lower in the bath and her drowsy thoughts returned to the events of the day. One particular event stood out. Her embarrassing confession to Quin. Somehow, though, Minerva had felt less embarrassed after her confession than she had before it, and certainly less embarrassed than she had thought she would feel. Quin had done a lot to make her feel comfortable with it . . . with the words she had uttered.

Minerva stuck a dripping wet hand above the bubbles and Summoned her wand, then cast a quick Imperturbable. She sent the wand flying back to the little wand rack on the opposite wall, then she took a deep breath and whispered, “I love Albus.”

A small smile reached her lips. Perhaps it didn’t sound so absurd, after all. “I love Albus,” she repeated softly, then sighed with contentment. “I love . . . I love you, Albus.”

Those were wonderful words to say; if only she could express them to him. 

“I love you, Albus, you know. I love you,” Minerva whispered, her heart once more torn between joy and despair, contentment and longing, and tears rose in her eyes to roll down her cheeks and into the foamy bath. She sighed and smiled through her tears. “I love you, Albus Dumbledore. I love you . . .”

* * *

Minerva woke the next morning after sleeping heavily. She stretched under the covers and rolled over, content to listen to the rain pattering lightly against the window panes. Rain. Minerva opened her eyes and groaned. It wouldn’t ruin her party, by any means, but she had hoped for good weather so that she could show Gertrude the trails she liked to hike. Johannes would not flinch at a few raindrops, she was sure, but it would be so much more pleasant for him and her mother if it weren’t raining when they looked at the garden.

She dressed and went down to breakfast, resisting the urge to open the box from Madam Malkin’s and touch the robes again. Minerva could imagine how they would feel on Albus, warm from his body . . . she sighed. She doubted she would ever have the opportunity to run her hands over them while he was wearing them, no more than a cursory touch, anyway. When she entered the breakfast room, both her parents were already there, her father drinking his tea with his eyes half-closed, her mother eating a boiled egg, the _Prophet_ sitting folded next to her plate.

“Good morning, Minerva! Sleep well last night?” Egeria asked.

“Very well, actually, although I was a bit disappointed when I woke up to see that it is raining,” Minerva answered, taking a seat.

“Maisie said it will clear up by mid-morning. She predicted rain from the early morning hours until mid-morning, followed by sun and clouds for the remainder of the day. It should be dry enough by late afternoon for a walk in the garden without resorting to _Impervius_ Charms,” her mother answered.

Minerva made no response to that. Weather divination may be more accurate than many other forms of divination, but she wasn’t about to use it to plan her day. She poured herself a cup of tea and contemplated breakfast. There was a large bowl of fruit and a rack of toast on the table. Minerva thought that would be sufficient for the moment. 

They were eating in silence, her mother reading the paper, when Merwyn said, “Looking forward to your friends visiting today, Minerva?”

“Yes, just a bit nervous.”

“Why? It’s all family and friends, after all. And from what your mother has said, it sounds as though we’ll be well-fed,” Merwyn said with a smile. He loved fish. As far as he was concerned, every meal could have fish, and he’d be a content man. As testimony to that, he was now eating kippers, despite the fact that they’d be having three kinds of fish with their tea.

“Yes, but I don’t really know Johannes very well, although he’s very nice, and I think he will enjoy himself. It’s more Gertie. We have become better acquainted over the last few weeks, but I still don’t feel I know her very well; she’s a pure-blood, and even though I haven’t seen any signs of the more disagreeable pure-blood attitudes from her . . .” Minerva shrugged.

“You aren’t embarrassed to have her here, are you?” Egeria asked, puzzled. That didn’t seem like their daughter at all.

“No, not embarrassed. Not exactly. It’s just . . . it could be uncomfortable. For Brennan, for example. From what Melina has said, he hasn’t really spent much time with any wizards apart from her, Murdoch, and her friend Jennie. I don’t know what I think might happen, but if she said something, not thinking . . . I don’t believe she would be deliberately rude. I don’t know. I guess I just don’t know what to expect from her, and that’s why I’m nervous.”

“She’s likely as nervous as you are, Minerva. True, there will be folk here whom she knows, but you have to admit that the McGonagall clan, despite not harbouring the sorts of relatives you described meeting at the Gamps, could be somewhat unconventional, from her point-of-view. On the other hand, even if she is perfectly comfortable outside of the pure-blood world, which seems to me to be the case, she could still be nervous about meeting so many new people,” her mother said.

“Perhaps, but I doubt it,” Minerva answered.

“Well, no doubt she has changed a good deal since she was a girl, but the young witch I remember meeting seemed rather shy and quiet. She may not show it, but I wouldn’t dismiss the notion that Gertrude may be a bit nervous when she first arrives. And if you go to an effort to make her comfortable, even if she isn’t nervous, that will go a long way toward making you comfortable, too,” Egeria said, smiling.

“That’s probably good advice for any occasion, Mother,” Minerva said with a smile. She put her napkin on the table and stood. “I have a few letters to write. I’ll be in my room. Just come get me when you’re ready to go through the attic.”

“Very good, dear. I’ll be up in a little while, then!”

Minerva went back up to her room, sat at the little desk, and took out the deep blue-black ink she had picked up at the stationer’s in Portree the other day. She really only had one letter that she wanted to write that morning. After her bath the night before, she had been too sleepy to put quill to parchment, and she was also afraid that in her relaxed and semi-somnolent state, she would be indiscreet and allow herself to express herself in ways she might later regret. Nonetheless, Minerva felt there was nothing wrong with expressing some warmth and friendship in her letter to him; after all, he had loved her when she was a child and he was clearly still fond of her now, and he missed her company.

_“Sunday, 28 July 1957_

_“Dear Albus,_

_“It is raining here, and I imagine it is raining at Hogwarts, as well. I can just imagine the early morning mist rising up off the loch to meet the falling rain, and the Forbidden Forest, the trees heavy and dark with rain, looking particularly mysterious and alluring in the distance. It would be a good morning to have breakfast with the Hogwarts Headmaster followed by a challenging game of chess, I think. Certainly spending the morning with you would make me forget the rain and gloom outdoors and feel as happy as if the sun were shining and the birds were singing._

_“This morning, however, my plans are quite different. Yesterday, as you may remember I mentioned, I viewed a few flats with Melina. One of them is actually a house, far larger than anything she and Brennan had previously considered, but it is, in Melina’s words, ‘just perfect.’ It actually belongs to Quin – or, more precisely, his son – and he is very willing to make arrangements that would allow them to afford it. Because it seems likely that they will need some furniture to fill such a large house, Mother has asked me to help her in the attic this morning in anticipation that they may want some of the old things that have been in storage up there for years, so I will be spending the rainy morning in a dim and dusty attic rather than in your bright and cheering company. I’m quite happy to help, of course, and sometimes you can find some rather interesting things. Several of the items now decorating my classroom I found in our attic – including the large tapestry, ‘Gwion Bach Learns Wisdom.’_

_“That reminds me of the wonderful present you gave me so many years ago, The Book of Taliesin. That book has meant a great deal to me over the years, and I still enjoy it and continue to discover new things about it. It is certainly one of the most special material gifts, if not the most special one, that I have ever received; the only other present that might rival it is a certain framed photograph I was recently given. I must say, however, that the gift of our acquaintance is the very best present I have ever been given, and every day I am grateful for it and for your continuing presence in my life._

_“I am looking forward to seeing you on Wednesday, and it would be lovely to have lunch with you, if that is still possible. I would also like to have dinner with you one night – perhaps the first night I spend in my new quarters, as a sort of inaugural dinner? It would mean a great deal to me if you were my first dinner guest my first evening in Gryffindor Tower._

_“Thank you very much for your letter yesterday. It came at a very good time and I was very happy to hear from you. I am sorry that you have been so busy this summer and haven’t had very much time to relax. It sounds as though the session of the Wizengamot was particularly tiring. I do hope that you were able to relax yesterday evening as you had planned, however, and that you are able to have your monthly lunch with your brother today. That sounds like a very nice tradition, and one well worth expending some effort to continue._

_“I hope you have a good day, Albus, and I look forward to seeing you._

_“Yours,_

_“Minerva”_

Minerva charmed her new seal at the top of the parchment and reread the letter. Mentioning the very rare and valuable manuscript that Albus had given her when she came of age might help him to accept the expensive gift she had bought him for his birthday, she thought, and it also offered her the opportunity to remind him of all he had done for her over the years they had known each other. It would be easier to offer her thanks to him, and the gift of the robes, she thought, if Albus was already mindful of her gratitude toward him. Minerva smiled at the invitation she had extended. She was fairly sure that her first night in her new quarters would coincide with his birthday, and if not, she would somehow arrange for them to have dinner that evening. Perhaps she could enlist Wilspy’s help. The house-elf did seem to like her.

Minerva felt more optimistic about the future of her relationship with Albus than she ever had, and yet she could find no good reason for it. Suspicious of this hope and trying not to think about it, Minerva rolled up the letter, sealed it, cast a strong _Impervius_ on it, and went off to find Drest to deliver it for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, don't take this story as a source for factual information about the real world, but there is an actual _Book of Taliesin_ dating to around the 13th century in the National Library of Wales.


	92. Expectations and Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus responds immediately to Minerva’s owl, and he agrees to have dinner with her on the first. Minerva prepares for her tea, and the guests begin to arrive. We meet Malcolm, Minerva’s oldest brother and self-described “miscreant.”
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Quin MacAirt, Melina McGonagall, Brennan O'Donald, Murdoch McGonagall, Malcolm McGonagall, Gertrude Gamp, and Orents (house-elf).

**XCII: Expectations and Arrivals**

Albus tried not to indulge the eagerness he felt as he took the letter from the small owl. He had spied the green sealing wax and hoped that Minerva’s initials would be impressed in it. They were. Impatiently, he retrieved a few snacks for the wet little messenger, then sat down and opened the letter. After sending off his own letter the previous morning, Albus worried that he had been too familiar in it, but after her clear disappointment that he was unable to accept her invitation to lunch Monday and his own regret that he hadn’t done so, he had wanted to reassure Minerva that he did, indeed, wish to spend time with her. And he really did miss her, busy though he was. It seemed as though all the empty spaces in his day, every moment between tasks, and each breath of transition were filled with thoughts of her. He missed her and he didn’t seem to be able to escape it anymore. 

Albus waited a moment and collected himself before he read the letter. He smiled at reading its first lines. He could imagine Minerva looking out on the rain falling over the McGonagall cliffs and thinking of him here at Hogwarts . . . of course, she didn’t say she was thinking of him, not directly, but she said it would be a good day to have breakfast with him followed by a game of chess. And if she were writing to him first thing in the morning, she must be thinking of him. . . .

He read the letter slowly, savouring each word, hearing Minerva’s voice in his mind, its gentle burr pleasantly tickling his ear even in his imagination. And when Minerva mentioned the gifts he had given her, his smile grew warmer, and when he read the words expressing her gratitude for his presence in her life, his heart seemed to strengthen in its beating and his magic to rise in a quickened tempo. Albus did not think himself a sentimental man, but he found himself inexplicably filled with the desire to kiss the words on the page. Albus closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. He tried to tell himself that there was no fool like an old fool, and that such thoughts were proof of the adage, but he suppressed that thought at the same time that he subdued the foolishness that gave rise to it. It was all simply an indicator that he was tired and missed her company. 

Albus sighed and reread the paragraph – still smiling, though – and finished the letter. Hmm, if they were to have dinner in Minerva’s quarters her first night in them . . . that would likely be the first, unless she delayed moving. He didn’t really ever celebrate his birthday, not for many years, though he often had a quiet dinner with his brother, or, occasionally, with Gertrude. He had thought he would do the same that year. But it would be nice to have dinner with Minerva on his birthday, even though, of course, she wouldn’t realise the significance of the day. It would nonetheless be a most pleasant way for him to celebrate it, even if it was his own secret celebration. 

He would tell Aberforth that afternoon that he had business on the night of his birthday and would be unable to have dinner with him, if his brother asked. They never did very much for each other’s birthdays; it just seemed after so many years . . . occasionally, one or the other of them would just happen to find something special he thought his brother would especially appreciate, but generally, their gifts were on the range of a bottle of fire whisky or a box of particularly nice pipe tobacco. Of course, there was the year that Albus had given Aberforth his cottage. . . . After finding Valerianna there as he had, Albus could not imagine enjoying the cottage any longer and had given it to his brother. Aberforth had accepted it, but had insisted that Albus take his own small cottage in exchange. 

It had taken Albus a few visits with Wilspy to get rid of the smell of goats that seemed to permeate everything, but otherwise, the smaller cottage suited him quite well. It sat alone on its own little rocky island, spelled to withstand the storms that blew in across the sea, particularly in the winter. It felt snug and comfortable to Albus, and he felt it was better that Aberforth have the other, larger cottage. There was more room for his goats to roam, too, and more foliage for them to munch on. 

Somehow, the isolation and simplicity of his current cottage seemed highly appropriate to Albus. Oddly, although most people found Albus more genial than Aberforth, and Aberforth’s gruffness and bluntness alienated many who met him, Aberforth was actually the far more sociable of the two brothers. Aberforth thrived when he was able to spend time in the company of others, even if he said little, while Albus enjoyed the company of others and could entertain them quite well, but found solitude a more natural state. Perhaps it was more out of habit and use than from character and nature – certainly, as a young man, Albus had been quite sociable, and there was no doubt that he cared for people and liked them, but over the years, his studies, his travel, and his burdens had slowly isolated him, and his duties continued to do so. Now, he found himself happiest in the company of one or two good friends, friends with whom he could be, more or less, himself . . . there were very few such people. Minerva could be one of them, but particularly lately, he feared his own feelings for her, and feared also allowing himself to relax completely around her. There were times, however, when he was with Minerva and he felt as though everything was perfect . . . as though he was perfectly himself. But then he would do something like cast a Glamour on himself, and that feeling would escape him again. . . .

After having disappointed Minerva once already, Albus decided to respond to her letter immediately. The wet, bedraggled little owl whom she had sent with the letter had fallen asleep perched on the corner of his desk, part of a treat still held in his beak. Albus waved his hand to close the window. He’d let the poor little creature sleep and then send him back to Minerva with his response. He set his plumy purple quill to his best parchment and began to write.

* * *

Minerva spent a few warm, sweaty, and dusty hours in the attic with her mother, clearing paths and identifying some nice pieces of furniture that Melina and Brennan might like to take for their new flat, as well as several Persian carpets, rolled up and piled in a dark corner under the eaves. A little house-elf magic and there was a lot of wear left in them, and the colours were still bright and pleasing, Minerva thought.

Her mother had just gone downstairs to fix them a snack and a cool drink while Minerva finished up, when Drest flew in and landed with a perky hoot on top of the wardrobe she had just finished clearing out. Minerva looked up and was pleased to see that there was a letter attached to his leg. He glided down and landed on the back of a broken chair and stretched out his leg obligingly.

“Oh, good Drest! Very good owl,” Minerva said. “You deserve an extra treat. Mother’s down in the kitchen. I am sure she will give you something nice.”

Drest nodded and flew off to find his mistress. As anxious as Minerva was to read the letter, she wanted to read it with clean hands in a more congenial atmosphere than the dimly-lit attic, so she took it downstairs to the second-floor, washed her hands, then settled down on a bench in the hallway. She pulled her glasses from her pocket and put them on, then broke the purple seal and opened the letter.

_“28 July 1957_

_“Dear Minerva,_

_“I was very happy to receive your lovely letter this morning. It certainly cheered me on such a rainy Sunday. Your little owl was really quite wet when he arrived, and after having a few treats, he fell asleep on the corner of my desk, so I thought I would just take advantage of that to send my reply back with him._

_“It would certainly have been pleasant to have had breakfast with you and to have whiled away the morning playing chess and chatting. There has been no one but I in the castle for the last two days – Gertrude will be away until Wednesday, too, and Wilhelmina and Hagrid went somewhere to observe something or other over the weekend. I wasn’t clear what it was they had planned, actually. Very sweet of Wilhelmina to have taken Hagrid under her wing as she has. He will probably miss her when she leaves. Johannes has gone to Germany to see some property. Because I am the only member of staff remaining in the castle, Aberforth will be joining me for lunch here. Fortunately, Wilhelmina will be returning to the castle late tonight, so I will feel somewhat more free to leave the school. To be frank, my dear, it is your presence in the castle that I truly miss. Spending so much time with you over the past few weeks has quite spoiled me, I am afraid! I have hoped that I would not monopolise your time or become a nuisance to you, so I was very glad to read your kind words. It is I who am the fortunate one, Minerva, to have known you and to have had the continued blessing of your presence in my life. I am most grateful for our friendship, my dear, and for your patience with me and forbearance of my myriad foibles._

_“I think it would be lovely to have dinner with you the first evening you spend in your new quarters, and I very much appreciate the honour of being your first guest. I anticipate that you should be able to move into them on the first, if that suits your own schedule, of course. But I can begin to initiate the changes on Wednesday during the afternoon and complete them overnight with the help of the house-elves. I will look forward to dining with you that evening, my dear!_

_“I hope that you enjoy your tea with Gertrude and your family and friends this afternoon, though I have no doubt that it will go very well. I look forward to hearing from you about it._

_“Take care, my dear, and I will see you soon._

_“Yours,_

_“Albus”_

The sunshine that was now streaming in through the large windows on the landing between the second and first floors couldn’t cheer her more than the letter from Albus did. And he had agreed to dinner, and it would be on the first! He hadn’t mentioned his birthday, but given that she had never known nor, oddly enough, now that she considered it, ever thought to ask when it was, she assumed that he normally celebrated quietly, if at all. Mentioning it now, so close to his birthday, might be perceived as a desire on his part to have her recognise it, and Minerva knew that Albus would not want to appear to be grasping or self-centred. Minerva grinned happily. He would be even more surprised now, thinking that it was just a simple dinner to celebrate her first night in her new quarters, to find that it was a birthday dinner for him. Oh, how she loved that wizard! And she would show him that night how much she did – though she would not reveal the precise nature of her love for him, of course. But she _did_ love Albus, and she had good reason to, after all the years they had known each other and all they had experienced together. From her private tutorials with him to her magical accident, from her work on the wards with him to saving him that time in France – that had all formed a strong foundation for the friendship that had grown over the years and that had recently blossomed so strongly. She could only hope that this blossoming friendship was sturdy and not short-lived. No, it wouldn’t be. It would be more than perennial, it would be evergreen, just as the ivy and the yew were; in that moment, Minerva was sure of it. And humming happily, Minerva ran down the stairs to find her mother and the snack she had prepared for them.

* * *

At quarter to three, Murdoch flashed through the Floo, startling Minerva, who was reading through the pamphlet on how to open the Floo to any visitors who wanted to come through.

“You’re early!” she said, surprised.

“Don’t sound so happy to see me, then, M’nervy, or I may just leave and return to hear your overjoyed greeting once more!” Murdoch answered before giving her a big hug.

Minerva pushed her way out of his embrace. “I’m trying to figure out how to open the Floo,” she said crossly. “These instructions were written by morons. They make absolutely no sense whatsoever.”

“Here, let me show you,” Murdoch said. With a few taps to the mantle and a couple of words, followed by a small sprinkle of Floo-Powder and one more tap, Murdoch had opened the Floo. “To set it back, do the same in reverse, but end with ‘ _cludo_ ’ instead of ‘ _pateo_ ’ and it will revert to its default settings tuned to the Antiapparition wards.”

“Thanks. That was simple enough. I don’t know why they take five pages of bad directions to try to explain it.”

“That’s your Ministry,” Murdoch said, grinning. “Melina, Brennan, and Quin will be Flooing through in a few minutes. I told them I would make sure it was open for them first. That’s a nice house he has for them.”

“You saw it, then?”

“We thought it would make sense since we were all coming here to tea, and Melina wanted my opinion of it, anyway. She and Brennan are probably going to take it, but she wants Dad to look at the lease first, make sure they aren’t promising away their first-born or something like that,” Murdoch said with a chuckle.

“So it will be a magical lease?” Minerva asked.

“Yes, but with a clause that will allow Brennan to pay the rent in pounds rather than Galleons should anything happen to Melina and that will permit him to break the lease early under the same circumstances. She was most insistent on that.”

“I told her that in the unlikely event that anything happens to her, we would look after him.”

“I know,” Murdoch replied, “but I see her point. He shouldn’t be so completely reliant on us if anything were to happen to her – it would be fine as a stop-gap measure, but he’s an adult, and it would be difficult for him to have to be reduced to dependency on us. He does have his pride, and it is also simply pragmatic.”

Minerva nodded. “You’re right, of course, and I am glad she is considering the practical implications of the marriage. But I hope that Brennan knows we see him as a member of the family now, and that he can come to any of us just as he would his own family, or just as Melina would.”

“I think he will,” Murdoch said. “That Quin is an amusing chap. I liked him. Mind you, I think he has more than two Galleons to rub together, but he seems down-to-earth despite that. He and Brennan struck it off well, too.”

Minerva was about to respond to Murdoch’s comments when the Floo flared bright green and the wizard himself stepped through lightly, brushing himself off.

“Good afternoon, Minerva!” Quin said with a smile, then giving a friendly nod to Murdoch. “Brennan will be through next. I went first to provide an additional demonstration and to make sure that the Floo was open to guests. If I bounced to a different Floo, I would be less flustered than Brennan would be on his first trip.”

It was only a few more moments before the Floo went green again and a rather dizzy Brennan stepped through. Quin held out his right hand as if to shake Brennan’s and discreetly helped him out of the fireplace and over to a nearby chair. A moment later, Melina appeared.

“Oh, good! Very good, Brennan! Did you like it? Was it all right?” she asked, fussing over him and brushing non-existent ash from his hair.

“I’m fine, love! It was . . . different. Better than Apparating, anyway,” he said, and Minerva thought he turned slightly green at the mere thought of Apparition.

“We’ll have Grandpa add you to the wards.” She turned to Minerva as if noticing her for the first time. “He can do that, can’t he? So Brennan can Floo through at any time? It doesn’t matter than he’s not a wizard, does it?”

“I don’t know . . . the wards are tuned to our magical signatures. Since he doesn’t have one, and doesn’t Apparate, I don’t know if the wards would even keep him out in the first place.” Minerva furrowed her brow. “It’s not the sort of problem that I’ve dealt with before. You know, I think that if anyone would have an answer to it, it would be Dumbledore. I will ask him about it.”

Just then, there was a crack of Apparition from the front of the house.

“That’s likely either Malcolm or Poppy. I want to stay here in case Gertrude or Johannes comes through. Melina, would you mind?” Minerva asked.

“No, not at all. Come on, Bren, you can meet my crazy uncle. Or Poppy, if it is her – you would like her, I know it. She’s a fellow Hufflepuff.” Melina kept up her chatter as she pulled Brennan out the library door; he was looking around, apparently looking for some sign that he was in a wizarding house.

Quin laughed. “Reminds me of Aileen, she does! Could talk the ear off an elephant!”

“She’d have to be able to hold her own with you around, Quin!” Minerva said. 

“You’re right there, Minerva. But how have you been keepin’?”

Minerva snorted. “You just saw me yesterday, Quin. No disasters or miracles between then and now, so I’d say I’m about the same. Murdoch tells me that it looks as though Melina and Brennan will be taking the place.”

Quin smiled at Murdoch. “Your approval was, I think, the deciding factor there.”

“As long as my father doesn’t find any peculiarities in the contract, I do approve of it,” Murdoch said. “It is perfectly situated, more than sufficient room for the two of them and any children they may have – hopefully far in the future; I’m not ready to be a grandfather yet – and it has both wizarding and Muggle amenities. I could find nothing wrong with it at all – except the lack of a cooker, but Melina said she’d prefer to find something herself, anyway.”

“Listen, why don’t we all sit down and wait – unless you’d like to look around the library at the books, Quin,” Minerva said, having noticed the way Quin’s eyes kept straying to the shelves.

“May I?” Quin asked, eyes lighting up like a child’s. Without waiting for an answer, he made a beeline for the shelves containing books on the history of magical theory, which Minerva thought was an odd choice for a “hedge wizard.”

“You know, I’m going to go see where the others are,” Murdoch said, “then go hunt up Dad.” He turned to Quin, who was pulling a book from the shelf. “Have that lease, Quin?”

“No, I gave it to Brennan back at the house after you left.”

Murdoch nodded. “See you later, then.”

As soon as he left, Quin turned to Minerva. “So?”

“What?”

“So . . . have you put any plans in motion? Thought more about . . . you know?” Quin sat down on the couch next to Minerva, looking like an expectant puppy.

Minerva sighed, but answered him, speaking in a low voice. “I did write and ask him to have dinner with me in my quarters on his birthday – but I didn’t mention his birthday, I just told him it would be in honour of my first evening in my new quarters. He wrote back immediately and accepted.” Minerva couldn’t help but smile at the memory of Albus’s sweet letter.

“Well, that’s grand! And it will definitely be on the first – not some other night?”

“Yes, he even mentioned the date.”

“That’s a very good sign – that he’d want to spend the evening of his birthday with you!” Quin clapped her on the shoulder and grinned. “Good job, Minerva! Very good! If he doesn’t already view you as more than a friend, you will change that soon, I am sure of it.”

“Hush! I don’t want to count on anything, Quin – I am just very happy we are becoming good friends. That is enough for now.”

“Yes, yes, of course it is, love.” Quin’s grin didn’t fade, though.

There was a crack of Apparition from the front hall, and a moment later, a tall, slim wizard with shaggy, greying dark auburn hair, a short beard and moustache, and greenish grey eyes stepped into the library, a tweed jacket slung over one shoulder. He casually wore a blue shirt, open at the collar, with brown trousers and striped braces.

“Minerva! Hope I’m on time. I forgot whether it was for lunch or for tea and I couldn’t find your letter, then I decided it must have been tea and just hoped I was right, since I was in the fens this morning and wouldn’t have had time for a bath before lunch!” He turned to Quin, who had stood, and stuck out his hand. “Hello! You must be a friend of Minerva’s from Hogwarts. I’m Malcolm.”

The two wizards shook hands, and Quin said, “I am a friend o’ Minerva’s, but not from Hogwarts – never set foot on that hallowed ground, though your sister says that will change. Promised me a tour, she did.”

“Irish, are ya? Where from? Spent some time on that fair island, m’self!” Malcolm asked.

The two men began talking about various areas of Ireland that they had both visited and loved, and Malcolm fell into his old unconscious habit of mirroring the speech of the person he was with. Soon, the two wizards were speaking in an incomprehensible mix of Irish English and Gaelic, and Minerva gave up trying to follow the conversation at all. Instead, she gazed into the empty hearth, only half in anticipation of Johannes and Gertrude’s arrival, but wondering where Albus was at that moment and what he was doing, whether his brother had come to lunch and whether he had departed the castle already, leaving Albus alone in the deserted school . . . of course, Albus probably had a lot of work to do. It seemed that no matter how much work he did, there was always more waiting for him. At least she had been able to take the business of going through the applications for Wilhelmina’s position off his shoulders. He could have asked Gertrude to do it, or even Wilhelmina, for that matter, but he had asked her. Albus had faith in her ability to help him. And soon, she would be able to help him more as Head of Gryffindor. And they would become even closer friends. And if Quin were right – but she couldn’t think about that. She was simply happy that they were becoming such good friends and he had faith and trust in her.

Minerva was smiling, then, when the fireplace flared up and Gertrude stepped through quickly.

Minerva stood, as did the two wizards, and greeted the older witch. “Good afternoon, Gertrude! I am so happy you could come.” And so bright was her mood after thinking about Albus that her happiness shone through in her smile, and Gertrude returned it warmly.

“Thank you very much for inviting me, Minerva,” she said, shaking Minerva’s outstretched hand.

“May I introduce my brother, Malcolm McGonagall.” Minerva turned to her brother, almost holding her breath and hoping that he wouldn’t do or say anything terribly peculiar right away. “Malcolm, this is a colleague of mine, Professor Gamp. She is the Arithmancy teacher and the Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts.”

Malcolm flashed a bright smile, took Gertrude’s offered hand and shook it. “Pleased t’ meet you, Professor Gamp of Hogwarts!” He met her eyes, still smiling, and said, “And I see that you have been climbing about on rocks recently – likely . . . serpentine? And this appears a habitual activity of yours, at least when you’re not being Professor Gamp of Hogwarts!”

“Oh, Malcolm, would you please!” Minerva said in exasperation. “I hate to have to apologise for you within the first minute of someone’s acquaintance with you!”

Gertrude interrupted her with a short, barked laugh. “No apology necessary. He is certainly more entertaining than the relatives I have to apologise for. And yes, I have been out today for a bit of a clamber.” She looked at Malcolm appraisingly. “But where do you get that from, or the idea that I was anywhere near any serpentine rock?”

“You’re wearing the same shoes you wore this morning, and the dust has distinctive characteristics. I could have been wrong, but judging from your trace of an accent, I presumed you were originally from Cornwall. Being that it’s now summer, I presumed you were not at the school – and I know from my own experience there that the dust on one’s shoes is quite different after climbing about those hills,” he said with a roguish grin, “and it didn’t look like granite, so I presumed serpentine rock. And as for the habit . . . well, you didn’t wear gloves.” He took her hand again and turned it over, stroking the palm. “You have a few slight scrapes and a single broken nail, nicely filed down since, but you also have some callouses, and unless Arithmancy is much changed since I was in school, which wouldn’t be a bad thing, you didn’t get the callouses or the scrapes working out a particularly thorny Arithmantic calculation. I assume you enjoy these outdoor activities on a regular basis, partly because of the callouses and partly because you used neither gloves nor charms to protect your hands. However,” Malcolm added, looking back up into Gertie’s eyes, “you should use a potion on them afterwards. A nice balm. Something to soothe but that won’t interfere with your callouses. I have just the thing for it.”

Minerva was on tenterhooks. Gertrude was not a person who allowed strangers to hold her hand for minutes on end. Remembering her mother’s advice about making her guest comfortable, she took her brother’s elbow, which caused him to drop Gertrude’s hand. 

“That’s all very interesting, Malcolm, but we can talk about potions when we find Murdoch. What could have happened to them? I’m sorry, Gertrude, but I sent my niece and her fiancé off to meet Poppy several minutes ago, and they haven’t come back in, nor has Murdoch, who went after them.” She turned back to Malcolm. “Would you mind hunting them down, Malcolm, since you seem to do that so well?” she asked with a smirk.

“No hunting involved. They must be in the herb garden. Probably with Mother,” Malcolm answered.

“Well, go look there, if you want, but look out front, first; that’s where Poppy arrived. They may be out there waiting for you,” Minerva answered.

“Right, whatever you say, little sister,” Malcolm said with an indulgent smile. “But first, may I say that I haven’t seen you looking so radiant in a very long time. Your holiday must be doing you good.” He reached out and squeezed her shoulder affectionately. “Come with me, then, Professor Gamp of Hogwarts?” he said, pivoting toward Gertrude.

“‘Gertrude,’ Mr McGonagall. ‘Professor Gamp of Hogwarts’ takes too much breath,” the older witch replied with a wry smile.

Malcolm nodded sharply. “Then you know how you must address me – ”

Without missing a beat, Gertrude said, “Fen-walker?”

Malcolm laughed. “You beat me at my own game!”

“It’s scarcely a game for a Slytherin,” Gertrude said, taking his offered arm as Minerva looked on. 

“Hmm, a Slytherin,” he replied speculatively.

“But – Johannes will be Flooing through shortly – ” Minerva interrupted.

“Oh, is he coming? Lovely, Minerva,” Gertrude answered. “I look forward to seeing him and asking how the Jarvey is doing.”

“Jarvey?” Malcolm asked as he led the older witch out the door.

“So, that is your crazy brother? I quite like him,” Quin said. 

“You would,” Minerva grumbled. “At least I’m not a teenager whom he can embarrass any more. Well, he still embarrasses me, but he doesn’t mortify me. I’m just surprised that Gertrude put up with his nonsense.”

Quin chuckled. “You mean his little Sherlock Holmes act?”

“Hmmpf. Now he’ll be telling all his outrageous tales of vampires and Hinkypunks and Nundus and who-knows-what all! I just hope he doesn’t tell the one about the ‘Great Niffler Invasion of Wizarding Venice,’” Minerva said with a distressed frown. 

Quin tried not to smile. “The Niffler invasion of Venice?” he asked, puzzled.

“Mmm . . . ever heard of the Pied Piper of Hamlin? Malcolm has this story he tells of how he saved wizarding Venice from an infestation of Nifflers that was beginning to spread into Muggle Venice – even endangering St. Marks, from what he says – and he makes it sound like he was the Pied Piper of Hamlin, except that the Venetians paid him off and he didn’t steal their children. Not that he would have!” Minerva added hastily. “But he’s got all these . . . these _tales_ and they’re no more than fairy tales, or exaggerations, at any rate.” Her shoulders slumped. “I shouldn’t have invited him, but I don’t know, I was worried that conversation might get stiff and dull, and he _can_ be entertaining. . . .”

“Ah, Gertie’s quite capable, she is, an’ she’s put up with me for more than a dozen years. I think she can bear up under a couple hours with your brother!” Quin reassured her. “And I found him interestin’, meself.”

“But nothing’s going as I planned, Quin! Nothing! Everybody’s scattered; I don’t know where Murdoch’s disappeared to, you’re supposed to be meeting . . . well, meeting my family and friends, and you’re stuck in here keeping me company, and I wanted Johannes to have time to spend with Gertrude, but now Malcolm has dragged her off to find Melina, who was supposed to be showing Brennan the house and introducing him to everyone, and Poppy, I don’t even know where Poppy is!”

“Calm yourself, love! Johannes will likely be arrivin’ shortly, we can find everyone, and we can have a nice afternoon. You should just let people be enjoyin’ themselves as they like. You have a nice family, from what I’ve seen. Murdoch and the others have likely gone off to find your father, have him look at the lease, test it for unwarranted charms and the like. Poppy’s probably with them. Let’s just relax here and wait for the gardener, hmm?”

“He’s not a gardener, Quin, he’s an Herbologist!”

Quin smiled slightly and looked away. “Ah, that was what I called me Aileen. She was even more than an Herbologist, but so much still a gardener. Like an artist, she was. So I didn’t mean it amiss, quite the opposite.”

“Oh, all right. As long as Johannes won’t mind . . .”

“Well, I’d hardly address him that way, now, would I? Come, love, I’ll be on me best behaviour. You can count on me today, at least. What would you like me to do?”

“Just keep me company, I suppose, as you are doing. I can’t very well ask you to wander about a strange house and find my friends and relatives whom you don’t even know.” Minerva slumped onto the sofa and bent her head and rested her forehead in her hands. “Although if you had some Headache Potion in your pocket, I would not be unhappy about it.”

“Haven’t any potions of any sort. Gettin’ a headache?” Quin asked.

“Yes,” she answered with a sigh. “But it’ll have to wait.”

“I can wait here for Johannes, if you like. He knows me. ’Twouldn’t be rude of you just t’ step out for a moment, fetch yourself a potion.”

“No, no, I’ll be fine. I’ll just call Orents for some water – would you like anything?”

“I’m fine. Who’s Orents?”

“House-elf,” Minerva answered before calling out the house-elf’s name. A moment later, Orents popped into the room, wearing his most spiffy, stitched-together tartan tea towels.

“Yes, Miss Minerva? Tea preparations goes as requested, Miss Minerva. Everything be’s ready for four o’clock sharp!”

“Thank you, Orents. I had every confidence that it would be. Could you bring me a glass of water, though?”

“I is happy to, Miss Minerva. You needs anything else?”

“Orents,” Quin said, “your mistress has a headache. Do you have any Headache Potion?”

“Yes, sir, um, sir.” Orents looked over at Minerva.

“This is Mr MacAirt, Orents. And yes, you may fetch me a Headache Potion,” Minerva said with some resignation.

After the house-elf had disappeared to get the water and Headache Potion, Minerva turned to Quin and said irritably, “I could have asked for potion myself, Quin, had I wanted it.”

“It won’t hurt you, love, and you look as though you need it. You were perfectly relaxed and happy until Gertrude arrived, and now you’ve got yourself all tensed up.”

“Hmmpf,” Minerva grunted as she closed her eyes and massaged her temples.

“Sorry if this is an ignorant question from a mere hedge wizard, love, but . . . your house-elf, was he wearing clothes?” Quin asked, puzzled.

“No. Mother insists they dress decently, though, and has convinced them that if they sew together their tea towels and what-not themselves, they aren’t clothes.” Minerva giggled slightly and looked over at Quin. “You should see the things they wear in the winter. Mother knits these woolen squares and calls them, of all things, doilies, though no one could ever use them as such, and she leaves them for Fwisky to make into winter outfits, but then Mother worried about their little arms getting cold, so she started knitting tubes, sort of like footless socks, and claims they’re for wrapping silverware in when packing picnics.” Minerva laughed again. “Anyway, Mother knits these things in a few different colours, and always enough of each so that they could make solid-coloured outfits, but Fwisky always mixes the pieces so they are never dressed in fewer than four colours. It can sometimes be dizzying to look at them.”

“You were right; the McGonagalls certainly aren’t the Gamps,” Quin said with a smile.

Orents popped back into the library, a small vial of Headache Potion floating to his left and a glass of water on his right. He popped away as soon as Minerva took them from him. She swallowed down the potion then drank some water.

“Better?” Quin asked.

Minerva smiled. “Yes, Quin. Better. You were right. Thank you.”

“Well, it was Headache Potion or a neck massage, and we haven’t time for that, since Johannes should be Flooing through at any time,” he said with a grin.

“Mmm.” Minerva just rolled her eyes. “So, Melina and Brennan, do you think they’ll be happy in the house? What are the lease terms like?”

“I think they could be happy in the house, if they are t’ be happy anywhere. An’ the lease terms are standard. Wizarding, as you know, though I did give them the option of a Muggle lease, instead. ’Tis a two-year lease, which was agreeable to all of us. I’m thinkin’ personally, though, of offerin’ it for sale before then – just to them, Minerva! Not out from under ’em. I haven’t mentioned it yet, since it seems they have enough to be gettin’ on with at the moment.”

“Mmm. That sounds about right,” Minerva agreed, thinking of Brennan’s recent introduction to the wizarding world and Melina’s own nervousness. Not the most propitious time for them to be considering purchasing a house.

The fireplace glowed green, and with a whoosh, Johannes Flooed through. He stepped out into the library, his arms full of some large green, flowering plant. With a smile, Minerva stood to greet him. The party was now complete . . . if she could find everyone.


	93. Tea Party on the Ceiling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva’s guests have all arrived, and her tea party gets started, though it doesn’t go precisely as she had planned. Malcolm entertains with his stories. 
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey, Malcolm McGonagall, Quin MacAirt, Gertrude Gamp, Egeria Egidius, Brennan O'Donald, Melina McGonagall, and others.

**XCIII: Tea Party on the Ceiling**

With so many guests for tea, Minerva had planned to have them eat in the dining room, rather than more casually in the library or sitting room. Minerva had had an idea for seating arrangements around the dining table, but she saw immediately that her plans would need to be discarded. Short of interrupting everyone’s conversations and dictating where they should go and where they were to sit, she couldn’t think of a graceful way of procuring everyone’s cooperation. So she proceeded everyone into the house and asked Orents to arrange everything the library, which was larger than the sitting room; everyone should be quite comfortable in there, she thought. And after what Quin had said earlier about just letting everyone enjoy themselves, Minerva had decided to try to do just that. It was far more sensible; after all, she hadn’t invited them all here just for her own amusement, and as she’d told Quin, the McGonagalls weren’t the Gamps, and this wasn’t a formal dinner. She did want them to enjoy themselves. It would be nice to be able to have a few minutes with Gertie, but she wasn’t entirely sure how she could broach the one subject that was on her mind – whether Gertrude and the Headmaster were involved.

She, Quin, and Johannes had found Melina and Brennan in Merwyn’s study with her father, examining the lease. Melina informed them that Murdoch had brought Poppy around to look at the herb garden and said she hadn’t seen Malcolm and Gertrude at all. After securing their promises to be in time for tea, Minerva led her other two guests out to the kitchen garden, as Egeria called it, and found Malcolm, Murdoch, Poppy, and Gertrude sitting with her mother, sipping lemonade. Someone must have conjured a few more garden chairs, since there were usually only two on the small slate terrace that adjoined the garden. Minerva wondered that her mother hadn’t relocated them all to the gazebo at the lower end of the flower garden, but they looked comfortable enough. Unusually, Malcolm wasn’t holding forth, but had deferred to his youngest brother, who was describing some incident on McTavish Street that had resulted in a visit from a couple witches from Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.

As Minerva, Johannes, and Quin approached, her brothers stood, and Minerva made introductions. Malcolm obligingly waved his wand and added a few more square feet of slate and conjured up three more chairs. Egeria invited Johannes to come sit beside her, and the two began to discuss some of the difficulties she was having with a few of her plants. Minerva was happy to see the two of them engrossed in conversation, but would have been happier if Johannes had been sitting beside Gertrude instead of between Murdoch and her mother. She was grateful, however, that Quin and Malcolm didn’t feel compelled to resume their previous incomprehensible conversation, perhaps because Gertrude was there. 

Quin bent and gave Gertrude a fond kiss before taking the seat on the other side of Malcolm, saying, “Didn’t want you t’ be thinkin’ I was neglectin’, you, Gertie, but this wizard had you out the door before I could greet you proper.”

“Don’t I get a proper greeting, too, mate?” Malcolm asked with a devilish grin.

“You didn’t change me babies’ nappies an’ stay up wit’ me night an’ day for weeks after their mother died. Do that, an’ I might consider it,” Quin said, settling into his chair.

“Sounds like I missed a once in a lifetime opportunity there. May have to consider another way to earn your regard, then,” Malcolm said, still smiling.

“Malcolm, that’s enough – it sounds as though you’re wishing him ill just so you can” – Minerva curled her lip in distaste, – “‘earn his regard.’”

A peculiar expression crossed her brother’s face, then he said, “Of course not.” He turned to Quin. “Sorry if –”

Quin just held up his hand, remarked that he hadn’t taken it amiss, then changed the subject.

Minerva was slightly surprised to learn that Malcolm had known Gertrude’s brother and, in fact, had worked with him during the war. She had never known what tales of her brother’s to credit and what was hyperbole, to put it politely, although she had been aware that Malcolm had spent time in Europe during the war with Grindelwald and had “done his bit,” as he put it. Malcolm rarely spoke much of what he had done during that time, though, and Minerva didn’t know whether that meant that he hadn’t done very much, that he didn’t want to talk about it, or that what he had done didn’t lend itself to the sort of tales he liked to spin about his adventures. One of the few things Malcolm ever mentioned from that time was his part in the rescue of some Muggles, and he only talked about that when he was angry with the Ministry about something, since, at the time, the Ministry had taken him to task for his role in the rescue and, as Minerva only learned many years later, he very nearly was sent to Azkaban for breaking myriad secrecy laws.

“It was a shame, what happened to him. It was needless . . .” Malcolm shook his head, thinking of Gertrude’s brother. “And people wonder why I have no confidence in the Ministry.”

“I don’t understand. What has the Ministry to do with it?” Minerva asked.

Malcolm cast a questioning glance at Gertrude, and when she gave a slight nod, he said, “Because they knew about the raid, and at the last minute, they pulled out the four most senior Aurors for some official duty. That cut their number almost in half. It was too late to let the Resistence know, the Ministry said afterwards. The other two Aurors went ahead, hoping to stop the three volunteers, but instead, all five of them ended up in an ambush, outnumbered two to one.” His jaw tightened. “Someone had either informed the Ministry that it was a trap, and so the Ministry pulled their Aurors out but didn’t bother telling the volunteers, or they had an informant in the Ministry who told Grindelwald the plans and how few there would be now that the more experienced Aurors had been reassigned. Either way, they were murderers. And that’s why nothing I did ever relied on the Ministry or their people and why the Ministry didn’t care for me much, either.” He turned to Quin, cocking his head and looking the wizard over. “Were you involved? I don’t recognise you, and I am sure I would remember you if I had seen you even once – but if you worked for the Ministry, I probably wouldn’t have met you, anyway. And if so, no offense. I’m sure there were some competent individuals.” Malcolm didn’t sound convinced by his own statement, but at least he was trying not to be insulting to her guests, Minerva thought.

“The British Ministry and I have never been great friends, but I also can’t claim to have done as you did, though I did work in spite o’ them.” Quin shrugged. “You might say I went Muggle back then, though I wouldn’t put it that way meself. But that’s a story for another time, and a very short and boring story it is, too.”

“Come on, Quin, you can’t just say that! What do you mean, you ‘went Muggle’?” Minerva asked.

Quin shifted in his chair and looked slightly uncomfortable.

“It’s all right, mate – little sister is curious about everything. Don’t answer if you don’t want to. We couldn’t all be miscreants, popping about the countryside, bedevilling Grindelwald and tweaking the Ministry at the same time. Though I do admit to being somewhat curious about the ‘Muggle’ aspect, myself, sounds exciting,” Malcolm said with a dark grin. “I’ve tried to blend in from time to time, but don’t manage as well as I’d like. Maybe you could teach me a thing or two.”

“I mean that I worked as a Muggle, Minerva,” Quin said, avoiding Malcolm’s gaze. “It was one o’ me first encounters with your Ministry, in fact, and not a pleasant one. Didn’t get us off on a good footing, and don’t know as it ever got any better.” Seeing that Minerva was even more curious, he continued, “The Irish Ministry gave me some nice Muggle credentials – me education, occupation, and all – made me a respectable Muggle, and I came over here and volunteered me services. It was forty-one. Things looked bad, and I thought I could help. Some folk . . . gave me a hard time, I s’pose you might say, me bein’ Irish, but I held me own, and it was good honest prejudice that didn’t pretend to be anythin’ pretty, and they got over it when they got to know me, or else they didn’t and, well,” he said with a shrug, “I had to resort to some other Muggle methods to convince ’em t’ leave me be, shall we say. Your Ministry, though, they took exception to me workin’ for the Muggles, and if the Irish ambassador hadn’t stepped in, I’m not sure they wouldn’ta snapped me wand and sent me to that prison o’ yours. But, long story short, they left me alone but warned me not to use me wand in me Muggle work – as if I were that bleedin’ daft – and I got on with it.”

“But what did you _do_ , Quin?” Minerva had never seen Quin blush before, but he did then, and she suddenly felt guilty for pressing him. “Of course, if you’d rather not say . . . I’m sorry, I shouldn’t press you.”

“You’ll be thinkin’ I was up to mischief now, if I don’t tell you.” Quin sighed and glanced over at Gertrude, who was looking at him with a bemused but fond expression. “’Tis nothin’ t’ be ashamed of. I joined the RAF – and I didn’t fly planes or shoot people or drop bombs. Nothin’ glamourous or heroic. ’Twas procurement. Parts and such. I learned a lot I could use later in me businesses, and it was tedious sometimes, but I did me best.”

“Quin is being modest,” Gertrude said, speaking for the first time. “He became quite important to the Muggles, and they promoted him several times.”

“Better you than me, mate,” Malcolm said, clapping his shoulder and smiling at him engagingly. “I’d sooner stare down a Nundu than even think about that job for more than a minute, but that’s me.”

Quin laughed at that and turned back to Malcolm. “So you’re saying it’s literally deadly dull, then? Or do you know some trick about Nundus that has escaped the rest of the wizarding world?”

Minerva squelched a groan as Malcolm began regaling Quin with the tale of an alleged encounter he’d had with a Nundu somewhere in Africa, and turned to Gertrude, thinking to ask her about the warding and then use that as an excuse to ask her something about Albus, but it seemed that Malcolm had created a captive audience, and even Murdoch and Poppy had stopped their debate about the merits of some new Charmed potion to listen to his outrageous story. Minerva was too far from Johannes and her mother to join their conversation, though since they were discussing something to do with the herb garden, she likely couldn’t contribute much, anyway. Instead, she found herself covertly watching Gertrude. From what Quin had implied yesterday, when he spoke of Hogwarts and Gertrude not holding a candle to her, Minerva thought that Quin didn’t believe that Albus and Gertrude were romantically involved. On the other hand, Quin had once told her that he couldn’t read Gertrude very well that way, so it wasn’t as though it was any more than a surmise on his part. It was still possible that the two were involved, or at least, that they had feelings for each other. Or that she had feelings for Albus.

Minerva swallowed. If they were actually involved . . . no matter how hard it was, or how much it hurt, she would not do anything to come between them. But, if they weren’t involved, regardless of their feelings for one another, or Gertie’s for him . . . she still wouldn’t do anything, Minerva thought with a sigh. How could she? Quin had been encouraging, but he wasn’t the one who would have to live with the consequences when Albus rejected her. Albus would let her down gently, Minerva was sure, but their friendship would never be the same, and it would hurt even more than it did now. In that moment, Minerva thought of the letter she had written him that morning. Thankfully, Albus had already responded and had not seemed to find her sentimentality unusual. But perhaps he was being kind, or it could be he simply didn’t notice her warmer-than-usual tone, taking it as merely an expression of her usual friendly regard for him. That was likely it: he simply hadn’t noticed.

“Minerva?”

“Hmm? What? I’m sorry, Mother, I didn’t hear what you said,” Minerva answered.

“I was just asking whether it wasn’t time for us to make our way inside,” Egeria said.

Minerva smiled. “Of course, I’m sorry.” Minerva stood. “Melina and Brennan are with Dad in his study. They said they would come along, so I think we can all go in shortly. I will just check with Fwisky, and if everything is ready, I’ll send Orents for you. I think perhaps we would be more comfortable in the library, as you had suggested, than in the dining room.”

Egeria smiled. “That’s fine, sweetheart.”

She had been determined to take Quin’s advice just to let everyone enjoy themselves, and her mother’s, to make her guests comfortable, but now that they were in the library having tea, Minerva felt as though moving it from the dining room had been a mistake. At first, everyone had sat around the low table, Minerva had poured tea for everyone while her mother explained the various foods set out on platters, and they had all chatted together as they began to fill their plates. Malcolm had teasingly asked whether their father had planned the menu, since it featured three kinds of fish, but everyone, fortunately, seemed to like the food, even Johannes, who declared the Tobermory smoked trout “lecker” and avoided the cress and cucumber sandwiches in preference for the delicious fish. 

Although Minerva had given up on the idea of providing an opportunity for Johannes to spend time with Gertrude, she was still fixated on having a moment to speak with the older witch, and she found herself annoyed that Malcolm should pick this particular day to try to behave the gentleman. In addition to guiding Gertrude to a seat on the sofa, Malcolm had taken it upon himself to assist her in preparing her plate, then he sat next to her and did a fine job of feigning interest in whatever it was she was talking about – something about Cornwall, though Minerva hadn’t heard the beginning of the conversation. Then her father, who knew very well that she had hoped that Quin and Poppy would hit it off, had started a conversation with the Irish wizard about early Welsh and Irish spell-forms and the differences between the language of incantations and ordinary communication, and Poppy was stuck with Murdoch, discussing something about mediwizardry. Minerva sighed and turned to join the conversation that Melina was having with Egeria. Brennan was quizzing a very patient Johannes about Herbology and magical plants, so Egeria was taking the opportunity to tell Melina about their rummages in the attic that morning.

At least she was sitting in the chair nearest Gertrude; when Malcolm grew tired of talking to the Arithmancy teacher, she could catch a word with her. Minerva had just finished telling Melina about the Persian carpets she had found when she was startled by the most extraordinary sound. 

Minerva looked over at Gertrude. The older witch was laughing – laughing heartily, not one of her usual short, clipped barks or mild chuckles. Minerva didn’t believe she had ever heard the woman laugh before. Malcolm was leaning back, legs stretched out, ankles crossed, grinning and stroking his short beard, pleased with himself. Quin, sitting on the other side of the table, looked over at Gertrude and smiled broadly.

After Gertrude’s laughter had subsided to a mere chuckle and she had removed her glasses to wipe her eyes, Quin said, “Well, boyo, you’ll have to share that with the rest of us if whatever it was could make Gertrude laugh like that.”

Malcolm just flashed a smile at Quin and winked at Gertrude. “I think I’ll let you speculate about that. It probably would lose something now, anyway, since you are expecting it to be funny.”

A few minutes later, when Malcolm turned to help himself to an oat cake and some caboc and then became drawn into a conversation with Poppy and his brother, Minerva finally found the opportunity to speak with Gertrude.

“Did you have a nice time in Amsterdam, Gertrude?”

“Yes, quite, thank you. I understand that I would have seen your mother and father tomorrow had I stayed.”

“Mother mentioned that they would be going over on Monday. How is Thea?”

“She’s doing very well, and religiously performing the magical exercises that your mother prescribed for her. She is very happy that she isn’t bound to her bed any longer, although she is still taking it easy and not going out. Her regular Healer was dismayed to find her out of bed and in the sitting room sipping broth and participating in lively conversation. But he admitted that she seemed to be doing well.” Gertrude sighed and looked pensive. “Of course, she had seemed well enough up until she miscarried each time, too, but she had also done strict bed rest for the past two pregnancies, and that had made no difference.”

“Well, I’m glad that Thea is at least feeling well, and it must be a relief not to be confined to her bed. I don’t think I could bear that, myself,” Minerva replied. “Mother didn’t really say much, except that she thought she could help her. If you don’t mind my asking, and if you know, of course, was Mother able to determine anything that the other Healers hadn’t, or has she simply been able to prescribe an alternative treatment?”

“I don’t know the details, but apparently your Mother performed some diagnostics that the other Healers hadn’t, and it appears that there is a rare condition that is . . . afflicting Thea and her child.” Gertrude frowned, her brow wrinkling. “It’s not a disease, from what I understand, but some type of unusual interaction between Thea’s magic and the baby’s. Apparently, each of the children she has conceived has triggered some sort of reaction in Thea’s magic, and with each pregnancy, the effect has increased. Thea said that Egeria had cast some spells on her and on the baby, then had fetched Robert and cast some on him, which none of the other Healers had done. It rather startled them both, I think. It turns out that the baby’s magical signature is somehow incompatible with Thea’s. It has something to do with the combination of the Robert and Thea’s magic in the child. The interaction between the baby’s magical signature and Thea’s has had a physical effect on Thea, and in the past, that triggered the miscarriages. But Robert told me that your mother had seen this a few times before and that she is very optimistic that Thea and the baby will be quite well.”

“That does sound odd. I’ve never heard of such a thing before,” Minerva said. “Of course, mediwizardry has never particularly held my interest. Will this happen every time that she and Robert try to have a baby?”

“I asked that, of course, and Robert said that it is more likely than not, but it isn’t inevitable. Now that they know where the problem lies, however, Thea could begin a regimen of magical exercises as soon as she learned she was pregnant, if they do decide to have more children after this one.” Gertie shook her head. “Personally, I think that once this one is born, hopefully healthy and sound and Thea quite well, herself, they shouldn’t try for another, but it’s up to them, and I certainly wouldn’t say anything to either of them about that at this point. They are under sufficient stress with this pregnancy.”

“Well, at least they know their child isn’t a Squib,” Minerva said, “if it has a magical signature to interfere with its mother’s.”

“They don’t regulate that information in the Netherlands. Healers are free to tell prospective parents if their unborn child has a detectable signature or not.”

“Oh.” Minerva didn’t know what to say to that information. In Britain, whether an unborn child exhibited a magical signature or not was information that was forbidden to share with the prospective parents, except for medical reasons. “And after they’re born?”

“The practice of using spells to detect a young child’s magical signature is strongly discouraged even there. Popular imagination believes that Squibs have absolutely no magical signature, but that is not precisely true, from what I understand; it is simply very, very weak and they have no actively available magic. In addition, not all unborn babies have a magical signature that is distinguishable from their mother’s, even if they are magical and not Squibs. The law in Britain was designed because of pureblood prejudice. Couples were aborting babies that they believed were Squibs, or occasionally abandoning them at Muggle orphanages soon after birth. Since it usually isn’t possible to say whether an unborn baby is a Squib or whether its magical signature has been masked by the mother’s own magic, the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries found many people aborting perfectly healthy, and quite probably wizarding, babies based on a combination of prejudice and imperfect knowledge. The Ministry obviously couldn’t allow that to continue. Some families still seek the information from unscrupulous Healers, of course, or they go to a country where it isn’t regulated, but the birth rate is beginning to go up again.” Gertrude’s face showed her distaste for the subject.

“Quin told me that Mr and Mrs Manning’s boy is a wizard at Hogwarts, and they are both Squibs,” Minerva said.

“Yes, and Squibs who marry other Squibs usually do have wizarding children – far more frequently than there are Muggle-borns – and that goes to show how very short-sighted pureblood ideology is.”

“I hadn’t known that.”

“Many are incorrectly assumed to be Muggle-borns by their peers in school, of course, but it is also a simple fact that there aren’t very many Squibs to begin with, and many of them never marry, or they integrate themselves into the Muggle world and marry a Muggle. I don’t think there are any records that would confirm this, but my pet theory is that most, if not all, Muggle-borns have a Squib in their recent ancestry who entered the Muggle world and married a Muggle. Then, two or three generations later, the magical trait expresses itself again, and there’s a new Muggle-born witch or wizard.” Gertrude shrugged. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever know. It isn’t the sort of thing that anyone would be interested in researching – or if someone were, it isn’t the sort of research than anyone would fund, either the Ministry or a private patron, most of whom are pure-bloods. So it remains mere speculation.”

“How do you know so much about it?” Minerva asked curiously.

“I hadn’t known anything about the condition that Thea has, of course, but trying to determine whether your child is a Squib or not by using diagnostic spells while the baby is still _in utero_ , that is something that most pureblood witches know about and are aware is illegal in Britain but quite legal in a number of European countries. I don’t remember when I learned that the reason it is illegal is because the tests are unreliable, but it was many years ago, sometime before I married, I believe.”

“I see . . .” Minerva realised once again how different her own family was from those that self-identified as “pureblood.” Her mother’s family on both sides could claim that, but they had never seemed to care about it and they didn’t seem to have much in common with most other pureblood families. Certainly, this fact about testing to discover whether your baby was a Squib was nothing she had ever learned from her mother or any of her older female relatives. On the other hand, most of them were well-educated in mediwizardry and related arts, and they likely wouldn’t have credited the practice and would certainly have disapproved of using it in the way that other pureblood families did. On her father’s side of the family, she had only really ever known Siofre well, and as a Tyree, Siofre was far from pureblood and even further removed from their prejudices against Muggles and Squibs. Of course, that didn’t exempt the Tyrees from other peculiar prejudices of their own. Her grandmother could be quite scathing about the English, for example, or other “foreigners,” but at the same time, she would welcome Summer Walkers to camp on her land. 

“Well, I am very glad that Mother has been able to help, and I hope that Thea gives birth to a healthy baby. It sounds as though you had a nice visit with them, too,” Minerva said. “I was happy that you were back and able to come to tea today, though.”

“Yes, I have to return to Hogwarts for the warding in a few days, anyway, and I wanted to spend some time with my parents. I regretted missing my father’s birthday celebration, particularly since I fear that it may be his last, and that’s why I returned to Cornwall rather than going directly to the school.”

“I am sorry that you missed your father’s birthday.” Minerva hesitated. “Is he ill?”

“When he was a teenager, there was an epidemic of paralytic magical morbilliac fever. Against the odds, he survived it and even came through it with his magic still intact, although it was not as strong as it had been. He has always been somewhat less than robust, as a result, but the last few years, his general health has declined significantly. My mother is quite . . . concerned.”

“I see . . . and it was only you and your brother, you have no other siblings who could step in and help?” Minerva asked, thinking that just because she hadn’t met any brothers and sisters didn’t mean they didn’t exist; after all, she hadn’t even known that Gertrude had ever been married, let alone that she had a son. It certainly would not be out of character for Gertrude to simply neglect the mention of another brother or sister.

“Just the two of us. My brother was a good deal older than I – somewhat like you and your brothers,” Gertie said with a smile, “and I was something of a surprise to my parents when I arrived in the world ten years after he did. They hadn’t believed they would be able to have more children. Even my brother was a surprise to them, I think, since they had been married for several years before he was born. Of course, I have never asked.”

“Of course.”

Gertrude looked closely at Minerva. “My duties as Deputy Headmistress have often called for me to be absent from family occasions. It is a commitment that I take very seriously, although it may sometimes inconvenience me personally.”

Minerva remembered what Albus had said about Gertrude and how she would put aside her own needs for him and he would not even be aware of it until she had done it. That statement had been about Gertrude as a friend, not just as his Deputy.

“You are Dumbledore’s friend –” Minerva began.

“Yes, we are friends. And in a sense, my friendship with Albus is inseparable from my position as his Deputy, but I hope not to remain Deputy indefinitely, and my friendship extends beyond that role. In fact, it is only out of our friendship that I took the job. As you know, the Deputy has in the past almost always been a Head of House, but Albus convinced me that he needed me in the position, and so I agreed out of friendship. It is not a position I sought or desired, and certainly not one I would wish to hold on to if another suitable person could be found.”

“I see . . . perhaps after Johannes leaves, the Ravenclaw Head of House might be suitable,” Minerva said speculatively. “There are a number of Ravenclaws on the staff already, but I particularly liked Flitwick, and he and Albus seem to get along quite well.”

Gertrude looked at Minerva with a raised eyebrow. “Yes, I suppose they do. He would likely make a good Head of Ravenclaw.” 

Minerva was about to respond when Malcolm turned back toward them. “Talking about Hogwarts? Now, that is a forbidden subject, Gertie, I told you that. No business today!”

“It would be difficult to have two Hogwarts staff together and not have them discuss Hogwarts,” Minerva retorted. “Not everything can be an adventure or a lark, you know, Malcolm.”

“Yes, yes, little sister, there is a lot of serious business in the world, and even a lot of adventures are serious to the point of being grim, even more so than that school of yours, but today is not the day for that!” Malcolm said, his eyes smiling. “And even the most serious adventures can have their amusing sides, you know.” He nudged Gertrude in a familiar fashion. “Told Gertrude about a few of them and got her right out of her Arithmancy-induced stupor.”

“Malcolm! What a thing to say!” Minerva exclaimed, honestly disturbed by her brother’s bad manners, but Gertrude just quirked a slight grin and didn’t seem at all bothered.

“I see that you are unacquainted with the more exciting aspects of Arithmancy,” Gertrude said, poker-faced. “They are far from stupor-inducing.”

“Hmmm, if I had had a teacher like you when I was at Hogwarts, perhaps it wouldn’t have left me stuporous!” Malcolm winked at his sister. “And to think that little sister grumbled about Arithmancy the entire time she was in school, despite having a teacher who can make Arithmancy exciting.”

“I didn’t either, Malcolm, not as though you would know. Really, I didn’t, Gertrude,” Minerva said earnestly. “I did complain a bit about the necessity to continue it past my OWLs, but it was very useful.”

Gertrude chuckled. “I never believed you took it for the joy of it, and,” she said, turning to Malcolm, “some of the most interesting aspects of Arithmancy are more excitement than I care to introduce to a classroom of teenage witches and wizards, most of whom can’t appreciate the beauty in the most basic Arithmantic equation as it is. It might be too much of a shock for them if they were suddenly exposed to its more exhilarating aspects.”

Malcolm laughed. “I am no teenager; perhaps I could weather it.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sakes,” Minerva said. “Malcolm, I swear that you are a bad influence – you could lead a saint astray!”

Malcolm just laughed harder and turned toward where Murdoch and Poppy had been holding their conversation, ready to ask his younger brother his opinion on whether he was a bad influence or not. As he turned, Minerva noticed that four of their number had left the library. Not only were Murdoch and Poppy gone, but her father and Quin had disappeared, as well.

“Well, we can’t get Murdoch’s respectable opinion on the matter, I see,” Malcolm observed.

“He took Poppy to see his playroom,” Melina said, hearing Malcolm’s comment.

“And Quin and Dad?” Minerva asked.

“I don’t know. I didn’t see them leave,” Melina replied.

“Lovely. This is turning out to be quite upside down,” Minerva grumbled under her breath.

“What’s that, Minerva?” Malcolm asked. “Did you say your tea party’s upside down? I think it is one of the nicest tea parties I have been to in years, wouldn’t you say so, Gertie?”

Gertrude nodded obligingly. “Very nice. I have quite enjoyed myself, Minerva.”

“Of course, it isn’t the _best_ tea party I have ever been to – but that one would definitely have offended your notions of a proper tea party, Minerva.”

“I can only imagine,” his sister said dryly.

“Lovely party,” Malcolm said, feigning a dreamy expression on his face. “On the ceiling.”

“What?” Minerva asked.

“Tea party on the ceiling. Great fun. Tables, chairs, teapot, nibbles, and all the guests, several feet up in the air, having a wonderful time. No seriousness allowed there!” Malcolm answered, adding immodestly, “And my stories were very appreciated.”

Minerva snorted. “Are you sure it was tea you were drinking and not some potion?”

Gertrude laughed. “It sounds like something that Albus would enjoy. It would tickle his sense of humour, certainly.”

Minerva nodded and sighed. “Yes, he probably would, and I suppose it does sound amusing. Speaking of which, Gertrude, what was the story Malcolm told you?” Minerva was still very curious about what could have brought Gertrude to laugh so hard.

“Nifflers, in Venice,” Gertrude said, trying to suppress a chuckle.

“Oh, Malcolm, that’s your most ridiculous story; it even beats your Nundu tale,” Minerva said; yet, seeing the smile on Gertrude’s face and remembering the story herself, she smiled, too. “It is funny, though.”

“Glad you think so, Minerva,” Malcolm replied with a grin that said he found it funny, himself. “Was beginning to think I’d become stale to you.”

“Auntie Min,” Melina said, interrupting their conversation, “Grandmother is going to take Johannes through the garden. Do you suppose you could bring Bren and me up to the attic and show us some of what you found this morning? Just point us to it, you don’t need to stay up there.”

“I will, as long as you make it clear to your fiancé that my name is ‘Minerva,’ and if he calls me ‘Min,’ or, worse, ‘Auntie Min,’ I may Transfigure him into a toad,” Minerva threatened, glaring at her niece. When she saw Brennan blanch, though, she turned to him with a smile and said, “Don’t worry, Brennan, I wouldn’t really. Honestly. I’m just trying to train my niece, with only a little success.”

“But you could?” Brennan asked with a croak.

“Well, I could, but I wouldn’t. You know, at some point, I’d be happy to show you some Transfiguration, if you like. And I assure you that I do not use it on unwilling wizards – or Muggles – no more than you would poison someone, even though as a chemist, you doubtless know how.”

Brennan relaxed with a sigh. “I see. I’ll try to remind Melina, and I promise not to call you ‘Min,’ if you don’t like it. And I must admit that I don’t see you as my aunt, so you needn’t worry that I will begin to call you ‘Auntie Min.’”

“All right, then. Do you mind, Gertrude? I’ll just be a few minutes.” Egeria and Johannes had already left the library. “Malcolm, perhaps you could bring her out to the garden and join Mother and Johannes.”

“Perhaps I could,” he said with a grin directed at Gertie.

“That would be fine, Minerva,” Gertrude answered. She held out her hand to Brennan. “It was nice to meet you, Mr O’Donald.”

“It was good to meet you, too, Professor. I look forward to seeing you again,” he said as he stood and shook her hand.

On their way up to the attic, Minerva asked Melina whether they had plans to see Gertrude again, or if Brennan had just been being polite.

“Oh, we invited her to the wedding. Just this afternoon. I’ll owl her invitation next week with the others. She said she would be happy to attend.”

Lovely, Minerva thought. Another event which both Albus and Gertrude would attend. She had harboured a hope that she and Albus could attend the wedding together, but if Gertrude was going, too . . . Minerva shook her head, clearing it of her pointless speculations.

“You don’t think we should have invited her,” Melina said questioningly, confused by Minerva’s shaken head.

“No, I think it is a fine idea. Just unexpected, that’s all.”

Minerva quickly pointed out some of the pieces of furniture that she and her mother had particularly thought they might be able to use, including the wardrobe that she had emptied, then told them to look around and see if there were any other things they might like. She left them alone in the attic and hurried down the stairs and out to the garden. She found her mother and Johannes crouched beside some shrubby herbs discussing microclimates, but her brother and Gertrude were nowhere in sight.

“Mother, have you seen Malcolm? He and Gertrude were going to come out here.”

Egeria looked up at her daughter. “They were here briefly, but they said something about trousers and the cliffs and Malcolm brought her off for a walk. I’m sorry, I know you had wanted to take her for a walk. I wasn’t thinking. I should have asked them to wait for you.”

Minerva sighed. “I think Malcolm’s tea party on the ceiling sounds quite ordinary and pleasant right now.”

“This is a lovely tea party, Minerva,” Johannes said, smiling up at her. “I enjoy your family very much, and Brennan is a very pleasant young man. And your mother has some nice plants; I am impressed that she has been able to get some of them to grow here in this harsh place. When we create her microclimates properly, they should thrive. I am happy and I think that Gertrude is, too. It is good to see her happier than she was before she went to visit her son.”

“Yes, you are right, of course,” Minerva said, feeling a rush of goodwill toward the kind Herbologist. “I had hoped we would spend more time together, though, all of us, and that you could talk to her, too.”

Johannes shrugged. “I see her when we all return for the warding. Albus said you would be there this year because you will be the new Head of Gryffindor. Congratulations! I would shake your hand, but,” he said, holding up his hand, “I have been exploring the soil here. It is an honour, and I wish you well.”

“Thank you, Johannes. You know, you and Mother seem busy here, and I didn’t mean to interrupt. I think I will go find Dad and Quin, see what they are up to.”

“I think they are likely in his study,” Egeria said.

“Where else?” Minerva asked with a smile. 

On reentering the house, however, Minerva didn’t head toward her father’s study, but went instead to the kitchens. Time to rescue Poppy from Murdoch. Quin could take care of himself, she thought, and Gertrude had seemed happy enough in Malcolm’s company. When she entered the kitchen, Fwisky, Orents, and Quimpy were sitting at their little low table in the corner, drinking tea, the remnants of their meal still on the table. It seemed the rollmops hadn’t been as popular as the trout or the finnan haddie, both of which had only small scraps left on the plates. 

Minerva held up her hand as Fwisky prepared to pop up from the table to serve. “I don’t want anything, Fwisky, just to thank you and Orents for the lovely tea. It was all perfect.”

“Thank you, Miss Minerva. Quimpy helped, too, but I think he forgets things living with Master Murdoch and Miss Melina,” the old house-elf said, looking slightly disapprovingly at her oldest son. Quimpy just helped himself to a biscuit, unperturbed, and took a bite of it. “And now eating when Miss Minerva is here!”

“It’s all right, Fwisky. Actually, there is something I wanted to ask you. Have you seen Murdoch and my friend come through?”

“Yes, they was here and went down to Master Murdoch’s playroom. They still be’s there, unless they Apparates out,” the house-elf said with a slight smile.

“Thank you, Fwisky. Enjoy your time with Quimpy. Leave the cleaning up for after he leaves, please.” Minerva thought Fwisky looked quite a bit better than she had just a few days ago, and having Quimpy come for a visit seemed to be a good tonic for her, too. She smiled fondly at the house-elves, then headed to the back of the kitchen toward the pantry, seeking her brother and ready to rescue Poppy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the title! I just couldn't help myself! ;-)


	94. Poppy and Potions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva is surprised to hear that Poppy is interested in her brother Murdoch, and later has a conversation with Gertrude. Quin again gives Minerva a few encouraging words before he leaves for London. Malcolm continues to puzzle Minerva. 
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey, Murdoch McGonagall, Malcolm McGonagall, Gertrude Gamp, and others.

**XCIV: Poppy and Potions**

Minerva went down the stone stairs that led from the pantry to what had once been an ordinary cellar but which had been transformed by various McGonagalls over the last hundred years or so. The most recent changes had occurred before Minerva had even been born, however, and she didn’t remember it any other way. She made her way down the somewhat musty smelling hallway to Murdoch’s “playroom” and rapped on the partially opened door, then pushed it open to find her brother and Poppy sitting on a pair of high stools in the brightly lit white-washed room, engrossed in conversation, one of Murdoch’s old notebooks open in front of them. So he’d been boring her with his childhood experiments in Potions. At least Malcolm had been amusing with his outrageous stories. Minerva loved them both, although she didn’t know Malcolm particularly well, since she rarely saw him and all he ever seemed to talk about with her were his “adventures” on those occasions when he was home. When she had been a child, his stories had entertained and even impressed her, but as Minerva got older, she realised that half of what he told her must be just inventions created to amuse her. Murdoch she was closer to, and she loved Melina, so she had spent a lot of time with them during her summer holidays and knew him well, but that didn’t change the fact that when Murdoch began to discuss Potions, he could put her to sleep. 

“Minerva! Come in! Murdoch was just showing me his old playroom. It is fantastic,” Poppy said. “I didn’t have anything like this when I was growing up. I don’t know anyone who did. No wonder he’s such a successful Potions master! He had a head start.”

“Yes, well, the sun is shining outdoors, and it’s somewhat closed and musty down here. Why don’t you two come on up – we can go out and sit in the gazebo and chat,” Minerva suggested.

“That’s a fine idea, Minerva,” Murdoch said, rising from his stool and helping Poppy down from hers. “Poppies need a lot of sunlight.”

Minerva was prepared for Poppy to say something about the tiresome play-on-words, but the mediwitch just smiled in response and looked as though she thought that Murdoch had just said something quite clever.

“So, is Melina out there with her beau?” Murdoch asked. He turned to Poppy. “I still find it difficult to call him her fiancé. I don’t know what I’ll do when they actually marry. I don’t feel old enough to be a father-in-law.”

Poppy patted his arm. “Melina _is_ very young, but I think Brennan is a good match for her.”

“Do you know he’s almost my age? I haven’t said anything to Melina, of course, but it makes me feel peculiar.”

“Then don’t think about your ages, just think about your relationships,” Poppy advised sensibly.

“She and Brennan are up in the attic, looking at furniture. They might like your advice, in fact, Murdoch,” Minerva said, trying not to think about Murdoch’s feelings about Brennan’s age relative to his own. 

Just before they reached the kitchen, Murdoch paused. “You two go on out. We’ll find you later. I want to stop and talk with Quimpy, ask him to stay here for a few days. I think it would do Fwisky good. Mother said she’s been very depressed the last couple weeks since Tchierie died.”

Minerva nodded. “Come on out, Poppy. Maybe we can convince Mother and Johannes to join us. They were talking about things that she could do to improve conditions for some of her fussier plants, though.”

When they reached the path through the flower garden, Poppy grabbed Minerva’s arm, then looked around quickly.

“Why didn’t you introduce me to your brother years ago?” she hissed. “You were holding out on me, Minerva!”

Minerva was flabbergasted. “What? What are you talking about?”

“I mean _Murdoch_! You hardly ever even talked about him, and I just assumed he was a bit . . . peculiar, like Malcolm. Well, not like _Malcolm_ , since Murdoch obviously married and had Melina, and runs the apothecary, but odd, anyway. You never told me that he was so, so, so absolutely . . .” At a loss for words, Poppy just sighed dramatically. “I swear, I felt like a giggly teenager with him. It was all I could do to remain sensible.”

“You mean, you _liked_ my brother? I mean, my brother Murdoch?” Minerva asked.

“What do you think? Don’t you realise how attractive he is? Well, he is your brother, so I suppose not, but I could listen to that lovely burr of his for hours. The way he says ‘brewing’! Mmm . . .” Poppy looked to the sky and held her hand over her heart, then giggled. “I know you probably think I’m ridiculous, Min, but I really do like him. At least, I think I do. He’s very attractive, anyway.” Poppy blushed. 

Minerva took a breath and let it out. “Well, I wasn’t holding out on you. I just never thought of him that way. What I mean is, I would like it if he found a nice witch, but one of my friends . . . . That hadn’t occurred to me. You know, Poppy, he has the same burr as I do. I don’t see you swoon when I say ‘brrrrewing,’” she teased, rolling the ‘r’ emphatically.

“It’s completely different coming from you, Minerva – you don’t have his deep voice, for one,” Poppy said with a laugh. “But really, Min, he seems wonderful – smart, handsome, interesting. And the way he raised Melina, he must be a good man. And he’s so . . . masculine.”

Minerva smiled and took her friend’s arm and began back down the path through the flowers. “I never would have thought to try to introduce you, but I am glad you like him. I had actually hoped you and Quin might hit it off – he’s certainly been a good father, he’s intelligent, and his Irish brogue is certainly at least as charming as Murdoch’s burr. And he’s better looking,” Minerva added.

“Quin?” Poppy thought a moment. “I don’t know. He may be a bit more handsome, but Murdoch is more appealing to me.” She looked over at Minerva and smiled. “Murdoch resembles you somewhat, actually – more than Malcolm does, anyway. Huskier and more muscular, of course, whereas Malcolm is slim, like you are, and has similar eyes, and Murdoch’s are grey. But there’s something about the shape of Murdoch’s face and the way he smiles, and he has the same dark hair you do, though, of course, he’s very masculine. So don’t disparage his looks, Min!”

They both laughed as they reached the gazebo.

“I don’t know, Poppy, this day has not turned out at all as I planned, but I think people had a good time.”

“I did, and it seems the others did, as well. I saw you talking to Gertie. Did you get to discuss whatever it was you wanted to talk to her about?”

“No. I suppose that was a disappointment, but it was rather unrealistic to think that I could have a private chat with her with everyone else around. But I also hadn’t counted on Malcolm latching on to her as a new and untried audience for his stories, either.”

“I don’t think she minded at all. And whatever you may think of Malcolm, and I agree that he is a bit peculiar, he can be amusing, and I never got the sense that there was a mean bone in his body, nor even the slightest sneaky streak. It’s likely a relief for Gertrude. Has she left, then?”

“No, Malcolm took her off somewhere. I hope he realises that she is a Hogwarts teacher, and however much she might enjoy walking during her holidays, she is not as fit as he is, not to mention that she’s older by quite a bit.”

“I’m sure that Gertrude can take care of herself,” Poppy answered reassuringly.

“I don’t know about that, Poppy. She nearly got herself killed in a game of Quidditch, but she wouldn’t quit, even when her son and Quin both begged her to.”

“Really? I didn’t know that Gertrude plays Quidditch.”

“She doesn’t, believe me. She was Beater, and the Bludger made contact with her more frequently than her bat made contact with it. It was not pretty,” Minerva said.

“Well, she probably had a reason to do that. She is a Slytherin, after all,” Poppy replied. “I don’t think she would let your brother lead her somewhere she didn’t think she could handle. And it’s not as though you should talk, Minerva this-is-my-favourite-walk McGonagall. You almost got me killed.”

“I did not. And I just thought you’d like the view from there. I didn’t realise it was such a difficult climb for someone who wasn’t used to it. And I was only eighteen. Malcolm’s fifty. He has more sense.” Minerva hesitated. “I can’t believe I just said that Malcolm has any sense at all, let alone more than I once did!”

The two witches laughed. 

“Whatever you think about the truth of the details of his stories, though, Min, he does seem to be good at getting people out of tight spots. I don’t think he would let anything happen to Gertie,” Poppy reassured her. “I’m sure she’s safe with him.

“I know. . . . I suppose you’re right – my family is probably novel and amusing for her. I knew that before I invited her here. And she seems comfortable enough, which actually surprised me, especially with Brennan here. Even at her own home, she seemed more, I don’t know, more like Gertrude Gamp, the witch I know.”

“Well, that was an unusual situation, Minerva. All those guests, many of whom were unpleasant, from what you say. She was bound to be somewhat stiff. Surely she must relax sometimes; everyone has to.”

Minerva nodded, remembering the evening she had joined Gertrude and Johannes in Hafrena’s tower. Gertrude had seemed fairly relaxed then, despite the difficult day she had had. And it did seem she had been less stiff at the Gamp party when there had just been a few people whom she liked, like Ella and Quin – not to mention that it was hardly surprising that she might not relax much around Minerva, with whom she was hardly close. And, of course, Gertrude seemed to be able to relax quite well when she was alone with Albus. Minerva pushed that thought from her mind.

“I suppose you’re right, Poppy. And aren’t we all a bit different depending on who we’re with?”

Poppy nodded. “So what have you been up to the last few days? Melina told me something about that flat you found – or house, rather – but you had asked about the Healer’s Pensieve. I wondered why.”

“Let’s talk about that tomorrow, shall we, Poppy?” Minerva hadn’t quite decided what to tell Poppy about why she wanted to borrow the Pensieve, and whatever she told her, she’d just as soon not be overheard by a member of her family. Instead, Minerva related what she had been doing the last few days, omitting her shopping trip with Quin.

Murdoch, Melina, and Brennan joined them in the gazebo, and were soon followed by Johannes and Egeria. Johannes thanked Minerva and her mother for a lovely tea and an enjoyable evening, then took his leave and Apparated back to Hogwarts. Minerva was wondering whether she should go look for Quin and her father when they both showed up, looking as though they had been sharing a drink while they talked.

“I had the impression you didn’t drink Scotch, Quin,” Minerva said.

“Don’t, usually, and didn’t today. I, um, brought a bottle of whiskey for you. Forgot to give it to you when I arrived, so I gave it to your father, and we had to try it together.”

“Naturally. Was it all right?” Minerva asked with a raised eyebrow.

“O’ course. ’Tis the best eighteen-year-old whiskey you can find.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “You shoulda joined us, Minerva. Mighta relaxed you a bit.”

Minerva smiled at him. “You seem relaxed enough for us both, Quin. It’s a good thing we’re on the Floo-Network. I don’t think you could Apparate. You would have to stay overnight.”

“Mmm. You’re right there, couldn’t Apparate t’ London t’night.” He yawned. “’Scuse me, Minerva. I’m just a mite tired.”

Minerva raised an eyebrow. “Tired? I see. And the whiskey would have nothing to do with it.”

He gave her the same lop-sided smile. “Maybe just a bit. But I only had two. It’s just been a very long week. But the last two days have been very nice. I like the McGonagalls.”

“That’s good, Quin,” Minerva said. “Are you sure you only had two?”

“Your father was pouring. He is a generous wizard.”

“I see. Well, I guess you’re in no shape to help me go find my brother and Gertrude before it gets dark, then.” It wouldn’t be dark for quite a while yet, but Minerva was growing concerned that she had been worried about the wrong brother. Poppy hadn’t needed rescuing, but perhaps Gertrude was feeling trapped in an unfamiliar place with a strange wizard.

“If you need me, Minerva – ”

“No, no, that’s all right.” She patted his arm. “You stay here, enjoy yourself.”

“I should be goin’ soon, meself,” Quin said, sitting up straighter. “Must be up early in the morning.”

“Well, I could walk you in and you could Floo home now, if you like,” Minerva suggested.

Quin took his leave of everyone, and the two headed back up to the house, the pea stones crunching under foot.

“So, d’you think Gertie is taken with your brother?” Quin asked when they were out of earshot.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her laugh that way, that’s all. She seemed to unbend some.” 

“Yes, well, Malcolm can be entertaining. But I don’t know as he has any real friends, as odd as that may sound to you. He is peripatetic and doesn’t develop any attachments, it seems. So I hope Gertrude doesn’t think she’s found a new friend. He’s likely going to move on at some point soon. He mentioned something about Poland to my father. I told him that Malcolm would likely be back soon, that it would just be a brief holiday, but I didn’t really believe it.”

“I see. I’m glad she had a good time today, though,” Quin said.

“So am I. And did you? You spent a long time with my father. I hope it was enjoyable.”

“Yes, very. I told you, I was interested in his work. And, of course, we talked about his only daughter.” They had reached the library and Quin stopped in the middle of the room. “You are the apple of his eye, you know, Minerva. And I liked your mother. Have you considered tellin’ either of them? Askin’ their advice, or enlistin’ their help?”

“Tell them what?” When Quin just cocked his head and raised his eyebrow, Minerva realised what he meant. “You must have had too much to drink, since I never thought you were crazy before this. Irritating and occasionally infuriating, but not crazy.”

“I just thought – ” Quin began.

“Don’t. Not about that,” Minerva said in an urgent whisper. She looked around and closed the library door. “Do you realise what they would think?” she asked in the same low tone. “They could think that he . . . that he had done something inappropriate when I was a student.”

“He didn’t – ”

“No, of course he didn’t! But they might think that.”

“If they know him at all, they would know that was not in his character. I don’t think that would occur to them, love.”

“No, but, if not that – do you realise how _old_ Albus is? He was in school with my _grandparents_ , Quin, and my parents were not precisely young when I was born. And that’s just his age, forgetting his position and his stature.” Minerva flopped down into a chair and closed her eyes for a moment before she looked back up at Quin. “It’s hard enough for me to deal with it when I try to think about the situation objectively, and I’m the one with the feelings. My parents, no matter how wonderful they are or how much they love me, would think I had lost my mind and developed a bizarre infatuation for Albus. You suggest seeking their advice or asking for their help. Their advice would be to leave Hogwarts, or to at least minimise my time with him, to forget him, and to find someone more suitable. And their help would likely consist of introductions to more suitable wizards in whom I have no interest. I know this because if I were my daughter, that is what I would say.”

“’Tis good you are not your daughter, then,” Quin said. He sat on the corner of the sofa across from her and reached out and took her hand. “Minerva, love, I know you are hesitant to let Albus know how you feel, and . . . you don’t think that you can ever be more than friends, but you want that, you know you do, you want more, and you . . . if I am right, and you do have a chance with him, if he does respond to you and comes to love you as you do him, what will you do? Hide it as if it were somethin’ shameful? Wouldn’t you want to be able to bring him around to visit your family, as Melina brought Brennan today, and not pretend he was nothin’ more to you than your boss and an old friend? And how do you think he would feel, if he thought you were ashamed?”

“I wouldn’t be ashamed. But it’s impossible. So there’s no point in discussing it. Now with you or later with my parents, either of them. My mother already knows I am fond of him, and grateful to him, and she believes it is because of all he has done for me through the years, and that is the way it will remain.”

“All right, love. But parents can surprise you sometimes.” He stood and Minerva rose, too.

“I appreciate your thinking about me, Quin, and that you care. It was quite a relief yesterday, talking to you. And I was even feeling, I don’t know, almost hopeful for a while, but that is fading now, and I’m worried that the robes were too much and that the letter I wrote him this morning was too emotional. But I still appreciate your help and your friendship.”

“I was happy to help, Minerva. And I’ve become rather fond of you. I want to see you happy, and I don’t believe that you can be if you don’t at least try to win the wizard you love. But ’tis your life, and you have to make the choices.”

“Thank you. It’s nice not to feel so alone.” Minerva successfully fought the tears that threatened to rise in her eyes.

“You aren’t alone.” He reached out and caressed her cheek briefly. “You will tell me about the robes, how he likes them, won’t you?”

“Of course. In fact, I owe you that tour of Hogwarts. Will you be available next Saturday?”

Quin nodded. “I think so. I will be in Switzerland later in the week, but I should be back by then.”

“I think Saturday might be a good day. The warding will be over, I think, and I will be the new Head of Gryffindor, if everything goes as planned. I will owl you that morning, if that is all right, and let you know whether you can come up that afternoon or whether it will have to wait for another day.”

“Lovely, Minerva. I will look forward to your owl, then. You know, I may just send somethin’ along for your Headmaster’s birthday,” Quin said, a speculative look in his eye. “Somethin’ you could give him . . . if you want.”

“What?” Minerva asked, slightly apprehensive.

“Mmm, I’ve noticed he has a bit of a sweet tooth. It wouldn’t be anything that could rival your gift – I think that would be difficult t’ do even if I wanted to. I just thought, a box o’ sweets,” he said with a shrug. “I have a Muggle candy factory, you see. They make some rather nice sweets, if I do say so meself.”

“You have a candy factory,” Minerva said. 

“I do . . . me primary Muggle business, in fact. ’Tis me favourite, anyway.” He looked down at her. “Would that be all right with you? If not – ”

“No, that would be fine. Of course. He would probably enjoy that. It is a good idea,” Minerva answered, still trying to comprehend that the wizard standing in front of her owned a Muggle candy factory.

“I’ll make arrangements, then, t’ get it to you,” he said, suppressing a yawn.

“Thank you for coming today.” In a rush of affection for the man who had helped her admit her feelings out loud, Minerva put an arm around him and gave him a hug. Quin put one arm around her and placed his other hand at the nape of her neck, and she relaxed against him for a moment. “You have been a comfort,” she said as she drew away.

“As I told you before, that is what we are on this earth for, isn’t it? To try, at least?”

“Yes, of course, but I am still grateful.”

“Give my regards to Gertrude when she turns up.”

“Oh, Gertrude!” Minerva said. “I almost forgot. I was going to try to find her and my brother.”

“You go do that, then, love.” Quin bent and gave her a peck on the forehead. “See you soon.”

“Good night, Quin.”

After Quin left, Minerva went out to the front of the house and wondered where Malcolm could have brought Gertrude. Minerva looked down at her robes and her shoes. She really wasn’t dressed for walking along the cliffs, but hopefully the two hadn’t gone far. Her hopes were met when, after walking for about five minutes in the direction she assumed Malcolm would go, she heard their voices heading toward her, and she sat down on a handy rock to wait for them. Minerva was only half-surprised to see that Gertrude was dressed in a pair of trousers, doubtless an old pair of Malcolm’s that had been Transfigured to fit her, and had on his tweed jacket, which actually fit her rather well, though Minerva didn’t think it had been Transfigured. 

“There you are,” Minerva said as they approached. She stood. “I was beginning to think that I would have to form a search party for you.”

“Your brother was just showing me the McGonagall cliffs. I do see why you like them so well, Minerva. Then we sat and talked a while. I am sorry if we were rude to leave like that.”

“No, not at all. I am just happy you had a good evening,” Minerva said.

Gertrude smiled. “I did. This has been a very nice day. Thank you.”

“Come on in. Quin asked me to give you his regards, by the way, Gertrude. He had to get home. Are you hungry? I could get us a bite of supper if you like,” Minerva offered.

“Well . . . are you hungry, Malcolm?” Gertrude asked, turning toward the wizard. “I don’t want to impose.”

“I think I could manage something,” he answered.

“And as my brother _should_ have said, you would not be imposing, Gertrude. You are very welcome. Johannes returned to Hogwarts, but Poppy’s still here, or she was when I left her in the garden, and I think that Melina and Brennan are actually going to stay the night, so they’ll probably want some supper, too. And, of course, my parents and I have to eat. We would be happy to have you join us.”

“Let’s find them, then, and get us some supper,” Malcolm said. “In fact, why don’t I run on ahead. You two take your time.” He turned to Gertrude. “And you may want to change before we eat.” He Disapparated abruptly with a mild click, presumably popping into the garden to find the others.

Minerva looked at Gertrude, glancing at her clothes. “I assume that Malcolm loaned you the trousers and that your robes are in his old room.”

“Yes,” the older witch replied with a nod.

“Let’s go up there, then, and you can freshen up before supper,” Minerva said, and the two witches walked in comfortable silence back to the house. 

Somehow, Minerva’s questions didn’t seem as pressing in the cool of the evening. And it was she with whom the Headmaster was having dinner on his birthday, not Gertrude. Whatever was or was not between the two of them, she had her own relationship with Albus, and it was something apart from his relationship with Gertrude. Birthday dinner with Albus. Albus’s birthday. Minerva felt her envy of Gertrude melt away with that thought, and she turned to the older witch and smiled.

“I am very glad you came for tea today, Gertrude.”

“I was pleased to be able to come,” Gertrude replied.

“I hope my brother entertained you and didn’t overtax your patience,” Minerva commented.

“He is an interesting wizard,” Gertrude said blandly.

Well, that was a noncommital answer, Minerva thought. “Did you enjoy the walk?”

“Very much. It is a beautiful spot. Quite wild. And isolated.”

“Yes, and as a child, I loved it, but it was also a difficult place to grow up. I loved the house, and the hills, and the smell of the sea on the air, but I was practically an only child. Malcolm and Morgan were out of school and on their own while I was still small. Murdoch’s first year at Hogwarts was the year I was born, so I only saw him during the holidays, and even though he was a good brother and tried to entertain me when he was home, the age difference was so great, he was hardly a playmate. My few cousins on my mother’s side of the family were around the same age as my brothers, and they all lived in Aberdeen and Edinburgh. When my brothers were young, they would spend a few days at our cousins’, or the cousins would come here, but it was different for me. Our closest wizarding neighbours, the Stoats, had two boys about my age, but they aren’t within walking distance, and so even though my parents would bring me over there occasionally, they weren’t what I could have called friends. Even after I got my own broom when I was eight, they didn’t let me fly there on my own for another two years, and by then, I was practically ready to go to Hogwarts and I didn’t have much in common with the boys, anyway. As a result, until I started school, I really didn’t know many other children my own age and I didn’t know how to relate to them. It was rather difficult for me at first.”

“There were always cousins around when I was growing up, so even though my brother was ten years older than I, it didn’t have the same effect. And we were on the Floo-Network by the time I was five or six, so there was a lot of visiting back and forth. I didn’t like all of my cousins, but I did learn early on how to deal with them,” Gertrude said. “You seemed well-integrated by the time you started Arithmancy, though, and, what was that girl’s name, you used to spend a lot of time together, sit together in class?”

“Elizabeth Farnsdale?” Minerva asked. “She married and moved to New Zealand shortly after we left school. And we were closer, really, fourth and fifth year. Our interests diverged, you might say.” Elizabeth had grown more interested in robes, make-up charms, and boys, and Minerva had begun her Animagus training.

“Mmm. That often happens. And there was the young man, Mr Murphy, Quin’s cousin. I noticed when I chaperoned Hogsmeade visits that you two often went together.”

“Yes. Well, as you know, he died during the war. But he was a good friend.”

They reached the house and Minerva led Gertrude up the stairs and down the hall to her oldest brother’s bedroom. Oddly, although he was the oldest and had spent the least time home after leaving Hogwarts, his room was the least changed of the four children’s rooms. Peculiar pictures hung on the wall, and odd specimens, either desiccated or preserved in jars, decorated the shelves. There were only a few books remaining in the room, the others having been removed to the library long before. Malcolm travelled so much that he only had a dozen books or so in his flat. He enjoyed reading books as much as any McGonagall, but he didn’t see the point in owning them when he could read those of others and not be weighed down by them, as he put it. Gertrude’s robes were laid across the foot of the bed, the silvery blue of the silk garments contrasting sharply against the russet-coloured counterpane.

“Here you are. I’ll have Fwisky bring you some towels. The bathroom is just next door. Help yourself to anything you need. You may also call Fwisky if you need something and can’t find it.” Minerva hesitated. “Would you like me to come fetch you? Or are you comfortable coming down on your own?”

“I’ll be fine. Although . . . where will you be?” Gertrude asked.

“Why don’t I just wait for you – I don’t mind. My room is on the other side of the house, this floor, on the left. I’ll wait there for you and leave my door open so you can find me easily.”

Minerva waited in her room, resisting her urge to lie down, instead sitting at the desk. She also resisted the urge to take Albus’s letters from her carpet bag and reread them. Her own behaviour confused her. She had invited Gertrude in order to try to find out something more about her relationship with Albus, had been annoyed when it appeared she wouldn’t have that opportunity, but then when she was alone with her and could have asked her anything, she hadn’t even discussed anything related to Hogwarts, let alone her Headmaster. Minerva sighed. It was probably best just to concentrate on her own relationship with Albus, such as it was. It wasn’t as though she really had any chance to “win him over,” as Quin had put it, so whether he was now, or ever had been, involved with Gertrude was completely irrelevant. It was more important that she nurture her friendship with him, and if, by some chance, Quin was right and Albus could develop feelings for her, return her love . . . .

Her windows looked out over the back gardens, and she could see Malcolm walking up the path toward the house, a spring in his step. He was alone, which led Minerva to believe that everyone else was still out in the gazebo, since when she and Gertrude had entered the house, she hadn’t heard anyone in the library. A few minutes later, she heard Malcolm bounding up the stairs, and she left her room to intercept him. If Gertrude were dressing in his old room, she wouldn’t want him to walk in on her, and Minerva didn’t think she could count on Malcolm to have the sense to knock, not that she supposed he would notice if Gertrude were stark naked. He would probably just sit down begin telling one of his stories, utterly oblivious. He wasn’t a complete barbarian, and as Poppy had said, Malcolm didn’t have a mean bone in his body, but Minerva never really knew what to expect from him. More than thirty years of almost constant travel seemed to have gravely diminished his sense of decorum, if he had ever possessed any.

“Ah, Minerva! I was just looking for you and Gertrude.” He frowned. “I thought you would be together. Has she left? I thought she was staying for supper.”

“She’s changing, as you suggested yourself.” She went back into her bedroom and Malcolm followed.

“Still? How long does it take to throw on some robes?” Malcolm asked.

“I thought she might like to freshen up. After the walk you took her on, I thought it polite to offer.”

“Oh, of course. Anyway, I just came up to tell you that Mother has arranged for supper in the gazebo.” He looked around then took a seat on the bed. “Gertie said you were down in Cornwall for a few days.”

Minerva nodded. “Yes. That is how I met Quin, actually. He was also a guest.”

“I liked him,” Malcolm said approvingly. “He’s someone I wouldn’t mind getting to know better. Too bad he had to leave. I am surprised you two are so . . . chummy.”

“What do you mean by that?” Minerva asked, irritated.

Malcolm gave a half-shrug. “He seems to be . . . a lot of wizard, shall we say. And you haven’t known him long, but you seem very familiar with him, considering what a short time you’ve been acquainted.”

“As I said, we were both at the Gamps at the same time,” Minerva answered, suppressing her annoyance and not wanting to elaborate on the reasons she had come to know him so well so quickly.

“Interesting place?” Malcolm asked, thankfully changing the topic.

“I suppose so. It’s an old house. They have nice gardens, and Gertrude brought me on a hike out to a hill fort that is fairly intact.”

“What are their wards like?”

“And precisely how should I know something like that? And why would you even ask?” Minerva thought her brother was becoming even more odd than she’d previously believed him to be. She doubted he had started to go in for burglary, but she couldn’t imagine what would prompt such a question.

Malcolm flopped back on the bed and folded his arms above his head. “Just wondering. A lot of the old pureblood estates have very interesting wards. I heard from a little bird once that you knew a bit of something about wards. I thought you might have noticed them.”

“I don’t know where you would get that idea. I did my apprenticeship in Transfiguration. And I couldn’t sense the wards even when I walked right through them.” Minerva was perturbed. Had Gertrude said something to him about her work with Albus on the wards? Even her parents hadn’t been told the entire reason she was going to spend the summer at Hogwarts before her seventh year. Only she, Gertrude, and Albus knew. And Dippet, of course. But there had been the people in that Ministry meeting who appeared to know something about her work with Albus – Minister Ouellette and possibly the Prime Minister, at least. Someone either had loose lips or Malcolm was just guessing. She didn’t think that Gertrude would have said anything to him, particularly after only knowing him such a short time.

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “So you wouldn’t know if they had any creature barriers in place.”

“No. I know that Gertrude said something about their Muggle-repelling wards being quite old and extensive, from before the Ministry began regulating them so closely, and, of course, they have Antiapparition wards. They extend a good ways out from the house, not like ours.” He certainly had creatures and beasts on his mind a lot. “You should just ask Gertrude about any creature barriers.”

“I was about to when we ran into you on our way back to the house,” Malcolm replied, stretching. “I thought I’d be bored this evening, to be honest. No offense, little sister, but I didn’t realise you had invited such interesting guests. I thought it was just going to be Poppy and people like that.”

“Malcolm! Poppy is one of my best friends! And she _is_ interesting.” Minerva was annoyed with him. “I hope you don’t say that sort of thing to others.”

“I don’t dislike Poppy. I didn’t mean that. She is very nice. And . . . perky. And I was quite pleased to meet Quin – a very interesting chap, and certainly unusual. But I thought it would just be some staid old teachers from the school.”

“So that’s why you spent most of the evening with Gertrude, monopolising her conversation and Transfiguring trousers for her. You were waiting for the old Hogwarts teacher to begin displaying some staid behaviour,” Minerva said sarcastically.

Malcolm laughed. “Actually, I was pleasantly surprised. For one thing, she appreciates my stories more than my little sister has since she’s been all grown up and too serious for them. And Gertie’s hardly old. And how do you know that she didn’t Transfigure the trousers herself?”

“I can recognise a McGonagall Transfiguration, for one, and for another, Gertrude has told me that Transfiguration is not her strong suit, but it’s something you find quite easy, even if your technique is sloppy.”

“Very good, little sister. I was beginning to think you had become completely dull after all those years in the Ministry, then teaching at Hogwarts,” he teased.

“Mmm, just because I couldn’t sense the wards doesn’t mean that I am utterly incompetent,” Minerva answered mildly, not rising to his bait.

Malcolm subsided for a while, staring up at the ceiling, a blank expression on his face. Minerva was acquainted with that look. It often meant that he had forgotten he was in company at all, and might not utter another word until he suddenly rose and left the room without saying a thing to anyone. Peculiar wasn’t sufficient to describe him, in Minerva’s opinion. 

“And why did I have to hear from someone else that you are going to be the next Gryffindor Head of House?” Malcolm asked abruptly.

“Oh, I was going to tell you today!” Minerva exclaimed. “I already told Melina, and she told Murdoch, of course. I suppose I also assumed you might have heard from Mother or Dad already.”

“Well, my greatest wish for you is that you have only a few students a year who are like your dear brother. You need to be kept on your toes, but not run ragged,” he said with a grin, turning his head to look at her.

There was a light knock at the door, and Gertrude stood there, dressed in her nice robes again and looking freshly coiffed, Malcolm’s jacket folded over one arm. 

“Did you find everything all right?” Minerva asked, standing.

“Yes, thank you. And Fwisky was helpful.”

Malcolm sat up and stood in one fluid movement. “Ready to eat, then?” he asked as he reached out and took his jacket from Gertrude.

Gertrude nodded, and the three went down to the garden together to join the others and find their supper.


	95. Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva tries to distract herself while waiting to return to Hogwarts; she returns early in the morning and pays a visit to Albus. 
> 
> **Beginning of Part Fourteen.**
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, and others.

**PART FOURTEEN**  
 **XCV: Home Again**

Minerva had spent Monday with Poppy, shopping in London and having lunch in Diagon Alley. She was somewhat disappointed that Poppy told her she would consider allowing her to use the Healer’s Pensieve in the Hospital Wing once she had returned to the school for the new semester. Minerva couldn’t blame Poppy for being noncommittal; the reason she had given for wanting to borrow the Pensieve had been weak, to say the least, and she put aside any disappointment, and the two witches had a good afternoon. As evening approached, Poppy asked Minerva if she would like to come back with her to her Muggle grandmother’s house for supper. Minerva declined, saying that she was going to Murdoch’s. When Poppy’s eyes lit up and Minerva could tell she was struggling not to invite herself along, she ended her friend’s torture by asking her if she would like to come with her.

“I don’t know what Murdoch has planned, whether we are eating there or going out, since Quimpy is still at my parents’, but I’m sure you would be welcome, either way.”

Poppy didn’t even make a pretense of protesting that she couldn’t possibly impose, and accepted the invitation with alacrity. Minerva, who had been unsure whether the attraction between the two was one-sided or mutual, was amused to see Poppy trying to flirt without appearing to do so, and was mildly surprised to see that her brother was responding. Murdoch had occasionally dated over the years, but those occasions had been rare and short-lived. Still, when Minerva left at ten o’clock with a few bottles of Vitamin Potion for Albus, Poppy was still there, and she and Murdoch were chatting happily.

Minerva’s Tuesday was spent quietly. She took a relaxed stroll on the grounds, avoiding the high cliffs, but rambling eastward, downhill then up again, wading through small streams and skirting the larger ones. She had shortened her old robes to just below the knee and placed an _Impervius_ charm on her shoes. Despite her leisurely pace, Minerva was quite tired when she stopped after a couple hours and conjured a table and chair then removed her picnic lunch from her pockets. As she sipped her cider and ate her sandwiches, Minerva found herself wishing for company. This was pleasant, and something that she had always enjoyed doing on her own, but she needed distraction. Her thoughts kept turning to Albus, to Quin’s encouraging words about the possibilities for a relationship with him, to her own feelings for Albus, and to her wavering hopes. It was ironic, Minerva thought, that, now that she and Albus were developing a closer relationship and she was now sure of their friendship, her longing for him should be growing. In a way, it was more difficult now than when Albus had been so distant during the term. She would never want to go back to the way things had been then, though. That would be dreadful, worse than it had been at the time, now that she had grown so accustomed to his friendship and his affectionate gestures. Minerva never would have thought it could be so difficult to be away from him for so long – or for such a short time, actually. 

Sitting there, the breeze blowing through the leaves, Minerva fell into a daydream, remembering some of the special moments that she and Albus had shared over the past few weeks, and how kind and sweet Albus had been to her. As her thoughts drifted to her stint as “Morag the Cat,” she smiled. She hadn’t fully appreciated the humour in the situation at the time, but looking back, she actually thought it was quite amusing. Even Wilspy’s choice of clean robes was funny now. Of course, it had been uncomfortable at the time . . . 

When she and Albus had taken his narrow backstairs down to the seventh floor and she had tripped on the hem of her robe, she had certainly been uncomfortable then. No doubt Albus had been, too, although perhaps it hadn’t disturbed him at all. He might not have even noticed that his hand had come to rest on her bare skin, not even an inch from her breast, when he caught her and kept her from falling. She certainly hadn’t failed to notice it, however, and as she sat there now, remembering the way his warm hand had felt on her skin, Minerva closed her eyes. She called to mind Albus’s face as he had looked at her in the flickering torchlight, and she remembered how, the night before, he had sleepily placed a lingering kiss on her forehead and how she had wished she could just drop her parchments and put her arms around him. When he caught her there, standing two steps below her in the narrow stair, his face had been almost level with hers. Had Albus kissed her then, in that lingering way, he would have had to kiss her cheek, or her lips. . . . Minerva swallowed and grew warm, imagining how it would have felt if he had not removed his hand but had drawn it forward to touch her breast, and if she had leaned toward him and he had kissed her, lingering, his lips moving against hers as he brought his other hand around to the small of her back, then stepping up one stair and pulling her closer. She would hold onto him tightly, wind her fingers through his hair, press against him, and he would push down the fabric covering her breast and . . . . Minerva moaned and put her face in her hands. This way lay madness, she was sure. And how could she look him in the eye, knowing the thoughts she had had about him? 

She had to find something to distract her. Minerva stood and banished the table and chair then Apparated directly to her bedroom. Quickly, she freshened up and changed into her pale blue robes. She would visit someone. Get away from the house. There was no point in returning early to Hogwarts. Not only were her parents expecting her to be at home when they returned from Amsterdam that night, but Albus was attending the Wizengamot that afternoon. She cast her mind about. Murdoch would be busy in the Apothecary, Melina was at work at the clinic, Morgan and Fiona, if they weren’t busy trying to make babies, as her mother had put it, were likely busy with their editing and proofreading . . . Malcolm. Malcolm might not be home, but if he was, he wouldn’t be busy, Minerva was fairly sure. And if he weren’t there, she could pop over and see if Perseus and Helen were up for a visit. That decided, she Apparated to the street outside Malcolm’s flat.

Glancing at the steely grey sky and thinking that it was just as well she had cut her walk short, as it looked as though it was going to rain soon, Minerva pulled the small black metal handle and heard a rattley old bell ring within, then the sound of shuffling came from the other side of the door. Malcolm’s plump, grey-haired landlady opened the door a crack and peered out; when she recognised Minerva, she opened it further.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Twiffle. I came by to see my brother. Do you know if he’s in?”

“No, ma’am, don’t believe he is. Went out early this morning. A witch came by for him. Mr Malcolm said something about a job he was doing for her. Don’t think he’s come back yet,” the short witch replied.

“All right, thank you,” Minerva said, slightly disappointed. Of course, just because her brother didn’t have a job didn’t mean he didn’t work. It was just erratic.

Fortunately, Uncle Perseus and Aunt Helen had been pleased to see her, and she spent the afternoon with them. She Apparated back to the house just before her parents Portkeyed home. Minerva greeted them more enthusiastically than they had expected, but they were pleased to be home, as well. Minerva spent the rest of the evening with her parents, playing chess with her father while her mother read, and retiring early in hopes that she could fall asleep quickly, then wake up to return to Hogwarts in the morning.

* * *

Minerva had chafed at her mother’s insistence that she eat a good breakfast before she left. It wasn’t as though there was no food at Hogwarts, and the Apparition was just a short hop, hardly anything requiring all her energy. But she ate, then kissed her parents good-bye and Apparated directly to the Hogwarts gates. She had had a secret hope that Albus would be out taking a walk, as he had the day she returned from the Gamps, but he hadn’t known when to expect her, and she tried not to feel disappointed when she walked up from the gates to the castle and met no one. 

Minerva climbed the four flights of stairs to her room, reminding herself that beginning the next day, it would be an even longer climb, but it was a light-hearted thought. She gave the password to the Silent Knight and entered her small sitting room. It felt odd, knowing that this would be the last day that she would call these rooms home. She let her carpet bags drop to the floor when she saw a large bouquet of flowers on her little window-side table. The others that Albus had given her at the beginning of July finally had to be discarded a few days before she left for her holiday, but now another bouquet had replaced it.

She walked over to the table and smiled to see the cheerfully eclectic selection of flowers, their scent sweet, but not overpowering. There was a note beside the vase.

_“31 July_

_“Dear Minerva,_

_“I noticed when I returned one of your books that your sitting room was empty of flowers. Soon you will be moving into new rooms, but I hope that these will brighten your last day in these._

_“I will be working in my office this morning. Feel free to drop by if you have a minute. I am still planning on our having lunch together to discuss the warding and your transition into the position of Gryffindor Head of House. We can begin the changes to the rooms in Gryffindor Tower this afternoon._

_“Welcome back, Minerva!_

_“Yours,_

_“Albus”_

Minerva smiled happily. Flowers! How very thoughtful. Somehow, she doubted that he provided flowers for everyone’s sitting rooms, and certainly not personally. She stroked the petal of the magical acanthus and smiled as it shivered beneath her finger and the colour changed from pale purple to a full prism of colours before fading back to purple again. Minerva gazed at the flowers and thought of what Quin had said to her a few days before, that Albus’s contradictory behaviour might be the result of seeing her in a new light and not knowing how to act. Perhaps Quin might be right. These flowers, their presence in her room to greet her, could be seen as a romantic gesture if it came from some other wizard, why not when it came from Albus? But the flowers could also just be the gift of a generous and caring wizard who felt guilty about having neglected his friendship with a former student. Albus could still view her as just a girl and have no romantic inclinations toward her at all. And how embarrassed they would both be if she misread his intentions! How she wished she knew what he felt for her, _how_ he felt. Minerva wanted desperately to believe Quin, and to believe that Albus was coming to view her in a new light, a romantic one, or even that he harboured some slight awareness of her as a woman, as an attractive witch. The flowers were beautiful, and she would tell him that when she thanked him for them. However he might feel about her, she could certainly thank him warmly.

Minerva waved her wand and sent her carpet bags sailing into her bedroom. Albus said she could drop by if she had a minute, after all, and this morning, her only reason for being at the castle was his presence. She would stop by and see him, thank him for the flowers, and confirm their lunch plans. Minerva hesitated at her door only a moment and looked down at her robes. They were her light green summer robes, nothing special, but they had appealed to her when she dressed that morning. They were fine.

She was unsurprised when the door at the top of the spiral stairs opened to admit her to the office; she had always known that Albus had some way of knowing when the gargoyle let someone pass, but now that she was aware of his special “door charm,” it seemed less mysterious to her. Fortunately, it didn’t seem strong enough to usually wake him, but Minerva still felt slightly bad about having disturbed him that particular night after he had had a long and tiring day. But then, if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have had that lovely, unselfconscious, lingering kiss on the forehead, either. Which might have been a good thing, given some of the thoughts and feelings that single sleepy kiss had engendered in her. . . .

Minerva cleared her mind as she crossed the threshold. Albus, who was wearing unusually plain navy blue robes, stood to greet her.

“Minerva, good morning!” He smiled brightly.

“Good morning, Albus.” 

It didn’t appear that he was going to come around the desk, but, before she could reflect on it and change her mind, Minerva boldly went around the desk herself, reached up, and kissed his cheek.

“I’m very glad to be back,” she said taking one step back, but leaving her hand resting on his upper arm. “And it was wonderful to find the flowers in my room. Thank you very much, Albus. It was terribly sweet of you.”

Albus smiled, his cheeks slightly pink. “I am glad you liked them, Minerva. I picked them this morning. I hoped they would provide you with a warm welcome.”

“They certainly did. I was very happy to find them, and your note. I am looking forward to our lunch this afternoon.”

“Yes, I am sure you must have many questions about your installation as Head of Gryffindor, as well as about the warding and the changes to the rooms in Gryffindor Tower.”

“Of course, but it will also just be nice to have lunch with you.”

Albus gestured toward the chairs in front of his desk. “Would you care to have a seat?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Minerva said, realising that she had been standing there, her hand on Albus’s arm, half-waiting for him to return her gesture of affection. 

She sat down in one of the wooden armchairs in front of the desk and suddenly felt at a loss for words. She had no reason to be there. It had been foolish to come. She should have simply waited until lunchtime to see him.

“So, how was your tea on Sunday? Did you enjoy yourself, my dear?” Albus asked.

“It was fine.” Minerva said with some relief. “It didn’t turn out quite as I had thought it might, but I think that people enjoyed themselves. Mother is looking forward to implementing some of Johannes’s suggestions for her herb garden, and I think he plans on going back to look at it sometime after the warding is over, so that was nice. And Gertrude seemed to enjoy herself. I was a little concerned, since my brother Malcolm rather commandeered her, but she apparently found him amusing.”

“Oh, that is good, I am glad to hear that. After the difficult time she had before she left for Amsterdam, and then the troubles with Thea’s pregnancy, it is good to hear that she was able to relax and have a good time. How is Malcolm, by the way? I haven’t seen him, oh, in a very long time now.”

“I didn’t know you knew him,” Minerva said. “He is fine. He has a flat in Aberdeen not far from Perseus and Helen. In fact, I think I’ve seen him more in the last few months than I had seen him in the last few years. But how do you know my brother? You never mentioned it.”

“We met . . . more than fifteen years ago, now,” Albus said, thinking back. “He was one of the wizards who was trying to deter Grindelwald back in the early forties.”

Minerva wrinkled her brow. “So you knew him while I was still a student here?”

“Yes, I did.” If Albus felt uncomfortable, he didn’t show it.

“Why didn’t you ever mention it? I had no idea you knew him. And my parents were worried about him in those days, even more so than usual,” Minerva said. “They had no idea what he was up to. Until he got into some trouble with the Ministry, they could only guess at what he was doing. We would all have liked to have known something about his movements.”

“Mmm. Well, the first time I met him, I was unaware that he was your brother, as I was not introduced to him by his real name. He, of course knew who I was, but he chose not to tell me who he was. Some of the European Resistence went by that practice regularly. I also got the idea that he didn’t quite trust me at first; he identified me with the Ministry, and he was loathe to pass even two words with anyone whom he believed to be connected with them. It was only after we had met on . . . three occasions, yes, three, that he told me his name. Naturally, I drew the connection between you and him, but I got the impression that he did not want me to mention to you, or to anyone in his family, that I was acquainted with him. If I had told you I had met him, you would have wanted to know what he was doing, what I was doing that we might meet, and meet more than once, at that. I would have trusted you with that knowledge, Minerva, despite the fact that our operations were strictly secret, but your brother . . . he didn’t want you and your parents to worry about him any more than they already did. It was not my information to divulge.”

Minerva was still slightly perturbed that in all the years she had known Albus, he had never mentioned that he knew her oldest brother. Of course, she could also hold it against Malcolm that he had never mentioned it, either, but it likely would not have occurred to him to do so, any more than it would have if he had met any of her other teachers – although she knew that Albus’s name had come up in conversation when Malcolm had been present, and he had never given the slightest indication that he even knew the older wizard by sight. But her brother was peculiar and always had been.

“I see,” Minerva said. “I think I do, anyway.” She shrugged. 

“I didn’t know him well, Minerva,” Albus elaborated, apparently sensing her discomfort. “As I said, he was wary of the Ministry. But we were able to be of some help to one another from time to time, and I think he came to . . . trust me. But we were not friends, we spent little time together on occasions very separated, and when we did meet, we focussed on our work and our objectives.”

That didn’t sound like the brother she knew, either so quiet you didn’t know he was in the room or rattling away telling one of his outrageous stories. “Are you sure you’re talking about Malcolm? He didn’t try to talk your ear off, telling fantastic tales?”

Albus smiled. “No, my dear. We generally had very pressing business. Although he did once tell us all a most amusing story while we were waiting for a signal to proceed. Just the one time, though. It was a welcome diversion from the tension of waiting.”

Minerva smiled. “Well, it’s good that his stories were useful for something. I understand why you didn’t mention it at the time, and it’s not as though I’ve ever talked about him with you since, when it might have naturally come up in conversation as it just did. As for Malcolm, to the extent that he ever mentions Hogwarts, it’s only in a slightly less derisive tone than he uses when he refers to the Ministry.”

Albus raised his eyebrows. “That could not be comfortable for you, first working at the Ministry and now here.”

Minerva shrugged. “He doesn’t usually say anything explicit about the Ministry that I can’t agree with on some level. As for Hogwarts . . . he stayed in school through his NEWTs, and he didn’t seem to be utterly miserable while he was here, so I think that his remarks about Hogwarts are not particularly heart-felt. I think it’s more out of principle and his dislike for structure and authority than it is out of genuine dislike for the school.” She chuckled. “He did tell me he had expected my guests all to be ‘staid’ Hogwarts teachers and he was surprised that he wasn’t bored. He spent a good deal of time with Gertrude despite his misgivings about my guests and his fear of staid teachers.”

Albus smiled and seemed to suppress a laugh. “And I seem to remember a conversation with you, not very long ago, in which you expressed certain reservations about Gertrude, yourself.”

Minerva really didn’t want to discuss her reservations about Gertrude with Albus, not now that she had recognised her jealousy for what it was and had tried to confront it. “As you said, I didn’t know her well. She doesn’t let people get very close to her, it seems.” Minerva paused, then added, “You seem to be one of the exceptions to that, and Quin, as well.”

“I have been fortunate, yes. It is interesting to hear that she found your brother entertaining,” Albus said, making his statement almost sound like a question.

“Yes, he was at his most amusing Sunday. I assume that Gertrude recognises Malcolm’s nature, though, and that she viewed him just as a source of diversion and not as a new . . . friend of some sort.”

“Unlikely, Minerva. As you say yourself, Gertrude does not permit herself to become very close to others. It is highly unlikely that she would, on such a short acquaintance, decide to count Malcolm among her friends. Still, it is very good to hear that she enjoyed his company,” he replied with a smile. “She should allow herself a few distractions more frequently.”

“You should take your own advice, Albus. I hate to say this, but you look quite tired.”

“Yesterday was a long day,” Albus admitted. “When I finally got back . . . I had no appetite, though Wilspy did her best to scold me and cajole me into eating. And I did eat, but . . . I did some work before retiring. That was my distraction,” he said with a smile. 

Minerva looked at him with worry. “You should have left the work, just gone to bed. You obviously needed your rest after such a long day.”

Albus looked at her quietly for a moment, then asked, “Did you see _The Prophet_ this morning? No? On page two, you will find a most unpleasant and distressing news story. It is, unfortunately, accurate in all the details, although they did omit some of the most unpleasant facts. As much as I dislike sending anyone to Azkaban, in this instance, there was little alternative. I do wish that there had been . . . but there was not. I do not particularly wish to recount the details, but suffice it to say that after hearing the evidence, and seeing it, I did not wish to sleep. Lucid dreaming is all well and good, but there are some things that can disturb one’s sleep even when one isn’t dreaming.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Minerva didn’t know what else to say. “Perhaps next time, you should try reading something relaxing instead of working. Something . . . happy.”

“Perhaps, but I find work to be . . . cleansing, I suppose one could say, and exhausting. And when I finally got to bed, I did sleep well.”

And then he had got up early to pick her flowers for her room. Minerva was overwhelmed with love for this dear wizard. 

“Oh, Albus, you should have slept in this morning. I . . . I love the flowers, but you didn’t have to,” Minerva said.

“It was a pleasure to get up and go out early, pick the flowers, arrange them, thinking of you. I quite enjoyed it, and I hope you liked them.” Albus answered with a smile.

“I do, very much. Very much,” she reassured him.

Minerva wished the desk weren’t there between them, or she would hug him. Perhaps it was just as well. 

“You know, Albus, when I’m here, if you can’t sleep, you can tell me, come to me, and you could talk, if you wanted . . .” That seemed unlikely, given how reticent he was to share things that bothered him. It was a good deal of progress that he had even admitted to her why he hadn’t slept. “Or we could . . . play chess, or something. Or just talk generally . . .” she ended, suddenly uncomfortable.

“I will keep that in mind, my dear. Kind of you to offer, but you must look after yourself, too,” Albus said softly.

“My responsibilities are far from what yours are, Albus.” Minerva looked at Albus and was suddenly sharply aware of the differences between them, and of his status. “I should let you get back to work, Albus. But . . . I know you can take care of yourself, but you really should be rested for the warding on Friday. Just don’t forget that.”

“Do not worry about me, my dear. I have been doing this for a long time now.”

“Of course.” Minerva stood. “I’ll see you at noon for lunch, then?”

“I will look forward to it.” 

Albus stood and walked with Minerva across the office. This gesture reassured Minerva. She had again become confused about how Albus felt about her. Just when she was beginning to think that his gestures might be potentially romantic and she began to hope that his feelings might grow, that he could come to love her as she loved him, she would suddenly feel a vast distance between them. He could seem to withdraw without even doing anything . . .

“I am glad you are back, Minerva.”

Minerva looked up at him. “I am, too. I looked forward to seeing you today. I was sorry you couldn’t come to lunch on Monday, but I understood. I’m very glad we will be able to spend some time together the next few days. You’ll be busy with the warding, of course, but – you will still join me for dinner tomorrow, won’t you?”

“Of course. I have completely cleared my schedule for tomorrow evening. I am looking forward to it more than you can know,” Albus replied with a twinkle.

Minerva smiled, reassured and thinking how surprised he would be to discover that it was a birthday celebration. He was looking forward to it, but he had no idea what he was looking forward to. “Good. I thought perhaps six o’clock. I know that’s early, but you need to be up early for the warding, and I want us to have time to relax and enjoy the evening.”

“That sounds lovely.” Albus smiled down at her.

“Do you have anything in particular that you would like to have for dinner?”

Albus shook his head slightly. “Beans on toast would be a feast, my dear, if I shared them with you.”

Minerva couldn’t suppress her flush of pleasure at his words. “Well, I can’t promise beans on toast, but I am very pleased we will be having dinner together.”

She wished he would kiss her, her forehead or her cheek, just a friendly kiss, so she could lean against him, feel him. Unthinking, she closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating and sensing his magic, his beautiful magic.

“Minerva? Are you all right?” Albus asked.

Minerva’s eyes sprang open. Albus was looking down at her with concern on his face. “Yes, yes, I’m fine, Albus, just . . . just thinking, that’s all. It’s just that it is good to be home. I mean here.”

Albus grinned. “I’m glad you feel it is like home, my dear.” He opened the door for her. “I’ll see you at noon.”

“Yes – here in your office?”

“If that’s all right?”

Minerva nodded. She had hoped they might have lunch in his suite, since he usually seemed to relax more there than when they were in his office. But it was a business lunch, after all.

“Good. I will meet you here,” she said cheerfully, happy to be seeing him again so soon.

She began to turn to go through the door when she felt his hand on her shoulder.

“I _am_ glad you are home, my dear Minerva,” Albus said softly. He kissed her quickly on her temple then stepped back.

It was no sleepy, lingering kiss on the forehead in the middle of the night, nor a soft, tingling kiss on the cheek as he said good-night to her outside her door, but Minerva’s heart beat faster and her hopes rose again as she stepped onto the spiral staircase and rode it down to the second floor.


	96. Not to be Tolerated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus tries to work then tries to nap, but thoughts of Minerva interfere; later, he and Minerva have lunch and begin preparations for her move to Gryffindor Tower.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Portrait Dilys Derwent, Portrait Phineas Nigellus Black, and Portrait Eliphelet Longbottom.

**XCVI: Not to Be Tolerated**

Albus closed the door and sighed. He had done so well up until that last moment, behaved punctiliously like a Headmaster interacting with a member of his staff – a member of his staff who was also a long-time friend, but nonetheless, he had been pleased at his self-control. Showing Minerva the affection and respect she deserved but without crossing the boundaries he had placed for himself. Still, it had only been a quick kiss, a few words, nothing too revealing. But the emotion he had felt in that moment, that was something he would have to rein in, for his own sake, if nothing else.

He started back across the room to his desk when the voice of Eliphelet Longbottom stopped him in his tracks.

“Why don’t you just kiss her properly? That’s what I would have done,” he called out heartily.

“Hush, now, leave him be, Eliphelet!” Dilys answered. “You never have any good advice for him about the school, so don’t decide to speak up now!”

“Disgusting!” came Phineas’s irritable response. “Not to be tolerated!”

Albus turned around slowly and surveyed the portraits. “Don’t you all have other things to do today?”

“My great-great-grandson’s house is a bore. They have me stuck in a room they never use. The library,” Eliphelet answered with a grumble, but he slouched out of the portrait.

Albus looked at Phineas and Dilys, but Phineas was “sleeping,” and Dilys had returned to her tatting. He sat heavily at his desk. If the portraits were beginning to see things – and they, only a bit of charmed canvas – how long would it be before others around him began to observe his behaviour and see him for the old, love-struck fool that he was? Albus removed his glasses and put his head in his hands.

“Don’t worry about Eliphelet, dear. You know what his reputation was – or perhaps you don’t. Terrible womanizer, that one – isn’t that what they’re calling it now? One hears the most interesting conversations at St. Mungo’s.”

Albus wanted to ask Dilys why she was sitting in his office tatting, then, if it was so interesting at St. Mungo’s, but that seemed gratuitously sarcastic, and he was not generally given to sarcasm, at least not blatantly, so he simply said nothing and pretended not to pay her any attention.

“ _He_ would be having that bony Dustern witch on the settee, if he were you,” she said brightly, “then follow it up by lifting plump Perlecta’s skirts and taking her against the door. You should have seen what _he_ got up to, or tried to. I don’t think there have ever been so many witches casting Stinging Hexes in one room anywhere in the wizarding world as when _he_ was Headmaster here. I saw the cut of his character – and far more than _that_ , believe me, dear. He wouldn’t understand the finer feelings a wizard such as yourself might have. No, if a witch showed him the slightest bit of interest, he would be on her in a flash. Never knew a wizard with such stamina myself. And if one had a crush on him – though that always mystified me when it came to Eliphelet, I must say, dear – well, he would not have hesitated to take advantage of the girl’s feelings. He’d do more than just _kiss_ her.” She snipped her thread, tying it off, then continued. “Of course, I don’t think there has been a Headmaster or Headmistress since I’ve been hanging here who hasn’t had a bit of fun in this room, at least a time or two. Usually within the first weeks of taking this office. With the exception of you, of course. But don’t you worry about Eliphelet, dear. We’ll take care of him. We have our ways, you know. You won’t hear another peep from him. And do you know why he was moved into the library? He made highly inappropriate remarks to visiting witches. Can’t have that in a respectable household. Most embarrassing. But I assure you, you won’t have to resort to covering his portrait with a curtain.”

Albus listened to Dilys prattle on. Perhaps it was as she said: Eliphelet was simply making a suggestion based on his own character when he was alive. And he was only a portrait, as animated as he might appear, and a two-dimensional representation of the wizard he had once been. But what Dilys said about “finer feelings” and witches with “crushes,” that disturbed him almost as much as Eliphelet’s original suggestion. He shuddered internally at the thought of Dustern on the couch and Perlecta against the door. At least Perlecta was good-natured, and comely in a soft, rounded, feminine sort of way, but not the type of witch he would have been interested in that way even when he had been a bit . . . freer with his attentions. Well, something more than “free.” He shook his head. That had not been one of the better times in his life, he thought with a sigh, although at least it had led him, finally, back to his correct path. Perhaps it had even been necessary, which was what Nyima had said every time he had expressed regret, that it was all his path, every step of it and every misstep, too.

As much as he wanted to know what Dilys had meant when she mentioned “finer feelings,” Albus didn’t want to draw any more attention to his own behaviour, though, not even just the attention of a portrait. Instead, he settled back into his work, concentrating, avoiding the stray thoughts that occasionally tried to invade his consciousness. When the vision of himself pressing Minerva against the door and raising her skirts flashed through his mind, his quill tip skidded across the page, ending in a dark blot. He gingerly laid the quill to one side, flicked a finger to charm the scratches and blots away, then took off his glasses and set them down in front of him. 

Albus rubbed his eyes. He was tired. If he were better rested, he would not be having such thoughts. He had done a lot of work the night before. A bit of a kip wouldn’t hurt him. He picked up his glasses and put them in his pocket, then stood. After the portraits’ comments that morning, he really didn’t want to have lunch with Minerva there beneath their gazes. His sitting room would do just as well. He would have to watch himself whether they ate here or there, anyway, and they would be busy discussing school business.

“Wilspy!”

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore, may I serve?” the house-elf asked when she popped in barely a moment later.

“Yes, my dear. I believe we should take lunch in the sitting room this afternoon, rather than down here.”

“Very good, Professor! Professor’s Professor Minerva be’s more comfy in the sitting room,” Wilspy said with approval.

“Mmm. And I am going to lie down and rest for a short time. Could you see to it that I am awake by eleven-thirty, please,” he requested. It wasn’t even nine-thirty yet.

“Of course!” She patted his wrist. “You go sleep, dream nice dreams, and I wake Master Albus at eleven-thirty.”

Albus smiled. “Thank you, Wilspy.”

He went up to his suite, washed his face and hands, then changed into a striped nightshirt. He wasn’t sure he would be able to sleep, but he thought he would rest better if he changed out of his robes. As he lay in bed between the pale gold sheets, Albus recalled Minerva’s smile when she entered his office that morning. She had been pleased with the flowers. 

He relaxed with a sigh and closed his eyes and began to drift asleep. In that state between waking and sleeping, he could almost feel Minerva’s kiss on his cheek again, the warmth of her hand on his arm. So sweet, so dear . . . if he had kissed her then, returned hers, perhaps he wouldn’t have felt moved to kiss her before she left, there at the door. He drifted more deeply asleep and his sleepy brain conjured a dreamy memory of her face, looking up at him, her eyes bright, and the way she closed them for a moment. . . . Albus bent forward and kissed her closed lids, taking her face in his hands, then he kissed her cheeks, and then her lips, and she moved toward him, putting her arms around his waist, one hand caressing downward, then beginning to knead him as he pressed her against the door and moved one hand to her breast then further down to wandlessly raise her skirts and find her warmth . . . the sleeping Albus breathed more quickly, his cheeks rosy and his lips parted as his lids fluttered slightly as he dreamed. A part of him knew he was dreaming, and he told himself he should change the dream or wake himself, but he did not. He dreamed on, feeling her, soft, warm, and moist, beneath his moving hand, his lips moving against hers, his tongue teasing her mouth, his other hand finding her breast, baring it, caressing it, and she, pulling him more tightly against her until his hand finally freed himself from his robes, and he raised her up, and then they could be no closer and he felt her hand grip his buttocks as he filled her. Albus woke moments later with a slight cry.

He looked down at the sheets and his hand, then fell back against his pillow again. Merlin, he hadn’t had such lack of control in decades, let alone . . . these results. Albus swallowed and tightened his jaw. No point in excoriating himself about it. He would simply need to do better in the future. And perhaps this might have relieved some of his tension; perhaps he might find it easier to avoid such thoughts about her now that his sleeping mind had allowed him in a dream what his waking mind never would, neither in fantasy nor in reality. Albus calmed himself and freshened the sheets and his nightshirt, but he was uncomfortable, and he swung out of bed.

On the way to the bathroom, he tossed his nightshirt toward the Charmed basket and it disappeared. He ran a cool shower and stepped into it, quickly sluicing the sweat from his body, and just as quickly stepping out and towelling himself off. Albus glanced at Big Ben. Only a little after ten o’clock. He retrieved a fresh nightshirt from a drawer and returned to bed, hoping to have some rest, undisturbed by dreams or nightmares, before Wilspy came to wake him.

* * *

Lunch had been nice, Minerva thought, although they had discussed Hogwarts business almost exclusively. She had been somewhat surprised to arrive at the Headmaster’s office to find it empty, but then Dilys had called down to her telling her that the Headmaster had left her a message to say that lunch had been relocated to his sitting room. Minerva had been pleased to climb the brass stairs to Albus’s suite to find a lovely lunch for two set out on his round table, a tall, narrow vase with just a few flowers decorating it, and the wizard himself waiting for her, sitting in an armchair, reading some parchment. Albus had greeted her with a smile and held her chair for her as she sat, but then he had immediately begun to discuss her installation as the new Head of Gryffindor. It all sounded rather mechanical to her, and it was good to know what would be expected of her, but she wished that Albus had shown a little more enthusiasm about it. She supposed it was all very routine to him, but it wasn’t to her.

After discussing her new position, he introduced the subject of procuring a new Defence teacher. Minerva had very few ideas about that, though she thought it might not be a bad idea to perhaps find a retired Auror who might find the idea of teaching Defence congenial. The most remarkable aspect to their meal, Minerva thought, aside from the fact that they discussed absolutely nothing personal, was that Albus was now wearing the plain burgundy robes of cotton that he had on the day she had left on holiday, rather than the plain navy ones he had worn that morning. When she remarked on them, he simply told her that he had taken her advice about taking care of himself and had a brief nap, so he changed his robes. 

“Shall we now go and look at your new quarters, my dear? Determine what changes you would like?” Albus asked as they finished their berry tarts.

“That would be fine, but I have something for you.” Minerva reached down for the bag she had set beside her chair. “These are for you,” she said, handing him the tan cloth bag. She had been going to wait until his birthday dinner, but if Albus wasn’t taking care of himself, she thought it best to give them to him early.

Albus looked slightly puzzled as he took the bag, but then when he looked into it, he smiled. “Vitamin Potion?” He looked up at her. “The Hogwarts infirmary can keep me supplied, you know, but I do appreciate it. I actually took my last dose a few days ago.”

“Well, Poppy probably won’t be restocking the infirmary any time soon, and she only keeps two flavours, she said. I thought you might like a little variety. I got them directly from my brother. There’s the lemon-lime, grape, and cherry, and a new formula that is vanilla-flavoured. It is meant for wizards and witches under stress. The other three are fairly identical, except for the flavouring. Poppy said it would be all right for you to take the vanilla formula, though, particularly if you aren’t getting sufficient sleep.”

“She did? You talked to her about it?” Albus wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about Minerva discussing his health with the school mediwitch. It was peculiar enough to have a former student treating him without thinking that she and Minerva were discussing his general decrepitude.

“Yes. She was with me at the time, so I just asked her if it would be all right. Murdoch says it’s perfectly safe for anyone to take, but I thought that since Poppy was there, I would just make sure. I wouldn’t want to give you anything that she wouldn’t want you to be taking.”

“Oh, I see.” Albus smiled. “Well, thank you, my dear. It will be nice to have some variety.”

“Yes, um, about that.” Minerva hesitated. “Do you remember the little side-effect I mentioned before? Well, for some reason, if you switch flavours, it returns. Oh, and the vanilla one, it doesn’t go purple, but very bright blue.”

Albus chuckled. “Well, that could actually be rather amusing. Thank you for thinking of me.”

“Always, Albus,” Minerva said. She averted her eyes and fought her blush. “Let’s go, then. I do agree, by the way, that the bathroom I have currently is much nicer than the one in Gryffindor Tower.”

They both stood and Albus said, “I thought you would prefer yours. Shall we take the backstairs? It would be much faster.”

Minerva nodded. She tried not to think about the daydream she had had the previous day. Sometimes she felt that her thoughts and emotions were so strong, it was a wonder they didn’t scream out loud at Albus. But they made it down the stairs without incident, Minerva placing one hand only lightly on his shoulder, and they walked quickly across the castle toward Gryffindor Tower and the rooms designated for Gryffindor Head of House.

Minerva spent the next hour with Albus, discussing changes, with him suggesting more than she would have considered asking for. Her study would be enlarged, the small kitchen reoriented so that it would have a window, and her bedroom would also have several square feet added to it, and on learning that she liked to sleep with the windows open, he suggested adding another, larger window to it. They looked around at the furniture. Minerva thought it was just fine, what could be expected of the rooms belonging to the Gryffindor Head, but Albus was displeased. He said that they had not been changed in more than fifty years, and he thought they could use improvement. Minerva told him that she trusted his judgment, and to do what he thought best. 

When they looked at the bathroom, which combined both the bath and the loo, Albus glanced around and said, “Would you like me to simply replicate what you have now?”

“If you can, that would be nice, Albus. It seems you are already making so many changes . . .”

Albus shrugged. “Hogwarts does most of the work. I just direct it. Then the house-elves do the rest.” He hesitated. “Did you like the tiles in your bathroom?”

“Very much! I have fun looking at them and trying to figure out what they depict,” she said. “I really enjoy them.”

Albus smiled. “I’m glad you like them, my dear. Would you mind terribly if they were just transferred from there to here? It could be the last thing we do, tomorrow morning. You won’t even notice. It’s just that they took a bit of doing the first time – I could replicate them, of course, simply duplicating them, but they are . . . unique.”

“That would be fine, particularly if no one is going to be using my old rooms. They would just go to waste. Where did you get them, Albus?” Minerva asked, thinking that he had either moved them from some other location in the castle, or perhaps had ordered them from a wizarding shop.

“The tiles are just ordinary tiles that were there after the bathroom had been reconfigured for your use, but in the days leading up to your return to Hogwarts, I spent some time decorating them,” Albus explained. “I found pictures that I thought would be suitable to adapt, and I Transfigured the tiles so that each one had a different picture. I’m glad you found them stimulating to your imagination, my dear.”

“Oh, thank you! I honestly think they are my favourite thing in those rooms,” Minerva said. She was touched that he had gone to such efforts for her even before she had arrived. It certainly added to the puzzle of why he had seemed to avoid her all those months. 

Albus turned and smiled at her. “I know how nice it can be to have a relaxing soak after a long day, and it’s easier to do that in a congenial atmosphere.”

“It has been very welcome,” Minerva agreed. She raised her hand and squeezed his arm. “You have always been so good to me, Albus. I don’t know how I can ever adequately express my appreciation for all you have done.”

Albus shook his head. “You bring a lot to my life, Minerva. And never forget, you saved my life, and were willing to risk yours to do that. I would say that was more than adequate, if I were looking for some . . . recompense. But . . . that’s . . . not why . . .” Albus trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words.

“I know,” Minerva said softly. “That’s not what our relationship is about. We are friends, as you have said, friends above all else.”

Albus smiled slightly and nodded.

“But, I am still grateful, Albus,” she said.

“As am I,” Albus responded softly, then added more energetically, “And now, my dear, you may get on with your day. Hogwarts, the house-elves, and I will carry on from here.”

“All right . . . will you be at dinner?” Minerva didn’t know why she asked that. She was beginning to sound needy. As though she couldn’t go more than a few hours without seeing him. “I was just wondering . . . you should be sure to eat.” Wonderful, now she sounded like a mother hen, just what Albus seemed to dislike.

Albus raised an eyebrow, but smiled. “I will be sure to eat, but I plan to be at dinner. You really needn’t worry, Minerva.”

“I know, and I don’t mean to fuss, but I am glad you had a nap this morning. You look rested and more relaxed,” she observed. Minerva thought that Albus looked uncomfortable at her words, and he seemed to flush. Worried that he was becoming irritated with her, she hastily added, “But I know you can take care of yourself. I’m sorry . . . I just want – ” _to take care of you_ , she thought. “I just want the best for you, and there seems so little I can do.”

“That’s all right, my dear. I understand. You have always been Mother McGonagall, and I have been grateful.” Albus felt guilty, knowing why he seemed so rested and relaxed. He had violated her, her privacy, her modesty; that he had been asleep at the time was no excuse. He had been aware he was dreaming. He could have woken himself. He didn’t know why he didn’t. And now she was apologising to him. He smiled at her, trying to reassure her. “Now you go enjoy your afternoon. I am sorry I have taken so much of your time today.”

Minerva laughed lightly at that. “It is for my benefit, after all, Albus. And now you are about to spend more time on it.”

“Oh, I’ll also be expanding one of the greenhouses this afternoon, too, and making a few other changes to the castle. It will be all ready for the warding on Friday, and I will be done with all of the reconfigurations by tomorrow afternoon so that we can spend a nice evening together. And Gertie is returning sometime tomorrow, and she will be able to help with some of it.”

“That’s good – but I thought she was returning today,” Minerva said questioningly.

“I received an owl from her just before lunch. She decided to take an extra day,” Albus replied.

“I see. Well, thank you for lunch, and for all your work. I wish I could do something to help.” Inspiration hit her. “Your correspondence – I could help with that. If nothing else, I could sort it for you – ”

“You don’t need to, Minerva, but if you are looking for something to do . . . don’t feel obligated, but that would be helpful. I received a number of letters from parents yesterday and today. Perhaps you could draft responses for me? If you like – ”

“Good. I won’t feel guilty that you are here working on my rooms while I am just relaxing,” Minerva said enthusiastically.

Albus smiled. “I will actually be returning to my office shortly, myself, but I won’t be needing the desk, so feel free to make use of it.”

“I will see you later, then.” 

Minerva wanted to linger, to watch Albus work, but she left, taking the stairs down to the second floor, then the moving spiral staircase back up to the Headmaster’s office. She truly didn’t understand his behaviour; he seemed far more mercurial than she had ever known him to be. Minerva hoped it didn’t mean that the stress he was under was affecting his health. But surely he had been under more stress than this on other occasions. Quin’s words came back to her in his lilting Irish voice. _“If he’s unsure of his own feelin’s, that could go far in explainin’ his contradictory behaviour. Could be he’s seein’ his Transfiguration mistress in a new light and don’t know how to act.”_ Perhaps tomorrow, his birthday, she could . . . explore this theory of Quin’s.

When Minerva had gone, Albus sat down heavily in an old wooden armchair and sighed. Phineas had spoken the truth that morning. It was not to be tolerated. Disgusting, in fact. He had to get control of himself. He had to treat Minerva with the respect to which she was entitled, at all times . . . at _all_ times.


	97. Happy Birthday, Albus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva moves into her new quarters in Gryffindor Tower then surprises Albus for his birthday.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, and Blampa.

**XCVII: Happy Birthday, Albus**

Minerva was thrilled with the results of the changes Albus made to her new rooms. He hadn’t let her visit them the day before, not even after dinner when the rooms had already been reconfigured. “Let the house-elves finish their work, Minerva,” he had said with a twinkle after dinner, and she agreed. He obviously wanted her to see them only after everything was complete.

In addition to reconfiguring the rooms, Albus had directed the house-elves to change much of the furniture, and the walls had all been redecorated, as well. Her bedroom was a sunny yellow with claret-coloured trim, her sitting room a deeper shade of yellow, bordering on gold, with burgundy trim, and her study was a soothing cream with deep teal-coloured trim on the bookshelves and door frame. The curtains all had been changed out, as well, replaced with new ones that complemented the rooms’ colour schemes, and the draperies in her bedroom were heavy and dark, so that she could close them and keep the early morning sun out, if she wished. And, of course, her former bathroom had been replicated, but it was much larger, and the shower now was almost identical to the one that was in the Headmaster’s bathroom. Minerva felt quite spoiled. She was fairly certain that no other Head of House had such a luxurious bathroom – although it was possible that Slughorn, hedonist that he seemed to be, had requested some changes to his facilities and had something similar in his quarters. The only thing that would have made her move to her new rooms more perfect is if Albus had been with her when she first saw them. 

Blampa had popped into Minerva’s sitting room as she was finishing her breakfast and told her that everything was complete in her new rooms, and all they needed to do was move her personal effects. Minerva took charge of her photographs, her small “shrine” to Albus, and her box of correspondence, but let Blampa move everything else. By the time she had climbed the stairs up to the seventh floor, Blampa had finished moving her books, clothes, and other personal items into her new home.

Minerva was thrilled by her new rooms, and she distracted herself from her feeling of disappointment that Albus hadn’t been there with her by stowing her wooden box of letters in the bottom of her new wardrobe and arranging her photographs on her new vanity table, then carefully placing the small photograph of Albus on her night stand, the twin white stones next to it, and the evil eye nested in its cord in front of the picture. 

Minerva fingered the peculiar Muggle talisman and remembered the Gypsy who had given it to her, and Albus’s conversation with him. Albus had hesitated when he had told her that he had travelled with the Gypsies during his youth. There was so much about Albus that she didn’t know. She had believed that she knew him well, her love told her that she did, but it seemed that there were layers to him that were . . . perhaps not hidden, but certainly obscured. He had alluded a few times to his defeat of Grindelwald. She knew that it had been a costly defeat, from what he had said, but there seemed to be some mystery surrounding it, and the more she reflected on it, the more peculiar it seemed to be that in the interviews afterward, none of the Aurors present had said anything about how it had been done, or what had happened during the time between when they had disappeared and Albus’s victory over the Dark Wizard. It was a puzzle, and try as she might, Minerva did not believe that she could restrain her curiosity much longer. But she would do her best to wait until Albus was ready to talk to her about it. Running off to find Rufus Scrimgeour or Alastor Moody, or the other Auror who had been with Albus at the time, would likely be fruitless, anyway. If they hadn’t told the newspapers what happened, it was not very likely they would tell her.

Minerva had fun organising her new study and having Blampa help her rearrange her books and bring some up from her teaching office. She put the flowers Albus had given her in the study and spent the morning going over lesson plans for the autumn and reading the few applications for the Magical Creatures position that had arrived while she was on holiday, and studiously avoided thinking about Albus’s birthday. She had already told Blampa what she wanted for their dinner, and there was no point in preparing the room until later that afternoon.

She was trying to concentrate on deciphering a Greek wizard’s application letter when there was a rattling at her window pane. Minerva opened it, removed the letter from the small owl’s leg, and was surprised when the bird turned and left immediately without waiting for a treat, or even a bit of praise.

_“Dear Professor McGonagall,_

_“A parcel has arrived for you in our establishment. Mr MacAirt said you would be expecting it. Please make arrangements for its retrieval._

_“Wishing you an enchanting day,_

_“Kyle Flatiron,  
“Proprietor, The Three Broomsticks”_

It must be the box of sweets Quin had said he would send for Albus’ birthday. Odd that he hadn’t simply sent it directly to her by owl. Minerva looked out her window. It was a nice day, a walk to Hogsmeade might be pleasant, but Minerva didn’t really want to leave her new rooms.

“Blampa!”

There was a loud crack and Blampa appeared in the door to the study.

“Yes, Professor Minerva? May I, Blampa, serve?”

“Yes, please, Blampa. A parcel has arrived for me down at the Three Broomsticks. I am going to give you a note to give to the proprietor, and I would like you to fetch the parcel and bring it back here. Please put it in my bedroom if I am not here when you return.”

Blampa gave a wide, toothy grin and bounced on her toes. “Okey-dokey, Professor Minerva! I be’s happy to fetch Professor Minerva’s parcel!”

Minerva wrote a quick note, cast the _Sigillum_ Charm to imprint her personal seal at the top of it, then sealed it with a blob of sealing wax and charmed her initials into it. Now she could go down to the staff room for lunch, and hopefully see Albus and thank him for taking care of her rooms, knowing that Blampa was taking care of retrieving the package from Quin.

When she reached the staff room, she was disappointed to see that Albus, dressed in plain grey robes, was sitting at the head of the table with Johannes on his left and Wilhelmina on his right. Gertrude wasn’t there, and Minerva assumed that she hadn’t returned to the castle yet. Minerva greeted everyone then took the seat across from Hagrid and helped herself to a sandwich as her bowl filled with soup.

“Are your rooms satisfactory, Professor McGonagall?” Albus asked with a smile.

“Very satisfactory, Professor Dumbledore,” Minerva answered. “However, one of the items that Blampa moved for me this morning was the landscape from my bedroom.” 

Albus had moved the Silent Knight to her new quarters the previous evening, providing a different portrait for the door to her old rooms. When he did that, the connection between the Silent Knight’s portrait and the landscape had been severed. Because she was only spending one more night in those rooms, he had not connected the landscape to the new portrait.

“Would you like the painting connected with your door ward, then? I could do that this evening, my dear,” Albus suggested.

Minerva thought quickly. She really did not want him to do any work at all that evening, and certainly nothing for her. She wanted them to be just Albus and Minerva that night, not Headmaster and teacher.

“If you could stop by and do it quickly sometime this afternoon, that would be convenient. Otherwise, there’s really no hurry. Perhaps once the warding is completed.” There was, after all, the picture over the mantle, a rather bucolic scene of sheep grazing on a hillside, not a human in sight, and that was connected to her door portrait. She could hear Fidelius barking from there, she thought, if she weren’t sleeping heavily.

Albus raised an eyebrow, but he did not protest her suggestion.

“I will stop by this afternoon, then, if I have a few minutes,” he answered with a nod.

Minerva resumed eating, and Johannes told her again how impressed he had been with her mother’s gardens. 

“She has the green thumb, your mother,” he said. “And an artistic eye. Her plantings were most pleasing.”

Minerva ate her lunch quickly, foregoing dessert. She stopped next to Albus before leaving.

“Do you have a notion of when you might be coming by, Professor?” Minerva wanted to take a bath and change her robes before their dinner, and she didn’t want to be in the bath when he arrived to connect the portrait.

“I thought I would look in on my way back from lunch, if that is suitable,” he answered.

“Very. Thank you very much – I know how busy you are.”

“My pleasure, Professor. And I will show you how it is done. When you become Head of Gryffindor, you will be able to manipulate the portrait network in Gryffindor Tower and even, to some extent, in the rest of the castle.”

Minerva smiled at the thought that in just a day, she would be the new Head of Gryffindor.

Minerva returned to her rooms, not minding the seven flights of stairs, happy to be heading toward Gryffindor Tower. When she got there, she took a moment to look out her sitting room window, which gave her a much better view of the grounds than she had from her previous sitting room. She looked around her. The furnishings were perfect. She had been slightly worried that Albus would clad everything in tartan. She did like tartan, but even she recognised that one could overdo it. The only tartan in the room was on the cushioned seats of the two wooden chairs that went with the small round mahogany table. Blampa had told her that morning that there were more like it that the house-elf could Apparate to the sitting room if Minerva ever needed them for guests. The Scottish theme was continued, however, in a subtle design of thistles that was woven through the solid-coloured fabric covering her settee and one of the upholstered armchairs. The remaining two chairs were clad in a fabric whose pattern picked up both the deep red of the room’s trim and the golden yellow of the walls. While the colour scheme was reminiscent of the red and gold of her House, the room didn’t scream, “Gryffindor!”

Remembering that Albus would have to enter her bedroom in order to connect the landscape to the portrait network, Minerva realised that he would see her little “shrine” to him if she didn’t move it, so she went into her bedroom. She was immediately confronted with an immense hamper, a giant red ribbon tied around its handles, sitting in the middle of the bedroom floor. Minerva gaped at it. Quin had said a “box” of sweets. This was his notion of a box?

“Blampa!”

The little house-elf winked in. 

“Yes, Professor Minerva? I, Blampa, fetches Professor Minerva’s parcel!” she said happily.

“You certainly did. Thank you very much. But now, can you take it away again? Don’t bring it far – but it’s a surprise for Professor Dumbledore, and he will be here in a little while and he can’t see it yet. Just bring it back when he’s gone again.”

“Youse wants I, Blampa, to hide the big basket?” Blampa asked.

Minerva nodded. Blampa snapped her fingers and the hamper vanished. 

“The Professor Headmaster not see the big basket. I, Blampa, promises!”

Minerva sighed. “Thank you, that will be all for now.”

As soon as the house-elf had vanished, Minerva removed the small photograph from her night stand and placed it in the drawer with the two white stones, but she left the evil eye out. She had just returned to the sitting room when the Knight entered and announced that the Master of the Castle requested admittance. Chuckling, Minerva opened the door.

“You seem cheerful, my dear,” Albus said as he stepped in.

“The Knight just announced the ‘Master of the Castle,’” she explained.

Albus grinned at that description of himself, then set about connecting the portrait to the landscape, explaining what he was doing as he went about it.

“When you are Head of Gryffindor, you will be able to connect and disconnect paintings throughout the castle except in areas that are under the control of one of the other Houses,” Albus told her as he finished up. “It is likely that you will have little occasion to do so, but it can sometimes be useful. And, of course, you will have the passwords to the common rooms of each of the Houses, in case of emergency. Again, it will likely be rare that you will have any need to enter the common room of another House, but when there is an emergency, it is one less thing to worry about. Now, I have some more work to finish before our dinner, so I am afraid I cannot tarry, my dear.”

“That’s all right, Albus. I am very glad you will be coming to dinner tonight. Thank you again for the care you have taken with the rooms. They are very comfortable, and I haven’t found a thing I would change,” Minerva said.

“Yes, well, I do hope you will occupy them for many years to come, and they should be comfortable for you,” Albus said with a warm smile. 

After Albus left, Minerva called Blampa and had her return the hamper of sweets to the bedroom, then she decided to take a bath and change her robes – that way, she could spend the rest of the afternoon preparing for her dinner with Albus.

Minerva undressed and tossed her clothes into the dirty laundry. She knew that she wanted to wear the same robes she had worn the morning she had Portkeyed to the Gamps. Albus had liked them; he had said they brought out the colour of her eyes, she remembered with a faint blush of pleasure, and she liked the way the robes felt on her, and the way the voluminous, layered skirts swished when she walked.

Minerva entered her bathroom and selected the rose-scented tap, remembering how much she had enjoyed her mother’s rose bath soap a few days before, then filled the bathtub with hot water. She stepped in. It was the perfect temperature – hot, but not scalding or uncomfortable. Minerva lowered herself into the water and leaned back. Bliss! 

She looked around at the decorated tiles surrounding the bath, appreciating them even more knowing the lengths that Albus had gone to in order to provide them. This bathroom, and the bathtub, were larger than they had been in her former quarters, and it appeared he had added some new tiles. Beginning at the top and working downward, Minerva scanned them, trying to find the different ones. She identified two new ones that were interesting, but similar to others that had already been there. Then, right at eye level, she found a series of new tiles. She didn’t know now how she had missed seeing them before.

Minerva scootched closer to the other end of the bathtub to look at them more carefully, the water sloshing around her. She looked at each tile in turn, and her eyes filled with tears. All of the decorated tiles contained depictions of heros and heroines of the wizarding world, and most of the scenes Albus had chosen focussed on witches. But these tiles, she knew immediately, he had created from memory, not from pictures found in any books. The first tile showed a small striped cat running through some woods. The second tile was of the cat, paw lifted in the air, sniffing the breeze, beside the figure of a wizard lying beneath an overhanging rock. The next picture showed the wizard sitting on the ground as a witch knelt beside him and tended to his wounds, and the following one again depicted the tabby running through the woods, this time, a collar held in her mouth; a small scene on one side of that tile showed a group of shadowy, hooded figures turned away from the cat. The next scene showed the witch again, standing dramatically in a small clearing, her wand held aloft, the wizard, seeming small and frail, holding onto a scrubby little tree, watching her. The final tile depicted the witch, a log cradled in one arm, holding the hand of the wizard as the group of dark, hooded wizards approached the clearing.

Tears ran down her face. Why she should cry, Minerva wasn’t completely sure. It was partly the memory of that frightening time, partly the idea that Albus would place her image there amongst all of those other eminent witches and wizards, and partly the thought that something in those pictures, in their creation, was a sign that Albus loved her. Perhaps in the same way that he had loved her when she was a child, the love that had enabled him to staunch her magical drain, but he did still love her. In each of the tiles that showed both of them, Albus was looking at her, his gaze fixed on her, whether she was cat or witch. Minerva sniffled a little and wiped her face with the back of her hand. Now she was even more glad that she had decided to have the birthday dinner for Albus. Her love and gratitude knew no bounds . . .

* * *

At five-thirty, Albus stepped from the shower. As he dried his hair and beard, he pondered his robes. He had been trying to dress sensibly for the past week or two in an effort to reduce his general air of eccentricity, but it really was quite dull, particularly as he was limited in his choice of robes, possessing only four sets that could be deemed sensible. He had always had a fondness for elegant clothes, rich fabrics, and eye-catching colours. As a young wizard, he had been something of a fop – as much as one could be on a somewhat limited budget, anyway. Then, of course, he had let himself go to seed for a while, and his manner of dress had reflected that. When he began to recover from that period in his life, he had worn simple robes more out of necessity than from any particular choice, but they were, at least, colourful. When he began to work again with Nicholas Flamel, he slowly returned to his former way of dressing. He had always viewed it as one of his few luxuries, one of his only vices, so he tried not to feel too guilty when he spent his Galleons on a particularly beautiful set of robes, but he did place himself on a budget, and there was a limit to what he would spend on one individual outfit, much to Madam Malkin’s continuing disappointment. 

Now, though, he was trying something new – blandness. However, judging from the reaction of others when he arrived at the Ministry first in plain grey robes of an ordinary cut and a few days later in stark black robes, his new choices were considered as eccentric as his former choices had been. On each occasion, wizards and witches who met him asked him whether he had been to a funeral. Albus sighed. He supposed that people had become so used to him wearing highly coloured or decorated robes that they now considered them normal for him and any deviation was seen as peculiar. Fortunately, no one at school seemed to notice. At least no one commented on his rotation through his four sets of sensible robes. But tonight, Albus wanted to look nice for his dinner with Minerva. His birthday dinner, actually, although she didn’t know that. A wizard had a right to dress up on his birthday, surely. And for the woman he loved, although she didn’t know that, either.

Albus wavered in his choice, almost selecting the same robes he had worn the first time he had breakfast with Minerva in her rooms, but remembering how closely they fitted, he decided against them. He had regained control over his . . . reflexes, but there was no sense in taking any chances. And he did want to be able to relax that evening and not worry unduly about Occluding or otherwise managing his physiological responses. Instead of the blue robes, then, Albus chose the dusty rose robe with the gold patterns swirling through it, and the thin, pale gold under robe that went with it. There was a matching hat that he normally wore with these robes, but he thought that this evening, he would leave his head bare, as was becoming more fashionable among wizards.

Albus finished dressing, fetched the house-warming presents he had for Minerva, and left through his backstairs, thinking how convenient it was that the stairs would bring him to the seventh floor, just a short walk from Minerva’s quarters in Gryffindor Tower. Not that he presumed he would have very many occasions to use them to visit her, of course, but they were still convenient.

Minerva stood in her sitting room and surveyed it with a critical eye. She thought that everything was ready, and the room certainly looked nice, but that was as much Albus and the house-elves’ doing yesterday as it was hers today.

The round table was covered with a white damask cloth, matching napkins at each place. Blampa had provided the nicest china and silverware available in the castle – although Minerva had her remove the first set of china she had brought, as it was hideously ugly, highly-decorated Victorian stuff; no matter that it had gold leaf on it, it would turn her stomach to try to eat off it – and Minerva had placed two Everlasting Nondrip candles in two low silver candlesticks and set them on the table in positions that wouldn’t interfere with their conversation or their food. Blampa had convinced her that placing the chairs at angles to one another was better than having them across from one another, happily demonstrating this by having Minerva sit in one chair while she set her little body in the other chair, first in one position, then in the other. Despite the fact that Minerva could scarcely see the little house-elf’s head over the table as it was, she did agree with Blampa in the end. She and Albus could sit beside one another and still look at each other while they talked. That was a nice thing about round tables, Minerva supposed.

The days were still very long, so Minerva had closed the curtains against the evening sun. Some daylight still filtered through, but that meant that she didn’t have to light many other lamps or candles, and the ones on the table stood out more as a result. Minerva had planned the menu, and Blampa was going to arrange for the meal to arrive all at once so that they would not be disturbed. There was a cake sitting on the kitchen sideboard, nicely decorated by the Hogwarts house-elves. Minerva had dithered quite a bit about the issue of candles for the cake. To Minerva, the one thing that made a birthday celebration special was candles on the cake, otherwise, it could be a celebration of anything. Even if that was the only mark of celebration, it was the only one that mattered, in her opinion. She had to have candles on the cake. She clearly couldn’t put one on for each year he had been alive. The cake just wasn’t big enough. They would have a conflagration on their hands if she tried anything that ridiculous. Minerva grinned at that thought. 

Aside from the impracticality of having a candle for each year, Minerva wasn’t sure precisely how old Albus was, but she believed he turned one hundred-seventeen that day. Minerva felt uneasy when she thought of how much younger she was than he, how much a child she must still seem to him, and for a brief moment, she remembered her sense of hurt when he had called her a “good girl” at the beginning of the summer, but she shoved that thought aside. She would concentrate on this evening and making the celebration a happy one for him, for them both.

Minerva had finally decided on three candles for the cake. Three was one of her favourite numbers, but aside from that, each candle could have a separate meaning. The first one, the gold candle, was in honour of his birthday; the white candle represented his twenty years at Hogwarts; the third candle represented the same twenty years, but was in honour of their friendship. She had dithered terribly about the colour for the final candle, but finally made it red. It went well with the other two candles, and it was the colour of love. Any kind of love. Generally, romantic love, but if he didn’t view her in that light, Albus would likely read nothing into it. If he did . . . perhaps it might stimulate his thinking. Minerva shoved that thought aside, too. No vain hopes, she told herself. Just enjoy the evening, enjoy Albus’s company, and leave any hopes and fears behind for the time being.

There was one last preparation about which Minerva was unsure. She had a banner hung above the fireplace over the landscape, which said “Happy Birthday, Albus” and had different coloured ribbons hanging from it. It was concealed now, and she had thoughts that when she was ready to reveal that this was a birthday celebration, she would also reveal the banner, but she was not sure whether that was silly or not. She thought it was the sort of thing her other friends might appreciate, but with just the two of them there . . . would he think her completely foolish? Just a little girl decorating with childish decorations? But Albus liked to have fun. He even thought it amusing to have purple pee, after all. If she was honest, he was likely to appreciate that kind of decoration more than she would.

The hamper of sweets and the box from Madam Malkin’s were in her bedroom. She would bring them out later, when she was ready to give them to him. Minerva wasn’t sure when she was going to reveal that it was a birthday celebration. She could wait until the cake . . . then she could reveal the banner and bring out the cake. And then after he had recovered from that surprise, she could bring out his presents, first Quin’s, and then hers – in a way, it was good that Quin’s hamper of sweets was a bit over-the-top. It might make her own gift not seem quite as extravagant. Well, it would still seem extravagant, Minerva supposed. Her gift was likely to make Quin’s hamper of sweets seem like a stale, lint-covered candy from the bottom of a child’s pocket. But before she even gave her present to him, she would explain that it was for more than just his birthday.

Minerva closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She was becoming nervous about the gift again. She brought to mind her mother’s reaction to the robes, the way her eyes lit up as she admired them, and her words of approval. The robes were the perfect present. She would just keep that firmly in mind.

Albus would be arriving soon. Minerva took one last trip into her bedroom to examine herself in the mirror. She was wearing the slate green robes with the silvery embroidery that she had decided on that morning, and she had put up her hair the way she had it the last time she had worn the gown, including the mother-of-pearl inlaid hair clips. Her make-up charms were subtle, but she thought they made her look as elegant as she possibly could look. Sophisticated and seductive were completely beyond her reach, Minerva thought with a sigh. Of course, seductive would not be particularly appropriate on this occasion, though she wished it were. Minerva took another deep breath and let it out. None of those thoughts this evening, only ones of warmth and friendship. Focus on the moment, she told herself, and on Albus. This evening was for him.

Minerva entered the kitchen and took down several glasses. She didn’t know what Albus would want to drink, not that she had very much variety to offer him. Now Minerva wished that she had gone into Hogsmeade for Quin’s parcel; she could have stopped in the shops and bought something more. But he couldn’t drink a dozen different things, after all. It would have been wasteful to purchase something she wasn’t going to use. Minerva hadn’t arranged for any appetisers, since they were eating so early in the evening, but if Albus wanted something to nibble on, she would call Blampa, and she could do the same if he wanted something ordinary to drink, such as butterbeer, cider, or pumpkin juice.

She looked at the cake again. It was a Hogwarts cake, not one of Madam Puddifoot’s creations, and Minerva suddenly worried that it wouldn’t be good enough, but Blampa had reassured her that Wilspy had taken charge of its baking and was supervising the dinner, as well.

“Wilspy be’s the bestest house-elf, Professor Minerva! Wilspy shows Blampa everything so’s I, Blampa, be’s a good house-elf, too. She be’s the bestest!” Blampa had declared, more than a touch of hero-worship in her large, shining eyes.

Minerva wondered if she should sing “Happy Birthday” or not. She hadn’t the best voice in the world. She could carry a tune, but unlike her brothers Malcolm and Murdoch, her voice could at best be described as “pleasant.” Murdoch had a lovely baritone, though he reserved it mostly for drinking songs and the occasional Christmas carol. Malcolm was a tenor, and his voice was almost indescribable . . . if she hadn’t thought it inappropriate, she would have enlisted him to sing at her tea party. Of course, one never knew what he might sing. Perhaps it was not even his voice that was so remarkable, but the expression behind it. It could be haunting, melancholy, joyful, mocking, or heart-rending, depending on what he was singing. Although he could be persuaded to join Murdoch in singing more usual fare, he often sang songs he had learned in his travels, often long ballads, and often in a language unknown to his listeners. One song that he sang he said he had learned in the Balkans, and it brought goose-bumps to her arms and raised the hair at the nape of her neck. In between verses, in a sing-song voice, he recited in English what he had sung of in the verse before. 

This was the story of a man on a quest for his heart after great trials and many sorrows had first caused his heart to cease beating, and then had stolen away his heart, as the man, overwhelmed by his tribulations, relinquished it without a struggle as just another unnecessary burden. The song went on, verse after verse, retelling the man’s many troubles and his long trek through many lands, his despair and his failures, and how he had finally regained his heart after overcoming numerous obstacles. Yet his heart sat heavy in his chest, like a stone, and was not warm and did not beat. Heart restored to him, the man travelled home, again encountering obstacles and trials, and yet finding them easier to overcome now that his heart was again in his chest. Yet still it did not beat; it was still and cold as stone, even after he returned home, even after defeating demons and monsters of all descriptions. And many loved this man and called him “hero,” the man with the greatest heart, they called him, the giving and loving heart. And still his heart did not beat and lay cold and heavy as stone, completely still in his chest, and it brought him no joy. Then on the road, he met a beautiful princess who saw him and loved him, and the hero felt lighter, his heart not sitting so heavy in his chest. But yet it did not beat and was cold as stone. He became the princess’s devoted companion, taming beasts for her amusement and giving her a giant lion on which to ride. In the dark of a cold winter’s night, the hero saved the princess from a great fall into a deep abyss, and his heart grew warmer and was no longer cold as stone, but still, it did not beat. Then one day, the man was struck by dragon fire and a giant’s club; he lay near death in a lonely wood. He dreamed of the princess and he dreamed of his death and he lamented his still and quiet heart. But the princess, riding on her great lion in search of him, found her hero, and with her kiss, she saved him, and with her tears she healed him, and when the hero’s eyes met hers, his heart began to beat once more.

When Minerva had first heard the song at the age of eight, she had scoffed, saying that no man could live without a heart, nor with a heart that was cold as stone and did not beat. When she heard it at twelve, she wept. When she heard it at eighteen, she got up and left the room, unable to bear it.

Minerva shook off the memory of her peculiar brother and his even more peculiar songs, and decided that she would decide at the time whether to sing “Happy Birthday” or not. Likely not.

At that moment, the Silent Knight creaked into the sitting room, Fidelius at his side, and announced that the Master of the Castle was without and was asking for the Mistress of Gryffindor Tower. Minerva shook her head. Never a sensible word from that one. But what could one expect from a portrait?

Minerva went out to the sitting room and opened the door manually, admitting a smiling Albus. Minerva’s face lit up; he looked wonderful in his rose and gold robes, holding flowers in front of him in one hand, a bottle in the other, and a small wrapped package floating over his left shoulder.

“Albus! Welcome! Come in,” Minerva said. “Let me take those from you.”

Albus handed her the flowers and the bottle, but left the small package floating above his shoulder.

“May I say that you look lovely this evening, Minerva?”

Minerva flushed with pleasure. “Thank you. You look very nice, too. You didn’t need to bring anything, though.” 

She Summoned a small vase from the kitchen and it came to rest on the table. 

“I couldn’t arrive empty-handed, not when we are celebrating your first evening in your new quarters,” Albus replied as Minerva put the flowers in the vase and looked at the bottle of cognac.

“This is very nice, thank you, Albus,” Minerva said appreciatively, setting it down. “Perhaps we can open it after dinner – unless you would like some now. I have sherry, gillywater, and whisky – or anything that the house-elves can provide, of course.”

“A small sherry might be nice, but first, you must open your house-warming present,” Albus said, plucking the package from the air and holding it out to her. “It’s just a little something that I noticed you didn’t have and thought you might like.”

How typical of the wizard, Minerva thought, coming to dinner bearing gifts on his own birthday. Well, he would be surprised later.

Minerva gestured to the sofa. “Let’s sit down.”

The two took seats at either end of the small couch, and Minerva began to unwrap the package, not using magic, but taking pleasure in opening it more leisurely by hand.

“You have already given me so much, Albus. You really didn’t need to give me anything else.” She paused, letting the small package rest on her lap. “The tiles, Albus . . . they were beautiful before, but this afternoon . . . I saw the new ones.” Tears rose in her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but not before Albus saw them.

“Oh, my dear! I had not wanted to distress you! I can replace them. It was foolish of me. Such a sad reminder. I will do it now – ” He began to rise from his seat.

Minerva put her hand on his knee. “No, no, please, they are wonderful!” Tears rose in her eyes again. “I just . . . to see them there, with all the others, the ones of all the famous witches and wizards . . .” Minerva couldn’t continue, and she tried to wipe her tears away.

“My dear Minerva, you belong among any count of great witches, whether anyone else recognises it or not. To me, you are the bravest, most clever, most remarkable, and most . . . impressive witch of any of them. It seemed fitting. . . .” Albus reached out a hand and brushed a tear away, then caressed her cheek lightly. 

Minerva sighed and closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. Then she opened her eyes and sat up straighter, smiling slightly. “You exaggerate, Albus, but I do appreciate it, very much.”

Albus shook his head slightly. “I exaggerate not at all, my dear. But come, open your real present now. It’s just a small thing, as I said – ”

“Please don’t apologise for your present. I haven’t even had a chance to open it and be disappointed yet!” Minerva said with a laugh.

She picked up the package and finished unwrapping the gold paper, revealing a plain grey cardboard box. She shook the top off and laughed when she saw its contents.

“A wizarding wireless!” she said.

“Yes, I noticed you didn’t have one, and I didn’t know whether you didn’t care for them or what, but they can be nice to have on occasion.”

“No, this is fine,” Minerva replied, smiling as she stroked the shiny black box. “The one I had in London was a cheap one and the charms had begun to go, so I just left it when I moved. I simply hadn’t replaced it yet. Thank you, Albus!”

She set the wireless down on her other side then leaned over and kissed Albus’s cheek.

Albus smiled. “I am glad you like it, my dear. Perhaps we could . . . tune it in later, try it out.”

“Of course. But now, our sherry. Dinner will be in just fifteen minutes now, but if you’d like something before then – ”

“Just the sherry, thank you,” Albus said.

Minerva returned from the kitchen a moment later with two small glasses of sherry.

“Slàinte Mhath,” Minerva said as she handed Albus his glass.

“Slàinte,” Albus responded, touching his glass to hers, then he amended, “Slàinte Mhor.”

Minerva grinned. “If you are drinking with my brothers or my father, you will do rather well.”

“I don’t know about that. I don’t have the head for drink that I once did, and if your brothers pour like your father does . . . .” Albus shook his head ruefully.

She laughed. “You’re safest with Morgan, then. He practically doesn’t touch alcohol, except Christmas and birthdays, that sort of thing. Two drinks, and my other brothers have him under the table.”

Albus chuckled. “I could manage a little better than that, I believe.”

Minerva picked up the wizarding wireless and looked around, then got up and set it over on the sideboard. She didn’t even know what, if anything, that piece of furniture contained. That was one of the drawbacks to having a house-elf do most of your moving for you.

The two chatted only a few more minutes before their dinner arrived with a pop. Minerva suppressed a smirk. Two covered plates had appeared on top of the plates that had been set at their places, and other covered dishes sat on the far side of the table.

“I’ll just fetch the wine,” Minerva said.

She reemerged from the kitchen just a moment later carrying an uncorked bottle. Albus got up from the sofa and went over to the table and held a chair for Minerva before seating himself. Minerva poured him a taste of the wine and he indicated that she should just fill his glass. 

As she poured her own glass, Minerva remarked, “I wasn’t entirely certain what type of wine would be best with our first course, but this is a nice wine that I think tastes fine with almost everything.”

She looked at him, but he made no move to lift the lid from his plate. Minerva had explained to Blampa what she had wanted, and Blampa, giggling with her hands over her mouth, assured her that it could be managed.

“Go ahead,” Minerva said with a nod at his plate. She took hold of the handle to the lid covering her own plate.

Albus uncovered his plate just as she did, and Minerva watched his face. First he smiled, then he laughed. 

“I did say beans on toast, didn’t I?” he said with a chuckle.

Minerva laughed. “I told Blampa that I wanted her to charm the covers so that you couldn’t smell them. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It was.” He grinned at her. “It is good to see you having fun, Minerva. I worried that you weren’t happy those last months that you were teaching, and I see now that that was, in part, at least, my doing. So I appreciate your joke on many levels.” He picked up his fork and prepared to begin to eat.

“No, Albus – as much as I dislike wasting food, I don’t want you to spoil your appetite for your real dinner,” Minerva said with a shudder. Beans on toast had to be one of the worst meals invented, in her opinion, and likely one of the reasons that Johannes had such a low opinion of British cuisine. She waved her wand and the top plates and their contents vanished.

Minerva revealed the other dishes. Beef stroganoff, overloaded with mushrooms, buttered egg noodles, baby carrots, and spinach cooked with garlic and olive oil.

“Wilspy said you enjoy stroganoff, but we almost never have it. I know you’re not fond of spinach, but Wilspy said you will eat it fixed this way – I hope that was all right.”

“Perfect, my dear! Truly, all of my favourites. And there look to be almost enough mushrooms in the stroganoff,” he said, examining the dish over his glasses.

“I don’t think you could get anymore in it unless you eliminated the beef,” Minerva said with a smile as she served him.

Albus grinned. “Now, that would be a fine idea. But I thought, my dear, that you were not fond of beef,” he said questioningly.

“Ah, as you yourself said, this is replete with mushrooms. Besides, I wanted to serve a meal you would enjoy, too.” After all, Minerva thought, it is your birthday. 

 

She was growing more impatient to reveal to him that it was his birthday dinner, but nervous, as well. Fortunately, as they talked and ate, her nervousness faded, and by the time they had finished their meal and the last of the wine with it, she felt quite relaxed, rather bold, and no longer at all nervous. Albus was definitely enjoying himself.

Albus set down his glass and looked at her with a smile. “This has been a most lovely meal, Minerva. Thank you.”

“There’s pudding, too. Would you like it now or would you like to wait a bit?” Minerva asked.

Albus took off his glasses and stretched slightly in his chair, putting his hands on the table. “I think perhaps a little pause will increase our enjoyment of it.”

“All right. Are you finished, then? Would you like more wine? I have another bottle – ”

Albus laughed. “Are you getting me in practice for your brothers?”

Minerva smiled. “I don’t think I could drink any more, either, but I thought I would offer. We can have some cognac with our dessert.”

Albus pushed back from the table. “We could try out your wireless,” he suggested.

“Good!” Minerva would be agreeable to almost anything he suggested right now.

The two went over to the sideboard and Minerva flicked on the wireless. Albus turned the tuning knob. The first station they received was a sports review of a recent Quidditch match, the second station had a wizard with a nasal voice reading modern wizarding poetry – they both shuddered at that – but when Albus found the third station, he paused. 

“This is nice,” he said, glancing down at Minerva.

Minerva looked up at him and was struck by how very attractive he was. In that moment, she would have agreed that the sound of monkeys banging ashcans was nice. Fortunately, this was the station’s “music for the dinner hour,” and really was pleasant.

When Minerva didn’t respond, Albus asked, “Should I leave it or turn it off?”

“Oh . . . leave it. You’re right. It’s very nice.”

Minerva swallowed and turned away from him, thinking that she really must behave sensibly. Instead, though, she reached behind her and took his hand and led him over to the sofa. She dropped his hand as soon as they sat, however, her nerve failing her as soon as she looked at his face again. 

Albus asked her more about her holiday and was amused by her description of her tea party. She deliberately focussed on all the things she had thought were going wrong but that actually were just fine.

“So, Poppy likes Murdoch,” Albus said, eyes twinkling. “Was that why she was with you when you fetched the Vitamin Potion?”

“Yes. I took pity on her and invited her along for dinner at his place.” Minerva smiled. “I actually think Murdoch was taken with her, too, although it may just have been flattering for him to have some feminine attention.”

Albus cocked his head and thought a moment. “I am sure it is nice for him, but I think that perhaps Murdoch has more sense than some wizards and wouldn’t respond to empty flattery, but would recognise Poppy’s warm and generous nature. I think . . . even if nothing comes of it, they might still have each found themselves a new friend.” He had always thought himself a sensible wizard, but then, despite his own misgivings and the warnings from a witch who did love him, he had still spent several months of his life escorting a witch who cared nothing for him. Albus certainly hoped that Murdoch had more sense than he himself had demonstrated. But Poppy was a fine witch, Albus thought, and certainly not prone to selfish deviousness.

Minerva shrugged, having a sense that Albus was thinking of himself and his ill-fated relationship with Valerianna. “I don’t know . . . I think that sometimes we all want some companionship. And maybe we find it with someone who turns out to be . . . less than we had hoped, and perhaps worse than we had feared, but we persist, anyway, thinking that perhaps our hopes were right and our fears unfounded, until we discover that we were wrong.” She sighed. “I once dated a French envoy for a few months, despite the fact that I knew almost immediately that not only wasn’t he right for me, but that I really didn’t even like him at all. But I was at an odd point in my life and I just seemed to lack the energy to say ‘no’ whenever he asked me out. It finally got to the point where continuing to see him was more unpleasant than any alternative, and I broke up with him. Of course, he wasn’t happy about it, but . . .” Minerva shrugged. 

The two sat in silence for a few minutes, each reflecting on their own individual follies, when a bright tune came on the wireless, and Minerva looked up and smiled.

“I remember this one . . . Carson – ” she looked quickly at Albus and stopped.

“Yes, my dear? Carson what?” Albus asked, seeming genuinely interested.

“Well, if you don’t mind mention of him . . .” Albus shook his head, and Minerva continued. “You know we saw each other a lot in London, those last months before he died. We weren’t a couple, not like you thought, at least not at the time, but still, we would go out, have fun together. He used to take me dancing in Muggle London. We would dance with each other, or with others. We used to dance to this. It was one of his favourites. Mine, too.”

Albus stood and held out his hand. “I am not in practice, I am afraid, but . . . may I have this dance?”

Minerva didn’t speak, but put her hand in his and stood. It was a rather jazzy piece, and Minerva was surprised that Albus could dance to it at all. After he had spun her and pulled her in to him before releasing her and placing a hand at her waist again, Minerva laughed happily.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” she asked.

The music changed, and he let go of her, smiling. “Oh, parties . . . or, before parties, actually. Gertrude is a good dancer, and she helped me make sure I wouldn’t embarrass myself entirely. At least, not on the dance floor.”

Minerva smiled politely and tried not to think of him dancing with Gertie, although she had known before this that they had danced together. But Quin danced with Gertrude, too. As did Minister Tapper. She just wouldn’t contemplate it. She sat down on the sofa again, and Albus joined her.

Graciously, Minerva said, “Well, she was a good teacher and you were a good pupil.”

“Well, I cannot say that I am very good at anything introduced in this century, but I do try, so I thank you, my dear, for – ”

“If you are going to say,” Minerva interrupted, recognising his tone, “anything along the lines of humouring an old codger, then don’t.”

Albus laughed at that. “Thank you for the dance, then, Minerva.”

“You’re very welcome, Albus. Now. You sit right there. We can just have our dessert here, don’t you think?”

“That would be just fine, my dear.”

Minerva got up, insisting that she didn’t need any help. A minute later, she sent two glasses sailing out to the sitting room.

“You can open the cognac, if you like, Albus, and pour us each a little.”

Minerva peeped out to see Albus pouring the cognac as requested, and then setting the bottle aside. He sat back on the sofa and waited for her. She lit the candles on the cake.

“Albus, would you mind turning off the wireless, please?”

He obliged her. As soon as Minerva heard the music go off, she cast a spell that revealed the banner, then took a deep breath and watched from the door as Albus turned. When he saw the banner, his mouth opened slightly in surprise, then she Levitated the cake and stepped into the room, moving the cake around in front of her.

Minerva gathered all her nerve, and began to sing.

“Happy Birthday to you; Happy Birthday to you; Happy Birthday, dear Albus; Happy Birthday to you!”

Albus sat heavily on the couch, his mouth opening and closing, as the cake settled on the low table in front of him.

Minerva looked at him. “Happy birthday, Albus.”

He looked from the cake to her. “Oh, my dear! I . . . how did you know? I didn’t think you did . . .”

Minerva was surprised to see tears in his eyes. She smiled at him and said, “Oh, I have my ways. You didn’t really think you could keep that information top secret forever, did you?”

“So . . . this dinner . . .”

“It was all for you, Albus. I just found a very good excuse to get you here,” Minerva said.

“I don’t usually really celebrate.” He looked at the cake again, then up at her. “But this is certainly the nicest birthday I have spent in many, many years, my dear. It already was, even before you went into the kitchen.”

Minerva’s smile broadened. “I am very, very glad.”

She Summoned the plates and utensils from the other table.

“There are even candles. On the cake,” Albus said, as though he was still amazed that his birthday dinner really _was_ his birthday dinner.

“Of course! It is a birthday cake, after all. The three candles each represent something. The white one is in honour of your twenty years here at Hogwarts. The gold candle is for your birthday, and the third candle is for, um, all the years of our friendship, for the years I have been blessed to know you,” Minerva said, ending with a blush.

Albus smiled happily. “Wonderful!” He reached over and patted her arm, then gave it an affectionate squeeze. “Now can I blow them out?” he asked, looking every bit like an eager little boy.

“Of course – make a wish, Albus!”

Albus quickly closed his eyes then blew out the candles. His eyes snapped open and he looked over at Minerva and grinned. Minerva thought he was blushing, but it was likely the colour of his robes and the low light. 

“Shall I serve the cake?” Albus asked.

“Definitely!”

Albus smiled and sliced them each a piece. The cake itself was chocolate, and it was filled with raspberries and thick whipped cream. There was more whipped cream, Minerva thought, than cake. The icing was chocolate, one layer of an almost brittle icing, then a softer chocolate butter cream over that in decorative curlicues and rosettes. Whole raspberries topped it all off.

It tasted even better than it looked, and Albus was very pleased with it, which pleased Minerva. 

“This is wonderful, Minerva. Thank you!”

“This is your _birthday_ , Albus. You don’t think this is all there is, do you?” Minerva asked. 

She waved her wand, opening the door to her bedroom, then she Summoned the hamper.

“There are always presents for a proper celebration,” she said as she settled the large basket next to him. “This is your first present. Well, actually, the Vitamin Potions were your first present, but I couldn’t very well tell you that when I gave them to you, or it would have spoiled the surprise. There’s a card with it. Open that first.”

Albus wiped his hands on his napkin, then reached out and plucked the card from the ribbon.

Albus read it out loud.

_“Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_“In honour of your birthday, I would like to present you with this selection from one of my Muggle businesses. I hope that you enjoy these samples from the sweeter side of Muggle life._

_“Sincerely,_

_“Quin MacAirt”_

“He knew it was my birthday?” Albus asked, puzzled.

“I happened to mention it, then at the tea, he suddenly said he would like to send this along. I thought it sounded like something you might like, so I told him it was fine. I hope you don’t mind . . .”

“No, I’m just surprised, that’s all,” Albus said.

He pulled on the ribbon, releasing the handles. Albus pushed them down then lifted the lid. A broad grin crossed his face. Minerva leaned over and looked curiously into the basket. It seemed that any type of Muggle sweet that one could ask for was in that basket. Hard candies, caramels, chocolate bars of various descriptions, boxes of truffles, and small boxes of different kinds of sweets that she couldn’t even recognize. Albus looked at several of the little boxes, and offered her a box of truffles, but Minerva declined.

“I wouldn’t mind trying one later, though,” she said.

Albus chuckled. “Well, I can eat these, then take my Vitamin Potion! Thank you, my dear.”

“Oh, that’s from Quin. This,” she said as she waved her wand, “is from me.”

The large box from Madam Malkin’s sailed out of the bedroom and Minerva caught it.

“This is not precisely a birthday present, Albus. It _is_ a birthday present, but it is also more. It is in honour of our friendship, and for all you have done for me and all you have given me over all these years. I know that no material gift could ever provide a truly adequate expression of my gratitude and affection, but I hope that you will accept this as a token and gesture.” Minerva handed him the box. “I hope you like it,” she added nervously.

“If it is from you, I am sure I will,” Albus said softly. 

Minerva hadn’t wrapped the box, but had only tied a broad gold ribbon around it. Albus removed the ribbon and lifted the lid. The lid fell to the floor. Albus blinked. He ran a tentative hand over the fabric and the stars shimmered brightly under his touch.

“Oh, my dear . . . Minerva . . .” he said softly.

“They’re robes, Albus. I hope you like them.”

“They are . . . marvellous.” He finally looked back up at Minerva, who was watching him nervously. “I am not sure what to say.”

“If you don’t like them – ” Minerva said, suddenly feeling as though she had just ruined a lovely evening.

“It’s not that. I am just surprised . . . stunned, actually. They are beautiful. Thank you, Minerva. Thank you very much.” He ran his hand over the fabric again. “I don’t think I have ever seen anything like these before.”

“They’re a special design by Madam Malkin. The charms carry a one-hundred-year guarantee. There’s a card in there that tells more about the robes and their design, as well as giving some basic care instructions. Madam Malkin explained a few things when I got them. The fabric is nine parts silk and one part Demiguise silk, which, she explained, helps hold the charms. The robes would look different on different wizards, but once you have worn them for a few hours, the charms will remain in the pattern that is tuned to your magic.”

As Minerva spoke, Albus lifted the robes from the box and held them up in front of him. 

“They are remarkable,” he said, clearly taken with them.

“For a remarkable wizard,” Minerva replied. “Would you like to try them on? I would love to see them on you. Once I saw them, I just couldn’t imagine anyone else wearing them, and I couldn’t imagine getting you anything different.”

Albus smiled brightly. “Well, then, we will see what they look like, then.”

“You can use my bedroom, if you like,” Minerva offered.

“Thank you, my dear.” He stood. “I’ll be just a moment.”

Minerva tried not to fidget as she waited for Albus to return. When the door opened and he stepped back into the sitting room, Minerva’s breath was taken away. Stars shone, others twinkled, and constellations formed before her eyes. Falling stars seemed to shower the length of his arms. It was partly the dim lighting in the room, but Minerva was certain that, under her touch or when Quin had tried them on, the stars had not shone so brilliantly nor had there been so many. The effect was beautiful, mesmerising, and yet not at all distracting. Even the fine embroidery around the edges of the garment now seemed to glow, forming and reforming different alchemical symbols. Minerva thought she recognised the symbol for “fire” reappearing repeatedly. Eventually, those symbols would settle, too, and they might flicker, but not change. Albus turned, and she truly saw the stars of the Milky Way dusting the back of the robe, from the neck to the ankle. Even the stars on the hat shimmered and glowed.

“Oh, my, they are . . . perfect,” Minerva said with a gasp.

Albus smiled at her. “They are absolutely beautiful. My only regret is that others will enjoy looking at them more than I will,” he said. “But they feel wonderful, too. And I can sense the charms, but they are not distracting or annoying in any way. And I think . . . yes, I think that when they settle, I will likely not notice them at all.”

Minerva stood and walked over to him. She ran her hand over the fabric covering his chest, then down his arm.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “They just . . .”

Albus’s eyes shone as he looked down at her face. “That’s all right. You certainly deserve to satisfy your curiosity about them after having chosen them.”

Minerva reached out and touched his chest again, and watched as the stars flickered under her touch, some of them growing brighter, some fading, others twinkling in shades of green, blue, and red. She looked up into his eyes. 

“They are perfect for you.” She stepped back and looked him up and down. “I don’t even think they look like they need any alterations. What do you think?”

Albus shook his head. “They feel as though they were made for me.”

Minerva didn’t know whether he had ever looked more handsome. “Keep them on a while?” she asked.

“I thought I would,” he replied, looking down at her, a soft expression in his eyes.

The two returned to the sofa. Feeling emboldened by his earlier permission, Minerva reached out and ran her hand down his arm. It was wonderful to touch him and to feel him beneath the silky fabric. 

“Thank you, Minerva. They are far more than I deserve, but they are wonderful, and every time I wear them, I will think of you.”

Minerva shook her head. “You deserve far more than I could ever give you, Albus. I am very glad you like them.”

“I cannot think of another gift I have received that has been this special, other than the gift of your friendship.”

Albus leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Minerva put her arms around him and relaxed with relief when he put his around her, too. She sighed as she rested her her head against his shoulder.

“I am so glad you are in my life.” She took a breath and held it a moment before saying softly, “You do know that I love you, Albus, don’t you?”

Albus stiffened slightly and she could feel him swallow. He patted her back.

“I am very fond of you, too, my dear.”

Minerva closed her eyes tightly and willed her disappointment away. Later, later, later. She would think about it later. She gave him a brief squeeze then sat back and looked at the cake.

“More cake, Albus? Or something to drink?” she said brightly.

“Perhaps a bit more cake would be nice . . . and milk?”

“Yes, I believe I have some. If not, we can call, um, Blampa.” Her brain did not seem to be operating very well. “Let me just . . . see. You cut the cake. I’ll be right back.”

Minerva hurried into the kitchen, barely casting a glance at Albus in his beautiful robes. She looked at the glasses arrayed on her sideboard and selected two of them, then she opened her cool cupboard. Yes, Blampa had stocked her up with milk. She poured two glasses for them, then stopped and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. She took a deep breath, stood up straight, then picked up the glasses by hand and carried them back into the sitting room. She set the milk down on the table.

“You know, Albus, I’m curious how the robes look when there’s more light. Shall we see?”

“Of course, my dear.”

Minerva waved her wand and lit the wall lamps on either side of the fireplace.

“They still look very impressive,” she said, nodding.

Albus smiled. “Perhaps I will wear them on my next visit to the Ministry,” he said. “They may be a bit elaborate, but I think they could be worn almost anywhere. They are dress robes, but I think they are so unique, they are in a class by themselves.”

Minerva smiled. “As I said, they are perfect for you, Albus.”

She joined him on the sofa and they ate their cake and drank their milk. Minerva glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. Albus appeared to be enjoying his cake, but he seemed tired, which was not surprising, given the pace he had been keeping the past few days.

“You know, Albus, why don’t you just send Wilspy for the basket of goodies rather than navigating it through the castle tonight? And she can take care of your other robes, too, if you like, or you could put them in the box and carry them like that.”

Albus smiled at her somewhat wearily. “I am a little tired,” he admitted. “Would you mind if I left my other robes here with the basket and arranged to have it all fetched tomorrow? I can wear the best present,” he said, touching the robes.

“Good. I’ll put it all together. Don’t worry about anything. I know you have to be up early. Do you still want me to join you all at ten, though?”

“Yes. That is when we begin the warding that involves the separate Houses, and it would be valuable for you to witness it.”

Albus stood, and Minerva rose, as well.

“Thank you again for all the work you did on the rooms, Albus, especially the tiles. It means a lot to me.”

“It was truly my pleasure. I am simply happy that you like them.”

Minerva walked him to the door.

“Good night, Albus. Happy birthday,” she said softly.

“This has been the best birthday I have had in longer than I can remember. Thank you.” He smiled down at her. “I don’t know if I will ever want to take these robes off, in fact. But I suppose I should!”

Minerva laughed lightly. “Yes, somehow I think that even the charms and the Demiguise silk wouldn’t completely protect them against that kind of wear!”

Albus bent his head and kissed her cheek lightly, then opened the door. “Good night, Minerva. I will see you in the morning.”

Minerva nodded mutely. Albus looked like power and magic and beauty incarnate in those robes, and she watched as, robes flowing out behind him like the sky, he walked away down the broad corridor toward the stairs that would bring him to his tower bedroom. She closed the door only after he had disappeared and she no longer saw the glow of the Milky Way at his back.


	98. Warding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva has a surprise visitor in the middle of the night. The next day, she observes the warding and has lunch with Albus and the other faculty. Gertrude loses her temper.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, Horace Slughorn, Gertrude Gamp, Johannes Birnbaum, and Professor Katherine Dustern.

**XCVIII: Warding**

Minerva looked around the room. It seemed very empty. With a sigh, she waved her wand and brought the banner down, rolling it up simultaneously, then sent it over to sit on top of the basket of goodies. She placed a charm on the cake to keep it fresh and likewise sent that over to sit on top of the hamper. Blampa would take care of the dinner dishes, likely while Minerva was asleep. Albus’s eyeglasses. He had forgotten them, left them beside his place. Well, he probably had another pair. Wilspy could fetch these when she came for his other things. Minerva picked up the glasses and brought them over to the coffee table and set them down not far from the basket where Wilspy would be sure to see them.

Minerva went straight to the bathroom and undressed. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, used the loo, and finished getting ready for bed without glancing toward the bathtub and its decorated tiles. She didn’t believe she could bear the sight of them just then. Picking up her robes and her discarded underwear, she padded into her bedroom. Her first night in her new quarters, and her feelings were in such a muddle . . . she saw Albus’s robes lying across her bed and a lump rose in her throat. Quickly, she turned away and opened her new wardrobe. It took Minerva a moment to find her nightgown, and by the time she did, she had successfully dismissed the lump in her throat.

She pulled her nightgown on, then turned around and looked at the robes again. Minerva sighed. If only their presence there meant something other than what they did . . . if only Albus were going to walk through her bedroom door and join her, even just for sleep, to be wrapped in his arms . . . . But he didn’t love her. And he never would.

Albus was fond of her. Very fond of her. Minerva blinked and tears slowly ran down her face. At least she hadn’t been fool enough to confess that she was _in_ love with him. But she remembered how he had stiffened, then patted her back and told her he was very fond of her, too . . . he had been kind, but he clearly had been surprised by her words, uncomfortably surprised. But how could he have been? Shouldn’t it be obvious to him that she loved him, even if she hid from him the precise nature of her love?

She should fold his robes, put them with his hamper of sweets, Minerva thought as she reached out a hand to touch them. She had been so certain that he loved her, at least a little, but his awkward reaction . . . more tears coursed down her cheeks. Minerva let out a shaky breath and tried to control her feelings, but as she lifted the pink and gold robes to her face and inhaled his scent, she burst into tears. She lay down on her bed, holding the robes to her, and she wept.

It had been a successful evening, Minerva told herself even as she wept into the soft robes. He had liked her present and had been pleased with the surprise birthday celebration. And he had kissed her again before he left that night. Perhaps . . . her mother had said that it hadn’t mattered how Albus had viewed their relationship when he staunched her magical drain; all that had mattered was his love for her. Could it be that he didn’t view her as someone whom he loved, but that he still did? Perhaps he had just never really thought about it before, about his feelings for her. Or could it be that Quin was right, and Albus did love her as she loved him, or was coming to, anyway, and that he was uncomfortable with it and didn’t know how to act?

Minerva didn’t know, but she was so tired, so very tired, tired of needing him, wanting him, craving his word, his touch, and yet pretending that she didn’t, that he was just someone who was a good friend. But that was what she was to him. He had once written that he enjoyed her “friendly companionship.” Friendly companionship . . . . Exhausted and confused, Minerva fell asleep clutching Albus’s robes to her.

* * *

Albus went up his backstairs directly to his bedroom. He was exhausted, and he knew that a part of his exhaustion was emotional and not merely physical. He sat down on the edge of his bed and toed off his shoes. It hadn’t been much of an exaggeration when he had told Minerva that he didn’t want to take the robes off. They felt very nice, but beyond that, they had been a gift from her. He had scarcely been able to believe his eyes when he had opened the box and saw what lay within. 

Albus shook his head. He could only imagine what these robes must have cost Minerva, but just as he had been about to say something about them being too much, that he couldn’t possibly accept them, he had seen her face, and he knew that such a remark would crush her, and be to no point, anyway, since he would relent at the slightest sign of disappointment from her. She would no doubt have seen the rejection of her gift as a rejection of their friendship . . . of all the years of their friendship. And he did love the robes and he certainly didn’t want her to believe that he was rejecting her gesture of gratitude and affection, so he accepted them with what he hoped was good grace. Nonetheless, these must certainly rank amongst the most expensive of any robes that Madam Malkin had ever made. The Demiguise silk alone would double the price of an ordinary garment, then the distinctive styling added to that, and once the charms were placed on the robes . . . they were no doubt three times the price, at least, of his most expensive set of robes.

He had tried so hard to behave properly that evening, to show her affection and yet not inappropriately so . . . and then she had brought out the cake with its three candles, and that gesture had overwhelmed him and his good sense. It was just for a moment, but she had said, “Make a wish, Albus!” and in that moment, his good sense fled him, and his wish had been one he shouldn’t have made. Still, it was only a wish, he had told himself, and if wishes were broomsticks, beggars would ride. But then, after he had thanked her for the robes, and he was embracing her there on the sofa, she had said it. “I love you, Albus.” And in that instant, he feared that somehow his wish had had the force of a spell, and it had taken him a moment to collect himself and tell himself that that was a foolish notion. Wishing for her love, as childish and ill-conceived as it had been, could not have induced Minerva to say those words. Certainly, everything that she had done that evening had showed him that she loved him before he had ever formed that wish in his mind. Perhaps it had even been her actions that had caused him to conceive the wish, as he subconsciously realised what her actions meant. But then he reminded himself that her love for him was the love of a . . . granddaughter for a grandfather or of a former student for a dear old mentor, and he knew immediately that he could not utter the same words to her. If he did, he would mean them quite differently than she did, and he might not be able to stop himself from saying them in such a way that she could not mistake his meaning. And even if he did succeed in uttering the words in a neutral tone, it was one step on the path that he could not allow himself to take. It would lead only to heartache and embarrassment . . . and the loss of her friendship. At least the loss of the friendship they had now, as Minerva’s feelings would be mixed with pity and revulsion. And even if she felt compassion for him, and not mere pity, it couldn’t help but change their friendship. 

Albus could no more speak of his love for her than he could hope that her love for him would ever be anything other than that of one friend for another. He was one hundred-seventeen that day. And Minerva but thirty-two. He would have to be entirely deluded to believe that anyone that young, and that intelligent, could ever be in love with him, someone old enough to be her great-grandfather, let alone that she could desire him physically. But at least Minerva did love him as a friend, and that was very good, though the thought seemed to break his heart.

Albus began to get ready for bed, draping the new robes over a chair for the night. He didn’t want to close them into the wardrobe just yet. As he went through his nightly routine, he realised he had left his glasses in Minerva’s sitting room. Fortunately, he had a spare pair in his study. He would have to ask Wilspy to fetch his glasses for him at the same time that she retrieved his robes and his large basket of sweets. Quin certainly had been generous. Even if he shared the candy with everyone who passed through his office, it would take him quite a long time to go through all of that. He was looking forward to it, though, but with less enthusiasm than he might have.

Finally in his nightshirt and slippers, he called for Wilspy, and his loyal little elf promised him that she would fetch everything for him. Hoping for a restful night’s sleep, Albus climbed into bed and extinguished the lights. Across the room, stars glowed dimly, his eyes grew heavy as he gazed on them, and he drifted to sleep.

* * *

In the very early hours of the morning, a little house-elf Apparated into Minerva’s rooms. She looked around and saw the basket, the cake, the banner, and the eyeglasses. No robes. The elf popped quietly into Minerva’s bedroom. Her expression softened as she looked at Minerva, asleep on top of the made bed, holding the rose and gold robes tightly, her head nestled on them.

Wilspy crooked a finger, and Minerva was now under the covers. The sleeping witch didn’t even stir. Wilspy approached the bed. She put out one long finger and brushed Minerva’s hair back from her face.

Caressing Minerva’s cheek lightly, the wizened old elf whispered, “Sweet dreams, Professor’s Minerva. Sweet dreams for you . . .”

And Wilspy popped away, to return in the morning when Professor’s Minerva was awake and to retrieve Master Albus’s things then. . . .

Minerva’s eyes opened. Merlin! Why hadn’t she closed the draperies before she’d gone to bed! She had been having the most lovely dream . . . she didn’t even remember getting into bed the night before, but she must have. She did remember her dream, however, and she was still throbbing and warm from it . . . it seemed like one in a long series of similar dreams. Minerva blushed. 

She rolled over, bringing the rose and gold robes with her. Minerva certainly didn’t remember bringing the robes to bed with her. Right now, though, that fact didn’t bother her at all. Instead, she closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. Such a wonderful dream it had been . . . 

She and Albus had been in her sitting room, dancing, much as they had the previous evening, but it wasn’t the lively tune that had come on the wireless then, but something soft, slow, and romantic. He was wearing the robes she had given him for his birthday, and she rested her cheek against his chest as they danced, the star-filled silk soft against her skin. Albus brought his hand from her waist, up her back, and then caressed her face and lifted it toward him, one finger under her chin. He whispered, “I love you, too, my dear Minerva,” and then he kissed her, ever so gently, on the lips. 

Minerva sighed as she remembered with utter clarity the way the dream had proceeded. She had responded, “I thought you did not,” and Albus said, “How could I do anything other than love you, my dearest?” and he kissed her again. He continued to kiss her as he lowered her to the sofa, her lips, her cheeks, her neck, and then he looked at her lying there beneath him, and he said, “I will love you forever and nothing can stop me loving you.”

He whispered a spell that dream Minerva did not catch, and her robes were loose around her. Albus looked at her, then looked into her eyes as he brought one hand to her throat, caressing downward toward her breast. His hand began to reach beneath the silk of her robe to touch her, but he stopped. “Never without your permission, my love,” and she had said, “Please,” and he had moved the gown aside and closed his eyes as he fondled her breast, and Minerva watched his face as he did. His expression was one of bliss as he freed her other breast and caressed that one in turn, his fingers grazing her peaked nipple.

Lying in bed, Minerva brought her own hand up to stroke her breast through her thin nightgown. In her dream, Albus had embraced her with one arm as he lifted her toward him and gently teased her breast with his other hand. He kissed her lips again, and she responded, putting her arms around him, one hand winding itself in the hair at the back of his head. The dream had continued, Albus slowly undressing her, uncovering her body to his touch and his gaze, seeking her permission at each point until she finally begged him to continue and not stop; he had her permission for everything, for anything. 

Albus kissed every inch of her, it seemed in the dream, whispering words of love and adoration, and then he asked for one last permission from her, and when she gave it breathlessly, he stood and removed his own robes. Standing naked before her, he was beautiful. Albus lay down on top of her, kissing her, and she felt the warmth of his skin on her own, the weight of his body, and his magic mingling with hers, till finally he rose up slightly, lifting his hips, and then he entered her. He entered very, very slowly, and Minerva watched his face as he did, her own mouth open as she panted her desire. And when they were one, he continued to make love to her, whispering endearments and words of passion. It seemed to go on and on, and in her dream, Minerva exploded with fire, and as she did, she woke to the same fire, and to the morning sunlight in her eyes.

Minerva felt this had not been the only dream that she had had that night, that there had been others, and that they had all been erotic dreams of Albus. Her mind had certainly created a most magnificent Albus standing beside her at the sofa; she could almost imagine that it had been memory rather than dream that had created that vision of Albus without his robes, it was so vivid, but, of course, that was sadly not the case. 

Minerva brought Albus’s rose and gold robes to her face. It was likely a result of falling asleep holding his robes. She sighed deeply. Time to return to reality; Minerva swung her feet out of bed and got up, leaving the robes tangled in her sheets. She showered and dressed rapidly. It was time for her walk, and time for her to put foolish dreams from her mind. They would only increase her desire for what she could not have.

As she folded the robes and cast a freshness charm on them to remove any possible sign that she had slept with them – it had been unintentional, but still embarrassing – Minerva realised that she felt much better now, and remembering her tears from the previous night, she wondered at them. Albus had, after all, said that he was very fond of her _too_. Not “instead.” It had been a perfectly normal response. And “very fond” could be love. Love of some sort. Albus had enjoyed his birthday party, he had liked his presents, and he had accepted the very extravagant robes with hardly a qualm. He had been stunned, but she hadn’t heard one word of genuine protest, as she had feared she might, let alone an out-and-out rejection of them. If Albus believed that she was growing too attached to him, and it made him uncomfortable, he would surely have refused the robes, or at least made an attempt to do so. And he had kissed her cheek again before he left.

Albus didn’t feel toward her as she did toward him, but they were still very close, and at least now he knew that she loved him. Minerva couldn’t honestly say that she was happy in that moment, but the heartbreak of the night before had dissipated, and she was ready to face her day.

She still had a few hours before she was to join everyone – Albus, Gertrude, and the current Heads of House – in the Headmaster’s Tower. Time for breakfast and a walk, though she wasn’t sure whether her moving about on the grounds was a good idea if they were renewing the wards. She certainly should not try to leave the grounds, that much she did know. Probably best just to stay in, read a book . . . she could take a walk tomorrow. Minerva smiled. Her first morning as Gryffindor Head of House. Perhaps Albus would congratulate her this evening. He certainly seemed pleased she had accepted the position; it could be he was just waiting until she was installed to actually congratulate her. With that thought in mind, she placed the folded robes on the coffee table beside Albus’s eyeglasses and called Blampa for her breakfast.

As Minerva ate her breakfast, mechanically chewing her toast and eating her egg, there was a slight crack, and Wilspy appeared across the room.

“Good morning, Professor Minerva!” the house-elf greeted her cheerfully. 

“Good morning, Wilspy,” Minerva responded. “I put everything together for you. Professor Dumbledore left his glasses last night.”

“Thank you, Professor Minerva.” Wilspy trotted over to where the hamper sat. “Did Professor Minerva have nice night? Sweet sleep?”

Minerva coloured mildly, remembering her dreams from the night before. “Very well, thank you, Wilspy. And may I thank you for helping to prepare Professor Dumbledore’s dinner last night – it was very good and he enjoyed it.”

“You is welcome, Professor’s Minerva,” Wilspy said with a wrinkly smile. “I is happy you and your Professor has a very good dinner with nice surprises.”

“It was . . .” Minerva hesitated. Would Albus have said anything to his house-elf about the dinner? Probably not.

“Professor Dumbledore is very happy with Professor Minerva’s present,” Wilspy said with the same wrinkly little grin. “Very happy.”

Minerva smiled. “I am glad. Do you know if they’ve begun the warding yet?”

“Professor Dumbledore is in Hogwarts Heart, but he be’s alone now. Soon soon, though,” answered the elf. “Good morning, Professor’s Minerva!”

“Good morning,” Minerva answered before Wilspy Apparated away, bringing Albus’s basket, robes, glasses, and other items with her.

Hogwarts Heart was a room in the Headmaster’s Tower. It wasn’t literally the physical centre of the castle, but it was the magical centre of the castle, and when the Headmaster or his proxy wanted to make extensive changes to the wards, that is where it was usually done. Minor changes and slight tweaks could be made from almost anywhere on the grounds, and ones that affected only parts of the school were often best done in close proximity to the area to be warded, but Hogwarts Heart was one of the parts of the castle that had changed little since the Founders’ time, and it held special properties.

When she was a student and had helped Professor Dumbledore test the wards, he had explained to her that the physical location of Hogwarts Heart had been moved, very carefully, more than six hundred years before, to reside in the Headmaster’s Tower, rather than in the centre of the dungeons, where it had been for the previous few centuries. Dumbledore had been very complimentary about the work that the then-Headmistress had taken at the time of the move to ensure that it remained the magical centre of the school despite its physical relocation, unlike the sloppy work done by Phineas Nigellus when he attempted to simplify the ward renewal process and merely succeeded in damaging the wards.

To reach the Heart of Hogwarts, one entered the library located just off the Headmaster’s Office, then took a flight of steps down to the level just underneath the office and library. The large round room was windowless, but with a touch of the Headmaster’s wand, the walls became transparent. Even more amazing to young Minerva, however, was the control that the Headmaster – or in this instance, Professor Dumbledore – had over the view presented through the invisible walls. The perspectives could be manipulated so that one could get close-up views of the various areas of the Hogwarts grounds, and when Dumbledore waved his wand and the landscape changed to show the grounds rapidly moving from summer to spring then to winter, autumn, and summer again, Minerva was astounded. He explained that there were limits to how one could manipulate what the walls displayed – the presentation of the past seasons could not be slowed sufficiently to see detailed events that had occurred during that time, for example, and it could only reach back thirteen moons and no further – but the images that were generated could be magically recorded so that there could be an archive of changes made to the grounds and outbuildings over the years.

In the centre of the room was a large, ornately carved stone table, veins of green, white, and grey running through the shiny red stone. The top was not, however, flat, but slightly concave, and with a murmured spell and the brush of his wand across the edge of the table, Dumbledore called up a detailed three-dimensional image of the castle as seen from the outside. It hovered above the surface of the table, and Minerva watched, spell-bound, as Professor Dumbledore, with waves and twists of his wand, enlarged various parts of the castle to see them better or removed portions of it to reveal the castle’s interior. This image of Hogwarts castle was a static representation of the building as it was in that moment, showing the locations of all the rooms, staircases, and corridors, and, when the correct spell was cast, also showing the colourful, glowing lines that represented Hogwarts magic and its wards. When Dumbledore had revealed all of the magic and every ward simultaneously, Minerva had had to close her eyes against the sudden glare that flared up in that dimly lit chamber. He removed layer after layer of magic visible, then added some back, showing Minerva how the wards were tied together and anchored to the castle, and how the magic all flowed to and through the Heart of Hogwarts – or how it was supposed to. Some of the wards that had not been properly integrated because of Phineas Nigellus’s changes seemed to have frayed ends that approached but did not reach the Heart. As Dumbledore or any other Headmaster or Headmistress manipulated the wards or the magical field, the results could be seen reflected in the comparatively small image that floated above the table. The work itself was done on the actual castle, not on the castle that floated before them, he had explained, which was only a reflection of reality.

Minerva was to meet everyone in the Heart of Hogwarts at ten o’clock, where she could observe the beginning of the House warding, then she would accompany Wilhelmina to Gryffindor Tower and observe as she reinforced the warding there and that portion of the portrait network. Once that was complete, there was only a little work left for the Headmaster and his Deputy, and they would all join Albus and Gertrude in his sitting room for a late lunch at two o’clock.

* * *

Minerva dutifully arrived in the Headmaster’s office a few minutes before ten, then made her way down to the Heart chamber. It looked as though they were taking a break before continuing. Albus was wearing his Hogwarts Headmaster robe over a set of plain black robes, she noticed. He rarely wore the Headmaster robe, and had only seen him in it once before, at the Leaving Feast in June. Dippet had worn his at least weekly, she remembered, and understood that Headmasters and Headmistresses past had worn them daily. Each successive Headmaster or Headmistress had their own robe made for them, the only consistency among them being that the main fabric was always black and there was always some symbol of all four Houses somewhere on the robe. Dippet’s robe had been heavy satin and velvet, black on black, with an embroidered badge displaying the coats of arms of each of the four Houses on it, and a matching heavy hood and sash. Albus’s robe was soft black silk with heavier black silk brocade down the front, at the wrists, and at the hem. The hood was also of black silk, but with an interior of shiny bands of scarlet, green, azure, and black, four of the individual House colours. The brocade was decorated with repeated woven and embroidered designs of the badger, the snake, the lion, and the eagle, the four House totems, and on each breast were four small embroidered badges, one for each house, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, arranged in a diamond pattern, Slytherin at the bottom, Ravenclaw at the top, and Hufflepuff and Gryffindor on either side.

The other teachers greeted her with friendly nods or murmured “hellos,” except for Dustern, who gave her a rather cold look then turned away. Gertrude just nodded stiffly, and Albus gave her a slight smile and indicated where she could stand to observe the next phase. It was interesting for Minerva to watch the six of them work together, coordinating the spells, their wandwork looking almost like an unusual and complex dance, as they lent their magic to Hogwarts to support and reinforce the wards for another year. She followed Wilhelmina back to Gryffindor Tower to observe her work on the House wards and the portrait network. 

“I hear Dumbledore did some work on your rooms before you moved in,” Wilhelmina said as they climbed the stairs to the seventh floor.

“Yes, he did. It was quite good of him,” Minerva said, hoping that Wilhelmina didn’t feel as though she had been neglected. Apparently she had just moved into the rooms as they were when she became Head of House, and nothing had been done to them at all. 

“They did need something doing to them,” Wilhelmina said heartily. “If I had been going to stay in them much longer, I would have asked him to fix them up, myself. But with Dippet dying in the middle of the year like he did, and Dumbledore being so busy those first few months – well, really, for the first year – I felt lucky just to be able to have the house-elves find the time to clean them before I moved in. Then once I was there, I just got used to them. And,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper, “between you and me, I was hoping I wouldn’t be Head of House long enough to really feel driven to have them changed. Just as well, too, since now they could be altered to suit you.”

Minerva smiled. “Well, they were rather neglected. I can only imagine what they were like when you first took them, since they hadn’t been used in almost twenty years.”

The two witches went to the portrait of the Fat Lady and gave the password, currently, “Welsh Green,” and entered the dormitory.

“You can actually do this from anywhere in the Tower, but I always do it from the common room – seems easier to concentrate on the wards that way. I must say that this isn’t my forté; I am not too bad when it comes to standard defensive spells and Healing charms for beasts, and, of course, your basic, everyday sorts of things, but this . . . it requires a delicate magical touch that I don’t think I have, let alone the control. Yes, it’s the control that’s the hardest for me. I’m quite done in by the time we’re finished. We did a rewarding just a few days after Dippet died – having a Headmaster die in office can be stressful on the castle’s magic, apparently – then we did the one last summer, and both of them exhausting. I am amazed to see what Dumbledore does. Can’t imagine how Dippet managed it – he was never a particularly talented or powerful wizard, I never thought – but Slughorn told me that that’s one reason Dumbledore was brought in to be his Deputy, to compensate for it or something, and to add new wards during the Grindelwald era.”

Minerva pretended that everything Wilhelmina was telling her about Dumbledore was news to her, though she knew the full truth behind Albus’s work on the wards and the fact that, as far as the wards were concerned, he was always the proxy for the Headmaster, and not just when Dippet wasn’t in residence.

The work in Gryffindor Tower took only a little over an hour and a half, Wilhelmina consulting a very large, old book from time to time to see what her next step was or to check an archaic incantation. When she was finished, she hefted the heavy, oversized book and handed it to Minerva. 

“You’re in charge of this now – or you will be in a few hours, anyway – you might as well take it. It’s usually kept in the Headmaster’s library, but you can borrow it and look at it at any time, and you probably will want to look through it after you’ve been installed. I added my little bit of notes to the end of it last night, so I’m finished with it now.”

Minerva looked at the tome that Wilhelmina had just passed her. It was covered in faded scarlet leather, the image of the Gryffindor lion embossed upon its front, and had a latch holding it shut. Minerva pressed the latch, but nothing happened.

“Once you are installed as Head and the Gryffindor rolls have accepted you as the next Head of Gryffindor, you can just touch the latch and it will open. Until then . . . there is a password.” Wilhelmina only hesitated slightly. “It was impressed upon me most strongly that one did not share the password lightly, but as you are the next Head and will have it in a few hours anyway, along with free access to the contents of the book . . . it’s just ‘ _cor audacissimum_.’ Just say the words as you touch the latch.”

Minerva did just that, and the book’s latch fell open and she lifted the front cover. The first pages she could see were written by Godric Gryffindor himself, and Minerva could scarcely wait to have time alone to read it. 

“The details of the warding begin about ten pages in, and whenever a Head wants to add anything to that section, the book makes room for more notes. I haven’t been here long enough to add anything to that bit, but every Head of House has added other notes from time to time about their tenure and anything that they wish to pass on to future generations. That’s what I did last night, although I didn’t have very much to say, I’m afraid. But it was still an honour to be Head of Gryffindor, even if just for a year and a half, and I hope that my efforts were . . . worthy.”

Minerva invited Wilhelmina to her sitting room for a cup of tea while they waited for lunch. Wilhelmina admired the changes and, to Minerva’s relief, showed not a sign of envy or jealousy, although she did ooh and ah over the bathroom and separate loo, saying that was the one thing she wished that she had had changed when she had moved in.

A little before two o’clock, the two witches returned to the Headmaster’s office. It appeared they were the first to arrive. 

Minerva started up the steps to his suite, when Wilhelmina cried out in warning, “Wait! Don’t go any farther. The sixth step is charmed like the stairs to the Gryffindor girls’ dormitory.”

“Oh, um, when I was assisting Dumbledore when Pretnick was bitten, I had to be able to access his suite, so it’s not a problem. I’ll just go up and see if he’s here, shall I?” Minerva responded, glad that she was able to hide her blush. It seemed that very few members of the staff had been given automatic entry to the suite, even if they were Heads of House. 

“I usually just ask one of the portraits to announce me, or Dumbledore comes down himself just as I’m arriving. Seems to know somehow when someone’s here,”

“Does he? Well, with so many folk in and out today, perhaps I ought to go up and check, unless you’d prefer to send a portrait?” Minerva asked.

“No, go on ahead. I’ll wait here. Others will be arriving shortly.”

Minerva went up to the sitting room to find Gertrude stretched out on the couch. The witch sat up when Minerva entered.

“Good afternoon, Minerva. You are the first to arrive. Albus had a brief . . . task, but he should be available soon.”

“Actually, Professor Grubbly-Plank was with me, but the stairs . . .”

“Ah, yes. The stairs. I’ve told Albus he really needs to get a different system . . .” Gertrude shook her head. “We can go down and wait with her until the others come and Albus is available to invite them up.”

It struck Minerva that Gertrude was looking tired, and though she had tried to appear animated when she sat up, it looked to Minerva as though it had taken most of her energy.

“There’s no need for you to come down, Gertrude. I’m happy to go and keep her company, and any others who arrive in the meantime.”

Gertrude stood. “No, it would be ill-mannered of me.”

Minerva shrugged. It was up to her, after all. The two returned to the office, where they were soon joined by the other three Heads of House. They hadn’t long to wait before Albus appeared at the top of the stairs and called down to them and invited them all to join him for lunch.

At lunch, Minerva learned that James had agreed to become Hufflepuff’s Head of House, and he would be returning to Hogwarts at the beginning of the week for his installation as he had been unable to be there that day for the warding. Minerva tried to feel comfortable among her colleagues, and she was glad to be seated at the round table between Johannes and Wilhelmina, but Dustern kept giving her peculiar looks throughout the meal. Just as Minerva would convince herself that it was her imagination, the witch would look at her again. It wasn’t a look of hatred, Minerva decided, nor even dislike; it was more one of disgust. But since the bony witch never said anything to her, and very little to anyone else, and was outwardly polite, Minerva was uncertain what the meaning was behind the disgusted glances that she kept casting in her direction. Albus was seated between Slughorn and Gertie and appeared to be his usual congenial self. Slughorn was effusive, as usual, and talked at great length about his niece’s wedding, then went on to describe a “comely widow” whom he had met at the reception, a relative of his niece’s new husband. She was the embodiment of every grace and feminine charm, to hear him tell it. 

Gertrude was quiet, but Minerva thought that the older witch still looked more tired than usual . . . and somewhat drawn. In accordance with her resolution to begin to treat the Arithmancy teacher as more than just an object of her jealousy, Minerva decided that she should have a talk with her and find out if everything were well. Perhaps there had been a set-back with Thea, or with her father’s health. It would be like her to come to the warding, despite the fact that her presence wasn’t strictly necessary since the Headmaster was there and the four Houses were represented, even if there were some personal problem in her life. She certainly didn’t look like the well-rested and content witch who had left her tea party just days before. Minerva wondered whether she had a family problem or whether she might even be ill herself.

Before dessert was served, their glasses were all refilled, and Albus stood and thanked Professor Dustern for her many years of devoted service to the school and to her House, and raised his glass in toast to her. The toast made and politely accepted by the former Charms teacher, dessert appeared on the table, individual berry tarts with cream. Minerva loved berry tarts, and was pleased to accept Wilhelmina’s as well as her own.

“I hate to leave early, Professor,” Wilhelmina said, addressing Dumbledore, “but Brutus isn’t well and I promised Hagrid I would check on him again this afternoon.” In response to Gertrude’s inquiry, she added, “I think it’s just old age, and there’s not much to be done for the dog, but I hope that with some care, he might live a few more comfortable months, at least.”

Minerva was saddened for Hagrid. Losing both his “Meena-bird” and his canine companion within a few months of each other, it wouldn’t be easy for him.

Minerva finished eating both tarts, feeling a little greedy, but it wouldn’t do to have such a nice tart go to waste. Slughorn excused himself politely, saying that he would see them later, Minerva presumed at her installation. Minerva got up and approached Albus.

“Professor Dumbledore?”

“Yes, Professor?” Albus asked with a smile.

“Will you be needing me the rest of the afternoon? If you do – ”

“No, not at all. Just come up to the office at eight o’clock. It is a brief process, as I explained to you on Wednesday. It shouldn’t even take your entire evening,” Albus said.

“That wasn’t my concern, Professor. I just wondered if there were anything – ” Minerva began.

“Nothing at the moment, my dear. Thank you for attending the warding today.”

“It was very interesting. Wilhelmina gave me the Gryffindor book. I thought I might look at that this afternoon.”

“That’s fine. Be sure to bring it with you this evening, though.”

Minerva nodded. She looked over at Gertrude, hoping to speak with her and ask her how she was, but she was conversing in low tones with Johannes, and as she didn’t appear to be very happy, it didn’t seem like a good moment to intrude, so she went downstairs to the office. She took a seat in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, thinking that she could catch the Deputy Headmistress on her way out – provided, of course, that she left relatively soon.

Hearing footsteps on the brass stairs, Minerva looked up, but it was Professor Dustern, likely leaving for the very last time. She wondered how the witch felt about leaving Hogwarts, and whether she had any regrets about it.

“So, waiting for your _mentor_?” Dustern asked her as she reached the bottom of the stair. It was apparently a rhetorical question, for the witch did not wait for an answer. “I never approved of the way he treated you when you were a student here. Giving you ideas. Better than everyone else, you thought you were, with your special tutorials and extra privileges. And of course you were Head Girl. Never doubted you would be, not with him Head of Gryffindor and Dippet’s Deputy, and you his little star. Never any question about it. Didn’t approve of it then, don’t approve of it now. And it won’t get you anywhere, you know. Not in the end. And certainly not with him, no matter the . . . _hero_ you think him to be. He’s just a wizard – just a wizard like any other. He gave you expectations, I suppose, and now you think you’re collecting on them. Head of Gryffindor. At your age. Didn’t approve of your appointment as Transfiguration teacher, but wasn’t my place to say, but I saw _this_ coming. Only logical – he wants his little group of followers around him. You, Gertrude – although that witch should know better after all these years, and what has she got? Less than I. He has his little friend teaching Charms now. Good for him. At least he’s competent, I suppose. But don’t think you’ll ever get any more from Dumbledore, or that you’re his favourite – or that even being his favourite counts for anything. He’ll always put himself and this school above you – and probably more than just the school, too. Don’t think you’ll be getting any favours from him that won’t cost you. And one day, you won’t be young and pretty, but you’ll still be waiting on him hand and foot, glad of it when he offers you a Peppermint Pillow or a Chocolate Frog. You should have stayed at the Ministry, girl. At least some of your achievements might have been gained on your own merits there, and you might have had a life. But you’re cut from the same cloth, the both of you, and I’m glad I won’t be here to see what comes of this . . . imprudent decision.”

Minerva sat through this coolly delivered speech – had it been delivered with any passion, she could have called it a tirade – completely taken aback. She had no idea that Dustern had any such feelings about her or her appointment or even the Headmaster, despite what Albus had told her. Then suddenly, seemingly out of no where, Gertrude was behind the Charms teacher, laying her hand on the witch’s shoulder and spinning her around.

“I have treated you with the respect due you as a colleague and a professional, but now – ” Gertrude was white and trembled as though restraining herself “ – now I will have no compunction about tossing you down those stairs and out past the gargoyle if you do not leave immediately. _You_ may feel free to insult my friends – and Professor McGonagall has never treated you with anything less than respect, which should shame you – but now _I_ feel free to take any measures necessary to keep you from saying another word!”

Dustern pushed Gertrude’s hand from her shoulder, opened her mouth, and made a single sound. Minerva was impressed with the speed with which Gertrude drew her wand and cast a _Silencio_. 

“That will wear off in an hour or so – now, unless you wish to discover whether or not I can still remember how to cast a _Petrificus Totalus_ and a _Mobilicorpus_ , I suggest you leave under your own power right now.”

Dustern was red with rage, but she stormed out of the office, attempting to slam the door behind her. Unfortunately for her, the door had an Unslammable Charm on it, and it merely clicked quietly.

“I am sorry, Minerva.”

“Why? I mean, why are you sorry when you did nothing wrong, and why did Dustern say all those things?”

“Why am I sorry?” The grey-haired witch gave a wry smile. “I suppose Albus has rubbed off on me. But I _am_ sorry, in the sense that I wish you hadn’t been subjected to that. And Dustern . . . Dustern always believed that Albus had too much influence on Dippet, but she never knew the truth of his position here, so that is one reason it appeared the way it did to her. But also . . . I think she had actually hoped you might go into Charms, odd though that might sound. And, as Head of Hufflepuff, she chafed at what she saw as an unfair Gryffindor bias, never mind the fact that Dippet himself was a Hufflepuff, or that just as many Ravenclaws and Slytherins received particular . . . favours, I suppose you could call them.” Gertrude shrugged. “I actually think the root of it is really very simple, though. Albus rubbed her the wrong way . . . she didn’t like the apparent ease with which he dealt with difficult situations, or his ability to maintain an air of good cheer despite problems and troubles around him. She misunderstood his attitude and believed that it indicated indifference and a lack of feeling, which I think you and I both know is far from the truth. And it didn’t help that, through her mother’s mother, she is distantly related to Albus’s wife. His late wife. I doubt she knows much more than that Dervilia died alone, in a miscarriage, whilst Albus was away. But that knowledge did not predispose her to view any of his actions favourably.”

Minerva was about to ask another question when Gertrude seemed to sway slightly and took hold of the back of a chair.

“Are you all right? You should sit down. You don’t look well,” Minerva said, furrowing her brow in worry.

“I am fine . . . merely a little tired. And I do not often lose my temper. I find it unhealthy,” Gertrude smiled slightly. “For the people around me, that is.”

Minerva chuckled. “You know, I was actually waiting here for you, wondering if you would like to come see my new rooms. But if you are tired, it can wait for another day.”

“I am tired, but I think I would enjoy seeing your rooms. Albus was quite pleased with himself yesterday afternoon when he told me about them. I am curious.”


	99. Head of Gryffindor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva shows Gertrude her new rooms. She is installed as Head of Gryffindor that evening.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Gertrude Gamp, Albus Dumbledore, Johannes Birnbaum, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, Horace Slughorn, and the Sorting Hat.

**XCIX: Head of Gryffindor**

Minerva could tell that Gertrude was trying to give the appearance of energy as they walked back to her new rooms, but on the climb up the stairs from the second floor to the seventh, she seemed to get winded. Minerva stopped on the landing at the fifth floor.

“I’m not sure I’m used to these stairs, yet,” Minerva said. “I’d like to catch my breath a bit.”

Gertrude quirked a brief smile and said, “You mean you’re stopping for the old lady.”

“You’re hardly old, Gertrude,” Minerva replied. The witch was somewhere in her early sixties, Minerva believed. “But I have noticed you are somewhat tired today. And it is true that I am not yet used to climbing all the way to the seventh floor to my rooms yet.”

Gertrude’s cheek twitched in a semblance of a smile, and she began to climb the stairs again. Minerva didn’t say anything and tried not to watch the Arithmancy teacher. When they reached Minerva’s rooms, she almost hesitated to give her password in her normal tone, but Gertrude had done so at her rooms when she had been present, so Minerva uttered her new password, “ _protinus_ ,” normally and the portrait clicked her door open.

“Have a seat, Gertrude. Would you like anything to drink? Tea?” Minerva asked.

“No, thank you, Minerva. My, this _is_ a nice room.” She sat on the sofa and ran her hand over the fabric. “I like your Scottish theme – but he didn’t overdo it,” Gertrude said with a grin.

Minerva sat in the armchair next to her guest. “No, he didn’t. I was a little worried he might make everything tartan – and not matching tartans, either – so I was pleased.”

“So, do I get the grand tour?” Gertrude asked brightly.

“Of course – but if you’d like to rest a moment first – ”

“It’s only a few rooms, Minerva. I’m hardly likely to fall over in exhaustion,” Gertrude responded with a short laugh.

Minerva bit back her concern. It really wasn’t any of her business why Gertie was so tired, and if she wasn’t going to say anything, it would be impolite to press her about it, so she simply stood.

“Well, as you can see, this is my sitting room. I have a rather nice view of the grounds from here, and an even better one from my study, which is through here.” Minerva led her guest into the other room.

“No variation on red and gold?” Gertrude asked.

Minerva shrugged. “There’s some in the chair coverings, but I’m actually glad he chose these colours. I think that red could be distracting in the study. This is more restful, I think, more conducive to working.”

Gertrude nodded. “Which of your fireplaces is on the internal Floo-Network,” she asked, “this one or the one in the sitting room?”

Minerva stopped, mouth open for a moment. “You know, I am not sure. I don’t know if either of them is.”

“You’re a Head of House. One of them must be. You should be able to Floo to your office, the Hospital Wing, and to the Headmaster’s office, at the very least. It was the fireplace in the sitting room when Wilhelmina was here, but I don’t know whether Albus might not have changed that when he moved everything else around.”

The older witch looked around the study. “No pot of Floo-Powder here.”

They went back out to the sitting room. “None here, either,” Minerva said.

“Call your house-elf. Get some Floo-Powder. We’ll try them out,” Gertrude suggested.

“But . . . it may not be connected to my new office. Albus never mentioned the Floo-Network. Perhaps he forgot about it. It might still be connected to Wilhelmina’s office.”

“Worse that can happen is that we’ll bounce back here if that’s the case, or possibly land in the Headmaster’s office. Of course, then we’d have to walk all the way back here, either way,” Gertrude said. “And I doubt he forgot to connect it up. He probably just forgot to mention it to you. Where did your old Floo lead?”

“Nowhere, as far as I know. I didn’t think it was connected.” Minerva thought of all the months of trekking up and down all those flights of stairs. “I could have been on the Floo-Network?”

“You probably were – at least to your office. Of course, your office was quite close to your rooms, so it’s possible he didn’t connect you up to it. It should be quite convenient for you now, though, with your office and classroom down on the first floor and your rooms all the way up here.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose it wouldn’t have got me to breakfast any faster, or lunch and dinner.”

Gertrude shrugged. “I’ve never done it, but I know that some folk have their Floos connected to the antechamber off the Great Hall to save them the walk. Slughorn does. Don’t have to be a Head of House for that, though. You should have said something.” Gertrude shook her head. “Albus, Albus, Albus! We may love him, but sometimes he is rather . . . oblivious. Very thoughtful most of the time, and then other times . . .” Gertrude shrugged again.

Minerva smiled. Somehow, Gertrude’s casual words about loving Albus warmed her heart. Just a few weeks ago, they would have triggered a fit of jealousy. But Gertrude recognised that Minerva loved Albus and, although Gertrude couldn’t know the extent of her feelings for her former teacher, the older witch seemed very matter-of-fact about it.

“I know – it took him until last month to explain to me why I was given that old classroom and not the one in which he taught. He had no clue that I might have . . . expected that one and been disappointed by the one I was given. And yet his reasons for doing it were actually quite considerate.” Minerva looked around. “There’s no hurry in sorting out the Floo-Network. I can ask him about it tonight. Why don’t I give you the rest of the tour?”

Gertrude agreed to that, and the two witches stuck their heads into the tiny kitchen, then Minerva brought her to see the bedroom. She was glad she hadn’t taken out her “shrine” yet. Perhaps she should wait until she was sure that everyone who wanted to see her new rooms had done so before she put her little photograph of Albus back on her bedside table. That might seem . . . like obsessive hero-worship to any other staff members who saw it. Just as Dustern had implied earlier.

Gertrude duly admired Minerva’s bedroom, looking out each of the windows. “You do have a very nice view from up here, Minerva. Mine isn’t bad, of course, but as I’m only on the second floor, and you are practically in the Tower, you have more of a vista. I like the furniture and the draperies, too. Much better than the moth-eaten, Doxie-ridden stuff that was in here before.”

“Doxies?” Minerva asked, slightly alarmed.

“Not literally, Minerva – although knowing Wilhelmina, she would likely have given them to Hagrid to keep as pets rather than pests!” she answered with a smile. “Ah, you have a copy of the photograph from your Challenge. Albus has one, too, you know. Keeps it in his study with the others.”

“Albus gave this one to me,” Minerva said. “He made me a copy of his.” He kept it in his study and Gertrude had seen it there? He had sounded as though he weren’t quite sure where to find it when he had promised her a copy of it.

“That’s good. I wouldn’t have thought he’d give away his only copy of it. He should give you the one of the school Quidditch match, too. I always thought that was a rather nice one, and you might like having it.”

“Quidditch match?” She had never played Quidditch in school.

“Mmm . . . young Carson Murphy is in it, of course, zooming through the photo, but you are there, cheering your friend on, front and centre. Quite a nice picture of you, in fact. And of Mr Murphy, of course. Then there’s the one from . . . I don’t know what, exactly. A party or a ball. You’re standing with young Alastor and some other wizards whom I didn’t recognise. Must have been taken sometime shortly after the war, I would think. Alastor’s leg was already gone, but I know that Albus has had the picture for some years, so it isn’t recent.”

“Oh. Well, it was good of him to make me a copy of this one. I had wanted a picture of him, you see,” Minerva said, regretting her words immediately. But Gertrude didn’t seem to think anything odd about them.

“I see. He’s not in the other photographs. No doubt that’s why he chose this one of you both together. It’s a very good one of you, Minerva. You look so exhilarated and happy, and the photograph seems to project that.” 

Minerva didn’t know what to say in response to that comment, so she just led Gertrude to her bathroom, expecting Gertrude just to poke her head in, remark on how nice it was, and then leave it at that. Instead, Gertrude walked in and looked approvingly at the shower and the bathtub, then looked over the tiles.

“So these are the tiles. Your rooms were ready last summer, after the warding, and for the next . . . two or three months, it must have been, Albus was finding pictures and Transfiguring tiles. I don’t think it would have taken him so long normally, but he was so busy at the time, trying to teach and run the school simultaneously, as well as keep up with his other obligations, that he could only do a few at a time. I think he really enjoyed it. It was nice to see him doing something that was fun for him,” Gertrude said, looking over at Minerva.

They went back out to the sitting room and Gertrude sank gratefully into the sofa. “You know, if it’s no trouble, I would appreciate that cup of tea now.”

“Of course! Blampa!” Minerva called. When the house-elf appeared, Minerva said, “Tea for our guest, Blampa. And a pot of Floo-Powder.” She didn’t know when she’d use it, but at least she would be prepared.

“Yes, ma’am, Professor Minerva!” Blampa cast a side-long look at Gertrude, then added boldly, “I, Blampa, brings you and Professor Gamp nice pot of tea!”

After the elf disappeared, Gertrude chuckled. “Subverting the Hogwarts house-elves, are we, Minerva?”

“Just one. Fortunately, she has decided that Wilspy is the model of a good house-elf and I think that has helped. When I first started here, her cringing and whinging were enough to drive me mad.”

Gertrude stifled a yawn, and Minerva thought that she looked just as pale as she had earlier in the afternoon.

“Are you all right, Gertrude? I really don’t mean to fuss, but you don’t seem yourself today.”

“Just overdoing it, Minerva. And I was up very late working in the Headmaster’s office, trying to make up for the fact that I had abandoned him the day before. But I saw that you had been helping him, and I was pleased with that.”

A pot of Floo-Powder appeared on the mantle, and the tea arrived, complete with a plate of ginger newts. Minerva poured for them.

Gertrude sipped her hot tea and sighed. “I am out of shape, Minerva. Completely. Not at all fit. And at my age, it’s an embarrassment.”

“You? I wouldn’t have said that. You always seem to be quite energetic, and during that walk we took out to the hill fort, you seemed quite . . . fit, then. That’s why I must admit I am concerned. You don’t seem yourself. I worried that someone in your family was ill, or that you yourself were.”

Gertie smiled slightly. “I don’t mean physically unfit. I mean magically. Doing Arithmancy, even advanced Arithmancy, only requires a constant low level of magical concentration, and often not even that. I use a few spells here and there, of course, Summon my bath towels or banish my breakfast dishes, but I lack daily magical exercise of any meaningful sort. I am afraid that I have overdone it these past few days – foolish pride, I suppose – and I’m somewhat depleted.”

“Oh . . . I see.” Her mother, saying that Merwyn thought he could go weeks on end without lifting his wand and then perform series of archaic spells for hours at a time without depleting himself, and that was just foolishness, had given Minerva’s grumbling father a set of magical exercises to do every day. Minerva’s own work and, indeed, her nature, called for her to perform quite a bit of magic on a daily basis. Minerva asked curiously, “So . . . you’ve been doing more magic than usual?” 

Gertie gave a barked laugh. “That is an understatement, Minerva. The Apparitions alone . . . and then not getting enough sleep last night. Then the warding is always taxing – I was relieved I didn’t have to cast a _Petrificus_ on Dustern. Casting the _Silencio_ was embarrassingly taxing.”

“You did it quite well, though.” Minerva hadn’t noticed anything other than the swiftness and efficacy of the spell; Gertie’s fatigue had become evident a few minutes later, though.

“Oh, I’m not . . . untalented, I suppose one could say. Nor lacking innate power. I have just become a rather staid old Hogwarts teacher who doesn’t use her magic enough.”

Minerva fought a blush. Had Gertrude overheard her conversation with Malcolm? Surely if she had, Gertrude would recognise that she had just been joking, teasing her brother.

“I don’t think of you as a staid old teacher,” Minerva said quickly. “Far from it. I may . . . I may not have understood you well, not that I claim to now, of course, but I never thought you were staid. Although . . . you do dress more plainly than I think you could.”

“Mmm. We already have Slytherins with style in the castle. Ones who pull it off better than I do, for that matter. It is nice to give the students a different image of what a Slytherin might be, don’t you think? Besides, when I first began teaching, it wasn’t long after Reginald died. It didn’t feel as though it had been long, anyway. I was not particularly concerned with what I looked like. It became a habit. And now I’m too old to be worried about such things.”

Minerva actually laughed at that. “I am sorry, Gertrude, I shouldn’t laugh, but you are so much younger than my parents, and I don’t yet see them as old.”

“Mmm. I don’t usually think of myself that way, either. But today, I feel older than Albus. Well,” Gertrude said with a smile, “given that wizard’s energy and approach to life, I _usually_ feel older than Albus!”

Minerva returned her smile. “I wish you would tell him that. I am becoming rather weary of hearing him describe himself as an old codger. I don’t know when it started, but lately, every time he turns around, he’s saying something of that sort. He never used to. My protests must be beginning to sound disingenuous, I’ve repeated myself so often. Perhaps if he heard it from someone else . . .”

“I think Albus has just been going through a difficult time – not as difficult as some in his life, of course; I don’t mean to imply that at all – and he’s been working too hard. But there have been quite a few changes for him to deal with, and that might account for some of it.”

Minerva nodded. Of course. Becoming Headmaster, then continuing to teach for a year before she joined the faculty, and now all of the changes to the staff, one of them because the Defence teacher had been bitten by a werewolf . . . and he still sat on the Wizengamot and consulted for the Ministry on international issues. Albus was tired, over-taxed, and that no doubt made him feel older. Not to mention that he really hadn’t had a holiday yet that summer. He hadn’t even been able to come to lunch at the house, he was so overworked. It was good that he had taken the time to come to dinner the night before. And he had been so surprised that she had known it was his birthday. She remembered the tears in his eyes when he saw the cake and its candles.

“I had him to dinner last night. An early dinner, because I knew he had to be up early for the warding, and he seemed tired then.”

“Very nice, Minerva,” Gertrude said with an approving nod. “And I know that he enjoyed himself. He said something this morning to that effect, though he didn’t have an opportunity to elaborate. Did you know . . . that it was his birthday yesterday?”

“Yes, in fact – quite surprised him,” Minerva said, pleased.

“He doesn’t usually celebrate, though sometimes if I am here, I try to do a little something, though he always protests. Or he meets his brother for dinner. I thought he might do that this year, in fact. I’m glad he was with you, though. I am sure he enjoyed himself much more.”

“Oh. You do celebrate his birthday with him, then?” Minerva didn’t know how she felt about that. Albus had said it was the nicest birthday he’d had in a long time, and he behaved almost as though he’d never seen a birthday cake before.

“I wouldn’t say that. If he doesn’t go to his brother’s, though, he has dinner in the staff room with us and I try to make sure they serve trifle or some other dessert he enjoys. I have had him around to tea a few times, too, but nothing fancy. I do give him a little present, of course. Usually something like handkerchiefs or such. I did give him a Charmed beard comb once. Didn’t occur to me that he probably just uses his wand. He claims to use it. I’m afraid I rather lack imagination in that area. I thought I’d give him his present last night, but he never got in. Well, obviously he did, but he came by his backstair, apparently, and so I didn’t see him. Left it on his desk. It was still there when we left this afternoon.”

“He’s been very busy – ” Minerva said, feeling much better now that she knew that Albus had not exaggerated and her celebration really _had_ been special to him.

“Oh, I know that. And it isn’t much, anyway. But he always claims no one ever gives him socks, so as a sort of joke this year, I gave him six pair in six different colours. I was just looking forward to his reaction.” Gertrude grinned. “I hope he doesn’t plan on making them mix-and-match!”

Minerva chuckled. “He might, you never know.”

“So . . . I suppose I should go. You had wanted to look at the Gryffindor book before your installation. I will be there, ready to congratulate the most recent Head of Gryffindor. But if I am going to congratulate you without falling over – which would be highly embarrassing – I think I should go take a nap.” Gertrude rose. “Thank you for your hospitality, Minerva. I wish you many years of happiness in these rooms.”

Minerva blushed. “Thank you, Gertrude. I will see you this evening, then.”

After Minerva had let Gertrude out of her rooms, she went into her study and began to compose a letter to Quin to invite him up to see Hogwarts the next day. Now that Dustern was gone, she could likely let him in to see the Hufflepuff common room, even though James wasn’t installed yet. She would have to ask Albus about it.

Just as she was finishing her letter to Quin, a small owl came flittering against her window. With a wave of her wand, she admitted it. Fortunately, it wasn’t Bootsie – Minerva loved receiving letters from her niece, but she could do without being snapped at or clawed.

Minerva opened the small parchment.

_“2 August 1957_

_“Dear Minerva,_

_“Thank you very much for the lovely birthday dinner last night. I enjoyed myself very much, and having a birthday cake was a real treat._

_“I would be remiss if I neglected to thank you once more for the most beautiful robes. I think that the last time I was that amazed and thrilled with a birthday present was when I was eight and my father gave me my first broom. I do think I was more surprised by your gift, however, and certainly more touched. I look forward to wearing them and thinking of you!_

_“I thank you most, however, for your delightful company. It was a wonderful way to spend a relaxing evening before the rigours of the warding today._

_“With my very warmest regards,  
“Yours,_

_“Albus”_

Minerva smiled. Albus wrote such sweet notes. It certainly hadn’t been necessary for him to write her a thank-you note, particularly as they were living in the same castle and he had expressed his appreciation the night before, but she was very glad that he had. They had had scarcely a moment to exchange two words that day. It was reassuring. Although he was always, as Melina said, gallant. Nonetheless, it was clear that he truly did care for her. The time he had spent on her rooms, both her current ones and her former ones, was testimony to that. And he certainly was . . . very fond of her. Minerva tried not to sigh as she thought of that phrase. It was good that he was so very fond of her. He had kissed her cheek when he left the evening before. He had kissed her cheek a few times. He certainly didn’t go about doing that with every staff member. Though, perhaps, with Gertrude . . .

Minerva felt a pang as she thought of Albus’s relationship with Gertrude. It wasn’t the same as the jealousy she had felt before, and she certainly no longer envied Gertrude. But there was still something there . . . a wistfulness. Minerva didn’t even think it had to do with Gertie as much as it had to do with her own relationship with Albus. He was fond of her. She wanted more than that. But she had always known she would never have it . . . nothing had changed, really, except for the better. They were closer friends. Yet even that thought brought a lump to her throat and a sting to her eyes, and she put down the letter from Albus, picked up the one to Quin, put it in her pocket, and turned to begin to read the Gryffindor book.

At six, Minerva went down to the staff room to join the others for a light dinner. Albus wasn’t there yet, but their meal had appeared on the table already, so Minerva assumed that either he wasn’t coming to dinner or he had informed the elves that he would be late and to serve the meal anyway. About fifteen minutes after they had started their meal and were almost ready for their dessert, Albus hustled into the room, still in black robes, but with a plain black tunic over all, rather than the Headmaster’s robe.

“I hope that you have enjoyed your dinner. I am sorry I am late, but there was something requiring my attention in London.”

Albus’s plate filled itself, and he began to eat in a way that indicated he wanted to have his dessert as soon as possible. Minerva wanted to tell him to slow down or he’d ruin his digestion, but that would be highly inappropriate, she recognised. Instead, she thought that if she asked him a question, he would have to pause to answer it.

“Business in London, Albus?” she asked. “Anything concerning the school?”

“No, no, my dear. Simply a little Wizengamot problem. One of the wizards having his case heard today protested because I was not present, despite the attendance of a legally sufficient number for a sitting of the Wizengamot. In an attempt to provide the wizard with a sense of justice being done, they informed him that they would hear his case last to give me an opportunity to attend, although they would hear it whether I was there or not. They did, however, owl me and convey his request. Since the few minor tasks I had remaining for the warding can be performed later today, or even tomorrow, I popped down there to sit and hear his case.”

“Did your presence make a difference?” Johannes asked curiously.

Albus shrugged. “It is hard to say. Perhaps his fine might have been different had I not been there, but I think the greatest difference was in his willingness to accept the verdict of the Wizengamot. He was appealing the ruling of his regional gamot, you see, and we did determine that their punishment was too severe – likely prejudiced by local personal bias against him – but his infraction was clear, and he did not even dispute the accuracy of the facts against him. I believe he felt . . . vindicated in some way.”

Dessert arrived, and Albus banished his own dinner to start on his pudding. Minerva sighed. She probably just should have let him inhale his meal, if that’s what he wanted to do; at least he would have eaten more healthy food. Conversation had been somewhat muted over dinner – it seemed that everyone was tired after the warding – and the meal was quickly over. Unable to find a plausible excuse to stop and speak with Albus and interrupt his conversation with Johannes about some trouble that Johannes needed Albus’s assistance with – something to do with the portrait network in Ravenclaw Tower – Minerva left the staff room and made the long walk up to her new quarters. She would have to remember to ask Albus about the Floo-Network. She liked staying in shape, and climbing the seven flights of stairs from the ground floor to her rooms would be a good way to do that, but it was time-consuming.

She entered her new quarters, the Knight bowing to her clankily as he opened the door to her, and walked around her suite, first going into the study, then back to the sitting room, then to her bedroom, then back to the study, where she began to pace. She was getting nervous about the installation. What if Hogwarts and Gryffindor refused her? Minerva hadn’t heard of such a thing happening in many centuries, but it was possible. In the thirteen hundreds, the selected Head of Hufflepuff had not been accepted by the Hufflepuff rolls and Hogwarts rejected her. Fortunately, there were several other Hufflepuffs on staff then – the staff was twice the size then than it was today – and they were able to easily find a replacement that was acceptable to the House. However, the witch was shunned, particularly by her fellow Hufflepuffs – not formally, of course, but people had been shocked and wondered what was wrong with her that she had not been accepted by her House rolls – and she quit a few months later, disappeared, and was reported to have died in disgrace not long afterwards. 

What if she wasn’t good enough? What if she wasn’t Gryffindor enough? Seven o’clock. Only an hour . . . it felt as though it would be a century. She looked down at her robes. Perfectly nice – her pale blue robes – but perhaps she should wear something different for the installation. Show respect for it. Dress robes would be inappropriate, of course . . . 

Minerva went into the bathroom and undressed, making the spontaneous decision to take a shower before she changed. It really was a lovely shower, and she experimented with the jets of water that came from the walls. She would play with them more some other time; she stepped from the shower and Summoned her towels. As she rubbed a towel over her, Minerva glanced over at the bathtub and its tiles. She didn’t even need to step closer to see the ones of her and Albus, and a sudden sense of resolution and confidence entered her. Of course she was a Gryffindor! She had done that in France, after all, terrified though she had been, Dark Wizards on her heels, but ready to remain behind so that Albus could Portkey away to safety. And there were other times, she thought, when she had displayed some Gryffindor nerve. And, occasionally, even a little Gryffindor recklessness, as when she had bolted from Gryffindor Tower to find Dumbledore during the extraordinary curfew. There was no reason for Gryffindor not to accept her.

Minerva chose her robes with the tartan bodice and skirt, with the grey collar, sleeves, and wide band of grey at the bottom of the skirt. The tartan itself had two shades of green in it, a narrow grass-green line and a more dominant forest green, and her mother had told her that it brought out the colour of her eyes. She put her hair up in a French twist rather than a tight bun, then wondered whether she should put a teaching robe on over everything. Just as she was trying to decide about that, she heard the familiar clanking and barking coming from the sitting room. 

Minerva looked up at the Silent Knight, but he didn’t announce who her visitor was, so she just sighed and waved the door open with her wand. Gertrude, Wilhelmina, and Johannes stood outside.

“We have come to escort you, if we may,” Johannes said with a warm smile.

“Oh, of course! I’m glad you’re here, actually. Should I wear my teaching robes?” She noticed that the others were dressed smartly, but none of them was wearing a teaching robe over their normal attire – although Johannes was wearing deep azure robes in preference to the trousers he usually wore when working in the gardens or the greenhouses, and Gertrude’s grey robes were a pretty silvery colour rather than the dull shades she generally wore during the school year. 

“No, no need for that,” Wilhelmina answered. “You look fine. Now get your book and come along!”

“A hat?”

“No – it’s ceremonial, but not formal. You are fine as you are, Minerva,” Gertrude said reassuringly.

Minerva went into the study and grabbed the Gryffindor book and rejoined the others. Johannes offered his arm, and smiling, she took it. 

“Thank you all for coming to get me – I was becoming a wee bit nervous, I must confess.”

“Everyone does, Minerva. I was shaking in my boots, I must tell you. I was not even a real Ravenclaw, I feared. But once the Ravenclaw rolls accepted me, I felt every inch a member of that House,” Johannes said. “And you are already a wonderful example of Gryffindor, so you should have no fear.” He patted her hand.

“Is Professor Slughorn coming?” Minerva asked curiously. He had been at dinner; he must still be in the castle.

“We presume so,” Gertrude said.

In their friendly company, Minerva found herself in the Headmaster’s office in no time at all. Albus was present and once again wearing his Headmaster’s robe. She saw that he must have conjured a few more chairs. 

“Welcome!” Albus said. “Please, take your seats. Professor McGonagall, if you would sit here,” he said, indicating a chair set slightly apart from the others, “we can begin as soon as Professor Slughorn arrives.”

That wizard did arrive just a moment later, large smile plastered on his face. Minerva thought, from the slight bloom to his cheeks and the glaze to his eyes, that he had been indulging in a glass of something after dinner. Or a few glasses of something.

Albus accepted the Gryffindor book from Minerva, and it unlatched at a touch of his index finger. He opened it to the page that listed all of the Heads of Gryffindor House. Most of the names were written in grey, but Albus’s name was in bright blue and Wilhelmina’s was in scarlet.

Albus turned to the current Head of Gryffindor and, smiling, asked her whether she was relinquishing the care and safe-keeping of her House, and if she was doing so willingly and not under any duress. 

Wilhelmina affirmed both statements, then she touched the tip of her wand to her name and said, “I pass the care and safe-keeping of the House of Gryffindor to another. May all Heads of House be worthy, brave, and steadfast.”

Her name shimmered a moment, then it reappeared in the same bright blue as Albus’s. Albus lay the book to one side on the low table. Gertrude came forward with the Sorting Hat and placed it on her head.

“I remember you,” Minerva heard the Hat say. “Spirited but oh-so serious. You could have been a Ravenclaw, or even a Hufflepuff, but your care for knowledge and your joy in learning was eclipsed by your desire to use your knowledge for others and to put learning aside in preference for acting in the interest of those who relied upon you. Loyalty you had in great measure, and not blindly, either, but the fierceness of that loyalty was brash and bold. Your audacious heart drove your loyalty and your quest for knowledge, and that was your principle mark. And now I see you again . . . and still you are loyal and clever, but you are a Gryffindor true, and you live to put aside your fears and your needs in order to do what you believe right and in the service of those whom you love. And leadership you have, as well, in good measure. The Founder of your House would be pleased to see his children in your care.”

Minerva breathed a sigh of relief. When the Hat had begun to go on about Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, she worried again that she would not be found a worthy Gryffindor.

“Still and always a Gryffindor,” the Sorting Hat announced loudly to the assembled company.

Albus picked up the book and held it out, open, to her. He smiled gently and said softly, “Now, my dear.”

Minerva took a breath and, holding it, she reached out with her wand and touched it to the book just below Wilhelmina’s name. Her heart pounded in her chest when, at first, nothing seemed to happen, but then, with a suddenness that startled her, her name, “Minerva Morag McGonagall,” appeared in deep scarlet on the page. 

As her name registered on the Gryffindor roll of Heads of the House, the Sorting Hat announced, “Gryffindor has a new Head of House!”

Minerva flushed with pleasure, and Albus took the book from her, smiling. The others clapped, and she heard Slughorn say something about “good job,” and Johannes saying, “herzlichen Glückwunsch!”

Gertrude lifted the Hat from her head and said, “Congratulations, Professor McGonagall! Your House will thrive under your care.” 

Wilhelmina shook her hand and congratulated her, adding, “If there is any way that I can help you while I am here – or even after I leave – please let me know.”

Albus waved his wand and a small grey jug and seven glasses appeared. He poured them each a small amount of golden liquid. It looked like sherry, but she could see that it was something different.

After she had been given a toast, offered by Slughorn, of all people, Minerva took a sip. It was wonderful. Warming, only slightly sweet on the tip of the tongue, a complex bouquet of spice and flowers, and a smooth, dry finish.

“What is this?” she asked. She had never tasted anything quite like it.

“It is centaur mead. Its making is a secret, but they use various ingredients from the forest and, of course, honey,” Albus said with a smile. “It is somewhat rare – ”

“‘Somewhat rare!’” Slughorn exclaimed. “It is more than that. It would be no exaggeration to say that a wizard being able to lay his hands on a bottle of this is absolutely unique. Rare!”

“How did you come by it?” Minerva asked curiously. 

Albus shrugged. “I did someone a favour several years ago – a centaur – he did not wish to owe me a favour in return, so he gave me this in repayment.”

“I’ve offered him a few hundred Galleons for it, and still would, even half-gone, but he won’t part with it,” Slughorn grumbled.

“It is worth far more than that, Horace, as you know,” Gertrude said, “and even if you offered what it might fetch on the open market, you know the Headmaster still wouldn’t part with it. Your grumbling about it every time he generously chooses to share it is most unseemly and detracts from our enjoyment.”

Slughorn mumbled a semblance of an apology.

“Thank you, Albus,” Minerva said. “This really is marvellous.”

“You are very welcome. A special occasion such as this deserves something special to mark it,” he answered.

“I was so nervous. I was worried that I would be rejected.”

Albus chuckled. “I understand being nervous, but there wasn’t the slightest chance you would be rejected, my dear Professor. I had complete faith in you.”

They finished sipping their centaur-made mead, and Slughorn stood, seeing there wasn’t another glass to be coming, and he congratulated Minerva warmly, telling her that he’d be happy to “show her the ropes” if she wanted – whatever that meant, and then excused himself, saying that he thought he would have an early night as he was returning to his family home in the morning.

Wilhemina took Minerva’s arm and said, “Come on, Minerva. Hagrid wants to see you. He would like to offer you his congratulations.”

“Yes, he even baked his rock cakes today,” Johannes said mirthfully. “Such a treat!”

“Lovely!” Minerva said with a laugh.

“Don’t worry, Minerva, Brutus still seems to have an appetite for them,” Wilhelmina said, smiling.

“I thought you wanted to extend his life a few months?” Gertrude joked. “Let’s go down and present Hagrid with his new Head of House, shall we?”

Johannes opened the door to the spiral staircase, and Minerva turned to Albus. “Are you coming, Professor Dumbledore?”

“No, no, my dear. I have a few things here that I need to take care of still. I hope you enjoy yourself, though!”

Minerva nodded, trying not to let her disappointment show on her face, though she didn’t know how well she succeeded.

“All right, good night, then,” she said.

Gertrude lay a hand on her back. “Come, let’s go save Brutus from Hagrid’s rock cakes, shall we, Minerva?”

Minerva smiled. “Of course.”


	100. Touring Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva gives Quin a tour of Hogwarts from the Astronomy Tower to the greenhouses, and then has tea with him.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Quin MacAirt, Rubeus Hagrid, and Horace Slughorn.

**C: Touring Hogwarts**

Minerva stretched in bed and rolled over. She had closed the draperies the night before, and she had slept heavily. She could tell that it was daylight out, but she had no sense of the time. Groping for her wand, her hand touched the warm stone of the evil eye. A shiver went through her, then she found her wand and cast a _Tempus_. She was relieved to see that it was only seven o’clock and that she hadn’t slept too late. There were things that she needed to do that day, and she didn’t want to feel rushed from the moment she got up.

After a quick shower and a cup of tea, Minerva left, dressed in her mossy green robes, her lightweight tartan cape around her. She hadn’t had her walk in a few days, not since before she had returned from her parents, and she was looking forward to taking a turn through the grounds on her first morning as Gryffindor Head of House.

The little celebration down at Hagrid’s had been quite festive. Much to Minerva’s surprise, Hafrena MacAirt and Lillian Evandras had returned to the school for the evening just to attend Hagrid’s party in her honour. Professor Evandras said that she extended Nathaniel’s apologies for not attending, but that he offered his congratulations, as well. Minerva blinked a moment, trying to think who Nathaniel could be when she remembered that it was Professor Herder’s given name. Minerva had a nice time, but she found herself continually turning around and finding herself missing Albus’s presence.

When she walked back up from Hagrid’s hut with Gertrude, she looked reflexively up at the Headmaster’s Tower. The lights in his office were out, but there was a dim glow coming from the level of his suite above the office. Minerva’s heart clenched. It was increasingly difficult to go any length of time without seeing him, hearing his voice, feeling his touch, even in passing. It had been good to see him at her installation, of course, but he hadn’t said a personal word to her, it seemed, and he hadn’t touched her once, not even a casual brush of hands when they passed the book back and forth.

If Gertrude noticed Minerva’s subdued mood, she said nothing, and the two witches returned to the castle with the hush of the dark night around them. When they reached the second floor, Gertrude offered to walk her all the way to her new quarters, but Minerva demurred.

“Good night, then, Minerva.” Gertrude reached out and touched her arm. “We are all very proud of you, you know. Albus, too.”

Minerva nodded. “Thank you.” If Albus was proud of her, why had he never uttered his congratulations? She shouldn’t focus on that, especially as he had brought out his special mead, but she wished he had congratulated her . . . and come down to Hagrid’s with everyone else.

Gertrude looked at her a moment. “He’s very busy, but he _is_ happy you are Head of Gryffindor, you know.”

“Who is?” Minerva asked, pretending that she had no idea what Gertrude was talking about.

Gertrude quirked a slight smile. “I may see you tomorrow, but I may not. I will be leaving the castle for a while again. But if you need me, I am just an owl away.”

Minerva was surprised by her offer, but nodded. “Thank you.” 

She was even more surprised a moment later when Gertrude leaned forward and quickly brushed her lips against her cheek.

“Good night, Minerva. Sleep well.”

Minerva had slept well. It had been late when she had gone to bed, and the stress of the last few days had tired her, so she barely remembered laying her head on her pillow.

Minerva went downstairs to the ground floor and left the castle. It was still cool, but the sun was bright, and she was looking forward to getting some fresh air and possibly even exercising in her Animagus form. As she stepped through the doors, she saw a familiar figure in grey several yards away, headed around toward the back of the castle.

“Albus!” she called out.

He turned and smiled to see her. “Good morning, Professor!”

“Good morning! I’m out for my walk,” Minerva said, pleased to see him.

“Yes, I thought I would get a little exercise this morning, myself. I am hoping that today will be uneventful, but in case it is not, I thought I would take advantage of the early hour.”

“I was sorry to hear that you had to go into London yesterday, on top of everything else you had to do.”

Albus shrugged. “It didn’t take very long, and I was able to return to the castle in time for dinner, so I didn’t mind.” He smiled brightly at her. “I hope you have a good walk, my dear. Perhaps I will see you later in the day.”

Minerva was so surprised, she didn’t say anything, but only nodded, even her gesture likely lost on the Headmaster as he turned and headed quickly in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. It wasn’t as though he was required to take his walk with her, she thought, but he had seemed so . . . peculiar. She hoped he didn’t view her as just one more obligation, but it certainly felt that way at the moment. Now that she was Head of House, had their relationship changed? Or was it her birthday celebration the day before? He had thanked her very nicely, and Gertrude had said that he had enjoyed himself.

Minerva sighed. She hadn’t even had a chance to ask him about the Hufflepuff common room. Perhaps she could at lunch, but she would have to send Quin his owl soon so that he could make plans for the day. Well, if it wasn’t available, it wasn’t available. It wasn’t as though everyone received a tour of the House common rooms, anyway. 

A half hour later, Minerva dragged herself back up the many stairs to her quarters. She had tried to put Albus out of her mind, but she didn’t seem able to do that, and the walk she had looked forward to had become a chore. When she reached her rooms, she automatically called Blampa and asked for breakfast. When the house-elf asked what she would like, Minerva just shrugged and told her to bring the usual. Minerva picked at the fruit, ate part of the boiled egg, and nibbled a piece of wholemeal toast. If she hadn’t promised Quin that she would owl him and give him a tour that day, she would have just packed it in and gone back to bed.

After considering calling Blampa to owl her note for her, Minerva pushed away from the table and left her quarters, thankful that at least the owlery wasn’t as far now as it had been. She sent the letter off with a big Tawny Owl and returned to her quarters. Determined to do something with her morning other than mope, she went into her study and set to work. An hour and a half later, the Tawny Owl she had sent with Quin’s letter was back with his reply. He would arrive at approximately two o’clock, he told her, and was looking forward to the tour.

Minerva went down to lunch early, hoping to catch Albus and ask him about the Hufflepuff common room and let him know that they would be having a visitor in the castle. Luck was with her this time, and shortly after she arrived in the staff room, Albus himself walked in, dressed in sky blue robes with silver trim. Minerva smiled. He looked better than he had that morning. His grey robes were really rather ugly, though she would never tell him that, and the cut of them had gone out of style at least fifty years before, with the large, floppy rounded collar and the self-ruffle at the bottom and on the sleeves.

“Professor Dumbledore, a word, if I may,” Minerva said.

“Of course, my dear! How may I help you? Did you have a nice morning?” Albus smiled congenially at her.

“It was fine,” Minerva said, somewhat curtly. “I wanted to ask you about this earlier, but I didn’t seem to be able to catch you. Quin is coming for his tour of Hogwarts this afternoon. I don’t know whether I may show him the Hufflepuff common room or not.”

“Ah, yes! Quin. Very good, my dear. This is a fine opportunity. And the temporary password to Hufflepuff is ‘key lime pie.’ Have you ever had that, my dear? No? Marvellous stuff.”

Albus sat down at the table, and Minerva sat beside him. She didn’t particularly want to discuss the virtues of key lime pie at the moment.

“When is he arriving?” Albus asked.

“Two o’clock, he believes. I had the impression he was busy this morning, though he didn’t say,” Minerva answered.

“And, um, would he be staying for dinner?” Albus asked tentatively.

“I hadn’t planned on it, and I doubt he had, either. I thought I would just offer him a cuppa in my rooms afterwards.” Minerva was just about to ask Albus if he wanted to join them for tea when he interrupted her.

“Ah, well, then, would you care to dine with me this evening? Of course, if Quin is staying –”

“No, he isn’t. I would love to have dinner with you,” Minerva said quickly. She would tolerate his mercurial behaviour if he did occasionally return to the warm Albus whom she needed so much. An ephemeral thought flitted through her mind that she should have more pride, but it was gone as quickly as it had arisen, and she did not reflect on it or attempt to hold on to it.

“Good, good,” Albus said with a nod. “I will let Hagrid, Wilhelmina, and Johannes know, since they will be the only staff still here this evening. They may wish to make some other plans of their own.”

“Did you know that Professor MacAirt and Professor Evandras were here last night? I understand they left again this morning, but I thought it was very kind of them. They came especially to help celebrate . . .”

“Did they? Very nice,” he said, sounding pleased. “I am glad. I am sure that you will continue to find you have many congenial colleagues, whatever their various quirks may be.”

Minerva was about to ask him why he hadn’t joined them at Hagrid’s when Slughorn entered the room. If it had been someone else, she might still have asked, but Slughorn – he hadn’t come, either, although Gertrude told Minerva that he had been informed of the occasion. “Not quite spiff enough for him, I believe,” she said, explaining Slughorn’s nonappearance. “And the drink not up to his standard, either, I imagine.” Minerva just didn’t want the man to know any more about her personal life than absolutely necessary, particularly if he couldn’t be bothered to attend a party because it was thrown in Hagrid’s cabin.

Lunch appeared on the table, and the three began to serve themselves. Johannes came in and sat down on the other side of Minerva. He had been his usual warm and friendly self the evening before, but Minerva had caught him occasionally staring off into space, apparently lost in thought.

“How are you today, Johannes?”

“I am well, thank you, Minerva. And you?”

“Quite well. I understand you were in Germany last week.”

“Yes, I was . . . I looked at the land my friend found for me,” Johannes replied.

“How was it?”

“Good . . . very good . . . but it is strange to be there, and so much has changed. Much for the better, of course. But I have no family there, and no . . . no roots. I feel they were torn out when my family was killed. And I do not know . . .” Johannes shook his head then smiled. “I will grow new roots, I suppose.”

Minerva nodded. “You have planned this for a while, after all.”

“Yes. But . . . I was thinking. Perhaps here, in this country, there would be a place for me to have a small greenhouse.” Johannes sighed. “I do not know.”

“I think you just need to think about where you will feel most comfortable in the long-term, where you can make your life. It likely won’t be easy to make a transition regardless of where you are; the problems will just be different,” Minerva said, giving him the best advice she could, not knowing precisely what was bothering him.

Hagrid and Wilhelmina wandered in just as the others were finishing their lunches, fortunately not too late to eat, however. As Minerva was leaving, Albus caught her arm, then let it go.

“I’m sorry, Minerva. I just wanted to tell you that you may come up as soon as your guest has left – if you wish.”

Minerva smiled. “I would be glad to. Perhaps, though, you might want to join us for tea.”

“I think not – although if Quin would like to speak with me, I would be happy to make time for him.”

“I will be sure that he is aware of that. Thank you. I plan on showing him the greenhouses, the Quidditch pitch, the Great Hall, the library, a few of the different classrooms, and a peek at the common rooms,” Minerva said.

“That sounds fine, my dear. Very good. May I suggest you include that Astronomy Tower and the Potions classroom in your tour?”

“Precisely my thought.”

“Minerva,” Slughorn said, “if you would like to bring him down to the Potions classroom, I would be pleased to open it for you and answer any questions your friend has.”

“Thank you . . . I don’t know when we will be there, however, and I know you were going to leave this afternoon.”

“Not until late in the afternoon. I will just be in my office. Come by any time!” Slughorn said with a bright smile.

Minerva nodded. “I appreciate that. I will see you later, then.” She turned to leave the staff room, then remembered the Floo-Network and turned back. “Oh, Professor Dumbledore, I was wondering about my Floo –”

“Ah, yes! I am sorry, my dear! Very neglectful of me not to mention it. The Floo in your sitting room is connected to the Transfiguration classroom office, the Hospital Wing, the Gryffindor common room, and the Headmaster’s office. If you would like an additional connection, just say the word!”

“That sounds sufficient for now, thank you.” Sometime when he wasn’t as busy, she would ask him about creating a connection to the small chamber off the Great Hall.

Minerva walked up one flight to her classroom and Flooed to her sitting room. She smiled as she stepped out. This was much more convenient. Now, to busy herself until Quin arrived.

A few minutes before two, Minerva Flooed to her office, then left the castle from there. She smiled as she saw Hagrid walking up the path, Quin at his side. Even Quin looked small next to the assistant groundskeeper. She waved at them both.

“H’lo, Perfesser McGonagall! I met yer friend here, thought I’d jest walk him up fer yeh.”

“Thank you, Hagrid. How are you, Quin?”

“Fine as the day is long, love,” Quin said. Putting his hand on her shoulder, he bent and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. “And you, Head of Gryffindor?”

“Well, thank you – Hagrid threw me a nice party last night.”

Hagrid beamed down at them. “Quite somethin’, i’nt she? Well, I gotta go . . . Perfesser Slughorn is over t’ cabin with Brutus. Said he’d brew him somethin’ but wanted t’ see ’im first.” Hagrid got misty-eyed. “A bit stand-offish, seems at times, but ’e’s always got time fer me Brutus. A good wizard.”

Hagrid lumbered off toward his cabin after expressing his pleasure at meeting Quin and inviting him around to see his Jarvey before he left.

“You were right, Minerva, he’s quite a likeable chap. Half giant, is he?” Quin asked.

“Yes – did I tell you that?” Minerva asked, trying to remember whether she had.

“Don’t believe you did, but ’tisn’t an easy thing to miss.”

“I suppose it’s not,” Minerva said.

She began the tour with the Great Hall. Quin was quite taken with the ceiling and gaped at it in undisguised awe. She then brought him to the Astronomy tower and explained that those classes were held at night. Then they dropped by the Ravenclaw common room and Minerva opened the common room for him to look in.

“Each House has separate dormitories for the witches and wizards,” Minerva explained, “and different ways of monitoring them. The Head of House always has rooms adjacent to the House dormitory. Hufflepuff actually has a connecting door between the common room and the Head’s suite. My rooms are just steps from the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, and technically a part of the Tower.”

When they reached the Gryffindor common room, Minerva invited him to go in and look around, then brought him up one level to show him a typical boys’ dormitory room. After they finished there, they went down to the library. 

“Now I do wish I’d gone t’ school,” Quin said as he looked at row upon row of bookcases.

“Visitors sometimes come to use the library. I am sure that you could – just let me know, and I can make arrangements.”

Quin shook his head ruefully. “Haven’t time for that sort o’ thing at the moment, Minerva. But if that changes, I will take you up on your offer.”

Minerva brought him through the rest of the castle, pausing to have a peek into the Hufflepuff common room, then ending in the far dungeons at the Slytherin common room. It really was quite impressive, she thought, looking through the open door to the large room appointed in silver and green, but Minerva couldn’t imagine living so far under the castle. Under the lake, actually. Her claustrophobia wasn’t acute at the moment, but she didn’t think she could live underground like that. She would surely have nightmares.

“Professor Slughorn said he would be pleased to show you the Potions classroom himself. Let’s see if he’s back from Hagrid’s, shall we?”

Slughorn was awaiting them in his office when they arrived, and he showed Quin the potions ingredients, the special warded cupboard for the more dangerous ingredients, and explained what the students were taught the first year. Quin paged through the Potions textbook and raised an eyebrow, but he shrugged. 

“’Spose there’s nothin’ truly harmful in this,” he said.

“Harmful?” Slughorn asked. 

“I try to raise me kids with a sense o’ right an’ wrong, Professor,” Quin said. “Some o’ these potions . . . I am sure you explain their use an’ misuse, don’t you?”

“Well,” Slughorn said chuckling, “there aren’t many in the first-year curriculum that could be misused.”

“You think not? I’d have thought that a Potions master would have more imagination than that,” Quin said in a light tone. “But ne’er mind. I’ll be sure t’ check up on me boy from time t’ time. Thank you for your trouble, Professor.” He held out his hand and Slughorn shook it.

“Not a bit of trouble, my dear man, not a bit of it! A friend of the Headmaster’s is a friend of mine, I’d like to think! And dear Gertrude, of course.” He winked at Quin. “She’s quite the witch, isn’t she? Knew each other as students of course. Had a bit of a crush on me at the time, I think.”

Minerva cringed. She could scarcely credit Slughorn’s claim. She doubted that, even as a girl, Gertrude would have such poor taste, even if Slughorn had been younger and better looking than the wizard now standing before them.

Minerva led Quin from the dungeons, declining Slughorn’s offer to watch him prepare the nostrum for Brutus, of whom he did seem genuinely fond. Minerva told Quin that he probably was also trying to keep Hagrid happy so he wouldn’t be too depressed to go into the forest and gather potions ingredients for the self-indulgent Potions teacher.

Quin smirked. “I wonder if he even realises that himself – that wizard has so many layers to him and such a well-constructed self-image, I don’t think he would even recognise when he lies to himself. Probably thinks he’s doin’ it out o’ the milk o’ human kindness.”

Minerva raised an eyebrow. “You’ve heard of him then? From Gertrude?”

“Heard of him before today, but not known much of him. Shakin’ a man’s hand can be informative.”

“Really?” Minerva was now curious. “What else did you . . . divine from that?”

Quin shook his head. “Nothin’ much. Just that. I’d be very careful if I ever did a business deal with him, though, and watch to see he didn’t put his thumb on the scale. He does have professional pride. I did get that. And I think he is a . . . a careful Potions master. He likely is only truly his ain self when he brews. Likely quite a respite for the man.” Quin chuckled.

“I can see that.” Minerva nodded. “But now, we are going back out again. I thought I’d show you the Quidditch pitch and greenhouses now, then we can go up to my rooms and have tea.”

Johannes was at work in the greenhouses, and greeted them cheerfully then gave them a tour of the main greenhouse in which the students worked. He invited them to walk through the others, as well, and at the end of their tour, Quin seemed subdued.

“Everything all right, Quin?” Minerva asked?

“Fine, love,” he answered with a warm smile. “Just thinkin’ of me Aileen and that she spent so much time in those greenhouses, happy time for her. Now the Quidditch pitch?”

After the two had taken a quick look at the Quidditch stadium, and Minerva had pointed out where the Forbidden Forest began, the two went back up to her rooms.

“Minerva, if I’d known Hogwarts professors lived so well, I might have applied for one o’ those job openings,” he joked.

Minerva laughed. “Well, these are a bit bigger because I’m Head of House, though because of the nature of the castle, if someone needs a little more room, they can ask for it and, within limits, the rooms can be reconfigured for them. And these rooms were extensively redecorated before I moved in. They hadn’t been touched in about fifty years and needed some work.”

Quin was impressed with the views she had from her windows, laughed at her postage stamp kitchen, as he called it – Minerva thought he must be referring to its size – and, like her other visitors, thought her bathroom was luxurious. He paused and looked at her tiles.

“That’s you, isn’t it?” He bent over and looked at the tiles more closely. “You and Albus?” He turned to look at her. “Is this somethin’ true?”

“Yes, but it’s a rather long story, most of which I still can’t tell anyone. But there were actual events that inspired those tiles,” Minerva said as she led him back into the sitting room for their tea.

“So it’s not only your brother who dashed about the countryside then?” Quin asked.

“It was a one-time event. I worked in an office in the Ministry during the war. That occasion was an emergency,” Minerva explained, somewhat uncomfortably.

“I see, speakin’ of your brother, though . . . Malcolm that is,” Quin said, sitting on the sofa, “he is very . . . unusual.”

“I told you that.”

Minerva called Blampa for their tea.

“You did, but, um, how to put this . . . he paid me a visit on Monday,” Quin finally said bluntly.

“He did? How did he know where you lived?” Minerva asked, puzzled. “And why?”

“I’d thought you could answer the ‘why’ for me, Minerva. And he didn’t visit me at home. I think he may be more at home in the Muggle world than he claims. He tracked me down in the city, and he, um, ‘accosted’ might be too strong a word, but he waylaid me on me way out of a meeting I had at me solicitor’s. He convinced me to join him for lunch. It was . . . peculiar.”

“Well, that is surprising. And unsettling for you, I imagine.” Minerva was both puzzled and embarrassed by her oldest brother’s unconventional behaviour.

“That it was. If I didn’t believe him when he claims to dislike the Ministry, I’d have thought he was after spyin’ on me for them, to be sure. His dislike of them is genuine, isn’t it?”

“From everything I have ever been able to tell – I very much doubt that he’s some kind of covert agent, if that’s your fear. He’s out of the country so much . . .”

Quin shrugged. “Could be doing Ministry work on his travels, too, but . . . he asked me quite a bit about me experiences in the Muggle world. As though they could be encapsulated into nice neat little lessons.”

“Mmm. He tried once to live as a Muggle, but I don’t think he really managed it. I think when he was at home, the Muggle apparatuses were inconvenient and he used magic. He worked for a few months in a Muggle bookstore, but he was fired – he says it was because he read the books too much and they thought he neglected the customers, but Murdoch said it’s more because he wasn’t good at making change and the difference kept being taken out of his pay packet.”

“He mentioned somethin’ about that,” Quin said.

Their tea arrived, and as Minerva poured and offered him a ginger newt, she hoped that they could move past the topic of her brother. She had wanted to talk to him about Albus and his behaviour over the last few days, but after Quin had taken an appreciative bite of a biscuit, he brought the conversation back around to her brother.

“Malcolm, then . . . I was confused by his intentions. Do I have anything t’ be worried about?” he asked.

“I think his dislike of the Ministry is genuine –” Minerva began.

“That’s not what I meant, love. I meant,” Quin clarified with a blush, “d’you think he’s, um, interested in me? You know – is he, um, a confirmed bachelor an’ not just persistently unmarried?”

Minerva’s jaw dropped. Once she got over her surprise, she said, “You think he was . . . making a pass at you?” Despite her Occlumency practice, her face was aflame.

Quin shrugged. “None o’ me business how he lives his life, is how I see it, but . . . I don’t want him t’ think I’m interested in makin’ that sorta friend, if you get me meaning.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. I know he found you interesting, but . . . no,” Minerva said with a shake of her head. “I don’t even think he’s interested in, well, anyone that way, male or female. Well, he’s likely had some experience, but I’ve never known him to have a special friend of either gender. Not that it hasn’t crossed my mind before – wondering about him. But I don’t think so. I could speak to him for you, if you like, tell him you’d prefer not to have him visit you.”

Quin shook his head. “No need to do that, love. He just seemed to take a lot of effort to find me, and then was more interested in me and me doin’s than I’m used to. And very interested in me relationship with Gertrude. Seemed t’ think there was somethin’ between us, based on me statement about Gertie abidin’ with me night an’ day after Aileen died. I thought he was fishin’ t’ see if we were havin’ an affair an’ if I was, um, free. ’Twas odd.”

“You got that from the situation, or did you sense something from him – like you did Slughorn?” Minerva asked.

“Can’t read Malcolm well. ’Twas confusin’ and he has a lot bubblin’ in him. Couldn’t tell anythin’ even after havin’ lunch wi’ the man an’ shakin’ his hand after.” 

“Well, even if he were interested in you that way, and I really doubt that very much, I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Quin,” Minerva said. “As ill-mannered and occasionally inconsiderate as he can be, I don’t believe him to be selfish or unkind, and I don’t think he would, um, try to pursue you if you clearly didn’t want that. So unless you have been, um, flirtatious and charming, you shouldn’t worry.”

“I am an indiscriminate flirt, Minerva, you should know that by now,” Quin said with a grin. “Not usually with folk I dislike, o’ course, and certainly I believe I am merely charming and not flirtatious with wizards, but could be he got the wrong idea somewhere. And I didn’t want t’ be unfriendly to him even on Monday, since he is your brother. But you reassure me. It wasn’t clear what he wanted from me, so that was just one possibility that occurred to me – there was one other, but, if what you say is true about him, it’s probably just as unlikely.”

“What was that?” Minerva asked.

“If he wasn’t with the Ministry and he wasn’t interested in me, I thought he might be interested in Gertrude.”

“In Gertrude?” Minerva’s eyes widened. “I highly doubt that. Even if he were interested in some witch, I doubt very much she would be his type. She’s serious, a scholar, rather a homebody, I think, and not at all adventurous or out-going. And she is certainly not, well, it’s not that she is unattractive, but she’s not flashy.”

“The Muggles call it ‘SA’ – ‘sex appeal,’” Quin said cheekily. “But Gertrude actually does have some – it’s just subtle. A wizard wonders what’s beneath that stern exterior and the dry humour and wonders if there’s simmering passion just waitin’ to be unleashed.”

“You’re mixing your metaphors, Quin,” Minerva said, becoming uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. “And whatever my brother’s preferences may be in witches – or otherwise – I think he’d be looking for something requiring less work and with no chance that the other person could develop an attachment. With his peripatetic ways, I suppose it’s even possible he takes lovers frequently, but changes them as frequently as he changes his location – which may be more frequently than he changes his socks.”

“Could be he’s lookin’ for somethin’ different, then, and he is a wizard who seems to like a challenge. Gertrude would certainly be that.” Quin shrugged. “But enough about the hypothetical love lives of others. How are you and how is your love life?”

Minerva didn’t take offense at the blunt question, merely rolling her eyes and answering, “Even more hypothetical, I’m afraid, Quin. I did try, too. Fortunately, not so obviously as to completely embarrass myself.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, love,” Quin said softly. “Somethin’ specific happen?”

Minerva sighed and broke a ginger newt in half. “I had him here for dinner for his birthday. He was enjoying himself. We had wine. A nice meal. He didn’t know it was a birthday dinner until I brought out his cake. I think he was genuinely touched. Then I gave him your present – he was quite pleased with it, by the way.”

“He wrote me a nice thank-you note yesterday,” Quin said.

Minerva nodded. “He really did like it. And then I gave him my present. At first, I wasn’t sure that he liked them, or what he thought, but he said the robes were beautiful, and he even tried them on. Oh, he looked so wonderful in them, Quin. It was as though he was clad in the night sky, thousands of stars visible. And he let me touch them while he was wearing them . . . but it meant nothing.” Minerva struggled against the lump in her throat. “We had even danced earlier – just very briefly, before we had our cake, but still . . . it felt romantic to me. But it was all on my side. I had made it a romantic setting and my feelings were romantic, but it was just me. When he thanked me with a kiss on the cheek, I hugged him and I . . . I told him, Quin. I told him I loved him.” Tears sprang into her eyes. “And he . . . he was surprised. He froze, then he . . . he patted my back . . . he patted my back and he said” – Minerva choked back her tears – “he said that he is very fond of me, too.”

“Oh, love, I’m sorry. Come here, come here, sweetheart,” Quin said, patting the sofa. 

Minerva moved over and sat beside him and let him enfold her in his arms. He kissed the top of her head and caressed her cheek, wiping away her tears. 

“It may not be so bleak, Minerva.”

“Yes, at least I wasn’t fool enough to say that I was in love with him,” Minerva mumbled into his shoulder.

“You know, you surprised him with the birthday dinner and the presents, then you told him you loved him. He could have just been very surprised and thought that his own imagination was workin’ overtime –”

“Don’t make excuses for him, Quin. He is _fond_ of me. Just as I always knew. Fond of me, Quin. It’s what you say to someone for whom you have platonic love, if you love them at all. It doesn’t even mean he loves me in any way.”

“I think he must – he does spend a lot of time with you, he spent his birthday with you and not with someone else –”

“That’s just because he normally doesn’t celebrate it. At least not very much. He just didn’t have anything better to do, that’s all,” Minerva said, pushing away from Quin. She stood. “Did you want more tea?”

When he indicated that he did not, Minerva banished the tea things, venting her excess energy. 

“I’m going to wash my face, then I’ll take you down to Hagrid’s –”

“That would be nice, Minerva, but I would like to talk with the Headmaster first, see his office, ask him a few questions. I’m sending me boy here in less than a month, after all.”

Minerva pursed her lips. “You are not going to discuss my feelings for him, Quin, if that’s what’s in your head.”

“I wouldn’t embarrass you like that, surely you know that!”

“Of course.” Minerva sagged. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . . sensitive.”

Minerva excused herself and washed her face. When she returned to the sitting room, she was surprised to find Albus there.

He smiled brightly at her. “I am sorry I am too late for tea, my dear, but I did want to stop by and say hello to your guest.”

“We were just coming to see you, Professor,” Minerva answered.

“Yes, as Quin was just saying. I thought I’d bring him through the Floo to my office, then send him back to you the same way – unless you’d like to come?”

“No need for that,” Quin said quickly. “I have taken too much of this good lady’s time this day, anyway.”

“Not at all, Quin,” Minerva said, “but you can meet me back here, if you like.”

When the two wizards had left, Minerva sat down on the sofa and stared into the empty fireplace. Quin was still trying to encourage her. But what was the point? None. None at all. Albus had practically ignored her that morning when he saw her – not that he’d intended to, of course, Minerva was sure of that. But if he were as taken with her as Quin seemed to think, wouldn’t he have wanted to walk with her a while, instead of just turning around and rushing off? Of course, if he had wanted to walk in the Forbidden Forest, it could be he preferred not to have her with him. . . . At least they were having dinner together tonight.

Minerva lay down to wait for Quin and closed her eyes.


	101. The Tale of a Young Wizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quin has a conversation with Albus, then Albus and Minerva have dinner and talk.
> 
>  
> 
> **Beginning of Part Fifteen.**
> 
>  
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Quin MacAirt.

**PART FIFTEEN  
**  
CI: The Tale of a Young Wizard

“So, my boy, have I been able to answer your questions? Set your mind at ease?” Albus asked.

“That you have, thank you, sir. Although I would prefer if there were a more . . . coherent approach to the ethical use of magic, but if you say that it is integrated into the individual classes, I will take you at your word.”

“It can also be encouraged through the use of the House point system and other discipline outside of the classroom. Developing a moral compass is very important for children, I agree. And I also agree that the curriculum is not explicitly designed to assist with that. But I myself was greatly influenced by one of my teachers here, my Ancient Runes teacher, Finn Futhark. Of course, I did not always listen to what he said, but later on in life, I remembered it and came to understand its truth. So another person, even a well-intentioned mentor, can only do so much, even as a role model. And I do hope we provide positive role models, although the world is not perfect, and the children must learn that, as well.”

Quin shrugged. “As you say, Professor – ”

“Albus – unless you prefer ‘Professor,’” Albus interrupted with a smile.

Quin smiled. “Very well, Albus. I do think that the staff members whom I know well, Gertrude and Minerva, would provide very positive role models. And as Head of Gryffindor, Minerva will certainly have a wide and long influence.”

Albus nodded. “Yes, for as long as she is Head of Gryffindor, generations of Gryffindors will look to her guidance. . . . You are quite . . . taken with her?”

“Taken with her?” Quin asked, feigning puzzlement. “She is a fine witch, o’ course.”

“Yes, a fine witch, with much to offer a wizard,” Albus answered. “It may be impertinent of me to say so, but if you are interested in her, there would be no better witch whom you could find.”

“Ah, I see. You are wonderin’ if I’m after takin’ her away from you and Hogwarts, now that she’s the Head of Gryffindor,” Quin said. Albus tried to interrupt, but Quin continued. “Nothin’ like it in me head, Albus. She’s yours, and the school’s. Doubt she’d leave for any cause. Besides,” Quin said with a shrug, “I’m believin’ that she has her sights set, actually, and not on me, even if I were interested in her – which I am not, not that way. O’ course, she’s a proud witch. She’d not chase a wizard, not if he didn’t give some indication that he was interested in her first.”

“So . . . she is interested in someone?” Albus asked.

Quin just shrugged again. “As I said, she’d not chase a wizard who gave every indication he wasn’t interested in her, so . . . I can’t really say.” Quin took his watch from his pocket. “’Tis gettin’ on. I told me wee beasties I’d be home for dinner tonight and spend the rest o’ the weekend with ’em, so I must soon be off, and Hagrid is still expectin’ a visit from me.”

“It was good to see you. And I do thank you again for the basket of candy. You are a very lucky man! I used to think it might be nice to own a sweets shop, but an entire factory! And you make Peppermint Pillows, my current favourite Muggle sweet.”

“Glad you liked ’em, sir. Me kids enjoy it, too,” Quin answered with a grin.

Albus stood and came around to the fireplace. With a quick jab of his wand, he lit a small fire in the fireplace, then he tapped the mantle. 

“You can go through now, my boy. Just say, ‘McGonagall sitting room,’ and you’ll be there before you can blink,” Albus said.

Quin took a pinch of Floo-Powder and did as Albus told him. Indeed, he was there faster than he could blink, and he stepped out quickly. Minerva sat up and yawned.

“You’re back. Have a good talk?” she asked.

“Satisfactory, I suppose. Alroy will just have to write a lot of letters home,” Quin answered. 

“Why don’t I walk you down to Hagrid’s, then?” Minerva suggested.

* * *

Albus stood on the rooftop of his tower and looked out across the grounds, watching Minerva and Quin making their way to Hagrid’s cabin. Hagrid was working in his garden, a bottle of ale conveniently within reach. When the two reached him, Hagrid stood, seeming large to Albus even from his current vantage point. He watched the three of them speaking together, Quin, head thrown back, apparently laughing at something Hagrid said. He was a handsome, energetic wizard with so much to offer a witch, and rich as Croesus, to boot, with his own sweets factory. Albus tried to regret that Quin was not interested in Minerva, but a small selfish part of him was so glad, he could not muster any regret at all. On the other hand, it would be far worse if some unworthy wizard, one whom he didn’t like, were interested in his Minerva. 

Who could the wizard be to whom Quin had alluded? Quin could be wrong, of course. He hadn’t sounded particularly certain about it. But if there were such a wizard, someone Minerva had set her hat on . . . perhaps someone in London, at the Ministry? Minerva had scarcely visited London since she began teaching. If it were someone in London, she must have given up on him. But if it were someone here at the school. Albus again ran through the list of available males. He was completely certain that it wasn’t Ogg or Pringle – she seemed to despise Pringle, and Ogg . . . that toothless old groundskeeper. Albus shuddered at the thought. And Ogg did not hold particularly enlightened views. The only men at the castle whom Albus had ever seen Minerva spend any time with at all were Hagrid and Johannes. 

He furrowed his brow. Johannes was a lovely wizard, but he had taught Minerva, even though it was only briefly. Albus doubted that Johannes would consider Minerva an eligible witch, and he was leaving the school at the end of the year. Perhaps that was what discouraged Minerva. But they didn’t seem close enough for Minerva to have developed such an interest in him. On the other hand, perhaps that was the trouble. She loved him from afar. Albus’s breath hitched at that thought, and he forced himself to push aside his feelings for the moment. But she never seemed to particularly seek his company or to be nervous in his presence, both of which Albus considered the primary hallmarks of a crush.

Hagrid. That seemed even more unlikely on the surface, but they _had_ been friends for many years. Albus watched the three small figures in the garden far below. Minerva _was_ fond of Hagrid. She always had been. Something of a champion for him. If he had considered it before, he would have thought her feelings toward Hagrid to be more . . . maternal than anything else, despite their closeness in age.

Perhaps Quin was wrong. The young wizard hadn’t known Minerva long, after all. But Albus would watch Minerva and see if he saw any signs of unrequited love when she was near Hagrid or Johannes or any other wizards in the castle. Of course, it might not be someone at Hogwarts at all. Perhaps that was why she had come to Hogwarts in the first place, to escape her unrequited love. Albus sighed. Knowing how he felt, he did not wish Minerva to feel the same. No wonder she had resented his attempts to encourage her to view Quin as an eligible wizard if she were trying to recover from unrequited love. She no doubt was still pining for whomever the other wizard was and was not ready to consider a new relationship. Albus’s heart ached for Minerva. However much he loved her and wished she were his, he wanted her to be happy, and the thought that she was not caused him sorrow.

Albus turned and headed down the stairs to his suite. Minerva would likely be returning to the castle soon, and then coming up for dinner. He considered changing his robes, but he did not want to put on anything drab that evening, and as much as he would like to wear the robes she had given him, he thought that what he was wearing was suitable. He had come to certain conclusions that morning, and it was best just to focus on that, and on his resolve. It would likely be a very long evening, and he didn’t know how Minerva would feel at the end of it, or what she would think of him. No need to have her see him in those robes, reminding her of the nice evening they had spent together and of the . . . of the gratitude and affection that had inspired her to give them to him. 

Albus went into his study and sat at the desk. It was smaller than the one in his office below, but certainly adequate for his personal use. He usually used his office for most things, anyway. Except for very personal business. Albus opened the drawer in which he kept his few most private papers. If he died tomorrow and they were found . . . Albus shook his head. Likely it would be Gertrude, as his Deputy, and she would have the good sense to dispose of things as he would have wanted. Not that he wanted anyone to see what he had written a month ago when he was missing Minerva, even Gertrude, much as he trusted her, but he could not bring himself to destroy the parchment. He left those papers in the drawer and pulled out the photographs of Minerva. Minerva as a student. Minerva as a young Ministry witch shortly after the defeat of Grindelwald. Minerva as an accomplished witch following her successful Challenge. Albus touched Minerva’s face as she turned to smile at him in the photo. So alive . . . was that when he had finally fallen in love with her? That day, was that the day that his pride in her had tipped irretrievably into what it now was? Or had it been earlier? When she rescued him a few years before that, she had been beautiful, lovely, caring, so competent, and so very brave. And then, just days later, when he had seen her at her parents’ home, there had been something so moving when he looked upon her, and as he turned away from her, he had felt it then, that hitching pain and a void in his heart. Somewhere, sometime, he had gone from loving her as a child and a student in his care, to loving her as an independent witch, and then, somehow, that love of her as an independent, adult witch had become passionate and no longer the platonic love of a mentor or of a friend. It had happened without him being entirely aware of it until it was too late. And now he could not escape it.

He closed the photographs back into his drawer. Taking off his glasses, he shut his eyes and thought about his decision. Albus was sure that it was the right one. He had been telling her for some time that he would tell her about Grindelwald’s defeat someday, a story he had shared with very few, but she deserved to know. And he had told her that he would tell her more of the story of their wands and how he had come to have his. It was all tied together, really, all of it. Minerva had great respect and affection for him. He knew she didn’t believe him infallible, and he doubted that she had thought him omnipotent and unbreakable since sometime when she was a student. Nonetheless, her view of him would change after tonight. It couldn’t help but change, and Minerva would see that the wizard whom she had come to know over these twenty years . . . what she had known of him had created a very incomplete picture. 

After having read her letter to her parents, Albus began to feel uncomfortably as though Minerva had been willing to give her life for a wizard whom she scarcely knew, though she believed that she did know him and that he was deserving of her sacrifice. This feeling had crept up on him slowly, and now he could not ignore it. Albus didn’t believe that Minerva would be so shocked by what he told her that it would destroy their friendship – at least, he sincerely hoped that was not the case – but it was all bound to be new to her, and likely nothing she could ever have conceived. Still, they were growing closer, and this was all such an integral part of how he became who he was . . . she deserved to know. And if her regard for him diminished, so be it.

When he had been out that morning, exercising in his Animagus form, it had seemed so clear to him, what he should say, how he should say it, and the very fact that he should tell her at all. But now, sitting there, his back and shoulders still aching some from their unaccustomed work-out that morning, it no longer seemed so clear, and the thought of dredging up all of those memories and their attendant emotions no longer seemed so simple. But if he was to tell her any of it, he would tell her all of it, the entire bundle. Not that he would have to go into truly embarrassing detail about certain things, of course.

He stood and called Wilspy, asking her to serve their dinner ten minutes after Minerva arrived. With only slight misgivings, he also asked her to serve the left-over birthday cake for dessert. It was likely to be a late night, and the sooner they finished eating, the better, but he certainly did not want to rush through dinner, and he wanted the meal to be pleasant.

* * *

“The cake tasted just as nice the second time around,” Albus said with a smile, putting down his fork. “Now, would you like some tea or coffee or anything else, my dear?”

“Not at the moment, Albus. And you were right. The cake was very good,” Minerva agreed.

“Shall we move to the sitting area, then?” Albus asked, standing and gesturing toward the sofa and chairs arranged near the fireplace.

Minerva smiled. “That would be very nice. But you must be tired after the past few days of activity. Please feel free to tell me if you would like me to leave so that you can have an early night.”

“I am fine . . . and I don’t anticipate an early night,” Albus said. Minerva took a seat in one of the wing chairs, and he settled on the sofa. He waved a footstool over in front of Minerva and put his own feet up, as well. “You have expressed interest, at times, in certain events in my life, and when I told you about our wands, I told you that there was a longer story behind them and that I might tell it to you one day.” He tilted his head and looked at her. “Are you still interested, my dear?”

Minerva was sitting up straight, but she straightened even further. “Of course! But only if you wish, of course.”

“It is a long story, Minerva, long and involved . . . and it begins a very long time ago,” Albus said slowly. “Some of it will be difficult to tell, and some of it may be difficult for you to hear. But yes, I wish to tell you, if you wish to listen.”

Minerva nodded seriously.

Albus took off his glasses and sent them over to the side table. He looked off into the distance for a moment, and then he began. . . .

* * *

“It was a long time ago, as I said, that it all began. When I was a child, really, I suppose. I would like to be able to say with some modesty that my time as a student was unremarkable, but it was not. I excelled at whatever I put my hand, mind, and magic to. I was eager to learn, even more eager than you were – indeed, the Sorting Hat very nearly put me in Ravenclaw, but it decided, in the end, that my nature and my need were Gryffindor. 

“I chafed at what I saw were restrictions on me and my progress. I found most of my teachers wanting, and believed them dull and unimaginative. Nonetheless, I wanted to please them, and please them I usually did. But I pushed every boundary and stretched it. If it weren’t for the guidance and firm hand of Professor Futhark, I might have become even more insufferable than I no doubt was. But despite my general attitude, I found myself with friends of all types, and, with a rather foolish and overblown sense of my own importance, I came to believe myself not only advanced academically but also better than my peers and their natural leader. And, I suppose, I was – academically advanced and a leader, not better than they,” he clarified.

“None of this changed the fact that when I returned home for the holidays, I returned to a small cottage in Wales where my mother spent half her days brewing simple potions for sale to local apothecaries and the other half going about to larger cottages and houses and ridding them of Doxies and garden gnomes and such. I never wanted to think about why my mother did these things, or even that she did. My school tuition was paid for by my Uncle Christopher, and he provided me with pocket money, and when Aberforth started school, he did the same for him. The summer I turned seventeen, I went to my Uncle Christopher and asked him if I could stay with him during the holidays from then on, but he told me that my place was with my mother and that she deserved more support than I had been giving her. The previous two summers, I had worked in an apothecary – cleaning, sorting, performing inventory, and occasionally preparing ingredients. I chafed at the work, believing that I could do as well brewing potions as either of the master’s two apprentices – and I probably could have – but I needed the money, or thought I did, because Uncle Christopher’s generous allowance seemed less adequate with each passing year. And yet, despite seeing how hard my mother worked, I had not seen fit to share any of my earnings with her. I would rise early in the morning, mount my broom, and fly to the apothecary, then I would return late. My mother would always have dinner waiting for me, even if she and Aberforth had eaten hours before, and never did she have a word of reproach. She was proud of me. And, to my great shame, I was not proud of her.”

“Where was your father?” Minerva asked, interrupting.

“Ah, now that is the question. Where was Father? Where was Father . . .” Albus murmured. “Two days after my ninth birthday, he disappeared. My brother and I didn’t even know, at first. Our mother kept it from us for a few days. But finally, she sat us down and told us that she did not know where our father was, and neither did his brother Christopher nor anyone else. Father had gone to work and sometime during the day, he simply vanished. There was no trace of him anywhere. Aurors had been called in, but they found nothing, absolutely no indication of where he had gone or why, or even whether he had disappeared of his own accord or had been a victim of foul play. If he had gone of his own accord, he brought nothing with him but the clothes on his back and the few Sickles he had in his pocket when he left home for the last time.”

Minerva sat in astonishment and horror. “Did you ever find out what happened to him?”

Albus shook his head. “No, my dear. As you can imagine, I kept expecting him to walk through the door, to tell us why he had been gone . . . so long. And I made up stories for myself to explain what had happened to him, and I would tell them to myself as I lay in bed at night – in most of them, he was a hero and still alive. Gradually, I imagined him as a hero, but a dead hero, that he had died heroically and alone, and that was why we did not know where he was and why he could not return to us. But during the day, I came to blame my mother. I heard rumours that he had run off with another witch, or sometimes it was with a Muggle woman, or that he had fallen in with a bad crowd and was part of a criminal network of wizards on the Continent, or that he had simply fled to Australia to escape his dull life. And all of these stories brought me to blame my mother. And when, the summer before I started at Hogwarts, my mother moved us to Wales, near her Muggle relatives, I saw it as a betrayal of our father. I believed she should stay in Cornwall, where we lived not far from my Uncle Christopher and Aunt Beatrice, stay and wait there for my father. But the fact was, we could not afford to stay there without accepting more money from my father’s brother, and that my mother did not want to do. I think she only accepted anything from him because of us boys.

“But, as much as I disliked the fact that we moved from Cornwall to Wales, I did like coming to know my Muggle relatives better, only a few of whom knew that my mother was a witch. It was interesting to visit them. I liked them, in fact, but I . . .” Albus shook his head. “It is difficult to describe, Minerva. I was amazed at all they could do without magic, and how well they managed to live without it, but there were so many things that we in the wizarding world could do that they could not, and the world was far more open to us because of our ability to Apparate, our Healing methods were far advanced compared to those of the Muggles, and there were so many things that we simply could do with greater ease. You must remember, this was the eighteen-fifties. Much has changed in the Muggle world since then, and rapidly, much more rapidly than they have ever changed in the wizarding world. At the time, though, I viewed Muggles as primitive, and somewhat valiant in their continued efforts to live a civilised life without the benefits of magic. Gradually, as I came to know them and to learn of Muggle science and philosophy, my views changed, of course, and my measure of them became based far less on external, material characteristics, and more on the internal values of mind and spirit. I think, in retrospect, that my mother’s decision to move us was a good one for many reasons, and not the least because of my closer association with the Muggle world.”

Albus smiled. “It is funny, actually, to be telling you this. I had planned to tell you so much, and I knew that this story had its beginning many years ago, but I had not thought I would be speaking so much of my childhood. Yet I suppose that my father’s disappearance, forever mysterious and unexplained, and the changes that it brought to our lives . . . perhaps the story does begin there, after all.

“My uncle’s words did not fall on deaf ears, and I saw that I had been selfish. Between the time I started school and when I entered my final year, I had come to see my mother differently, and as I matured, I realised that she was no more responsible for my father’s disappearance than I was, and I . . . I was not, despite the fact that I had staved off my own guilt over it for years. Our father had loved us and our mother, and I do not believe that he would have left us willingly, not without at least telling us something. Not if he were able to stay or to say good-bye. 

“So . . . after hearing what my uncle had to say to me, the summer I was seventeen, I worked even harder, and my employer began to allow me to brew very simple potions and not just prepare ingredients for others to use in their brewing. And every week, I came home to my mother and proudly handed her three-quarters of my earnings. At first, she protested, but she saw how important it was to me and she accepted it. I believe she spent it all on my brother – buying him new school robes and new textbooks and getting him his own broom. Aberforth always had to borrow mine, and as he wanted to try out for the Quidditch team in September and I was already on it, it would have been more difficult for us to share it,” Albus said with a chuckle. “In fact, I had thought about it, and considered quitting the team if he were selected – not because I did not want to be on the team with him, but so that he could use my broom. So I was not entirely self-centred. Indeed, one reason it was important to me to earn money, aside from my belief that I needed more money to spend on myself, was that I enjoyed being able to treat my friends. It was partly from the desire to appear to come from a more well-off situation than I actually did, but I also truly did enjoy surprising friends with little gifts or treating them to a butterbeer when we went into Hogsmeade. And, of course, I liked to be able to purchase little trinkets for Dervilia and to court her in my naive way.

“And there, then, was Dervilia. I already told you of that, of how my apprenticeship was more important to me than the life of my wife and my unborn child . . . it was not truly more important to me, of course, but I only discovered that after I had lost them. I was foolish. I should have either accepted my mother’s offer of a house-elf, or insisted that we live in Wales near my mother and her family, or that she live with one of her relatives while I was away, despite the fact that they were all Muggles. Instead, I did as she wanted – believing that it was the least I could do for her and that I was being unselfish by doing so – and we moved to a small cottage that had belonged to her grandparents, but which had been empty for several months by the time we married. I assuaged my conscience by telling myself that she was in her own country, that she was near her family, that her older sister visited her regularly. . . . But it did not change the fact that I left her for days at a time and that she was alone when she died and . . .” Albus closed his eyes and sighed, shaking his head. “She was a pretty girl . . . I called her my ray of sunshine because her hair was like golden fire and her laughter was like light. I did love her . . . but not enough. And I was young, too young. I believed I knew what was right and wrong and what my priorities should be and how a wizard should live his life and support his family, but I was . . . I was too young and too impressed with myself. Father . . . Father used to tell me as a child that the world did not revolve around me, yet for far too long, I behaved as though it did.

“And you know that after Dervilia died, I discovered my friend’s fiancee being attacked and savaged, and that I destroyed her attacker just as thoroughly as if I had killed him, his mind gone. Uncle Christopher gave me the wise advice to take some time and learn about the world and to . . . to get outside of myself for a while.”

Albus sighed and closed his eyes a moment. Minerva, who had been listening attentively, looked at him with a furrowed brow.

“You needn’t tell me everything tonight . . . if you are tired, if it is too difficult . . .”

Albus opened his eyes and looked over at Minerva, and he smiled, almost in relief. “No, I wish to continue. I haven’t even really begun, my dear. But it is thirsty work. Perhaps some tea. Would you like some?”

“Yes, please, whatever you would like,” Minerva agreed.


	102. The Sorrows of a Young Wizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness falls on young Albus's life.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, with a cast of other characters.

_**Note:** Not DH-compliant!_

**CII: The Sorrows of a Young Wizard**

Albus called for peppermint tea, and when it had come and they were both sitting comfortably with their teacups, he picked up his story again.

“I left Britain and began my travels in France. I had a mind to find another master eventually and begin my apprenticeship again. My Potions master had been good enough to let me go, despite my not having completed my obligation to him, but to any other master, it would not matter that I had completed a year and a half of an apprenticeship. I would have had to begin all over again, and as the international regulations governing the training of apprentices were not yet as advanced as they are today – and left far more to the individual countries to regulate – there was no requirement, as there is today, that a master offer an apprentice for Mastership after a year if they had clearly attained the qualifications. So I would have had to begin an apprenticeship in Potions as a rank beginner. Transfiguration had always been a particularly fascinating Art for me, and I decided that if I found a master, I would begin an apprenticeship in that, instead. But in the meantime, I travelled and learned all I could, particularly focussing on controlling and developing my magic as completely as possible. 

“I found that I had even greater magical reserves than I had known, and I learned to tap into them and harness them. Eventually, I found myself in Prussia, one of the centres of the wizarding world at the time, and met a small group of wizards who, it seemed to me at the time, were dedicated to the same quest that I was, the quest for knowledge and control and development of their magical power. Their central leader was a fine figure of a wizard, only a few years older than I, handsome, well-spoken in several languages, from an old pureblood family. He had grown up with every privilege his parents could give him, and they were many. He began his studies at Durmstrang far advanced relative to the other students, and he excelled. The Headmaster was taken with him and impressed by his achievements, and allowed him to begin the advanced courses a year early. He completed the Durmstrang equivalent of OWLs at fourteen and the school leaving exams at sixteen. Apparition was not well-regulated anywhere then, and was least regulated in the German wizarding states, and he was Apparating at fifteen. His magic matured early, and his intellect, too.

“By the time I met him, he had begun and been dismissed from three different apprenticeships. He claimed the jealousy of the masters had led to his dismissal, and it was a credible claim. Certainly his knowledge and skill in Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, and the Defensive Arts were impressive, and I could easily believe that he had surpassed his masters. Later . . . later my thoughts on that changed.

“I became great friends with Gelly, or I believed we were great friends. I admired him and felt grateful that he not only included me in his group of friends, all of whom seemed to come from far more impressive backgrounds than I, but that he counted me among his closest friends. I believed I was learning much from him . . . we would sit and talk late into the night and sometimes into the next day, and he would demonstrate spells and ask me to demonstrate what I knew, as well. I believed I had finally found someone who was brilliant and who recognised my worth. I also believed that our goals were the same: the pursuit of knowledge and control over ourselves and our magical powers. 

“However, it was when we began to discuss those goals that I began to sense differences between us. At first, I dismissed the differences as inconsequential, I was so grateful to be included in this exclusive group, but then . . . we began to argue, and I worried that I was falling out of favour. I was always grateful when he would forgive me for contradicting him or challenging him when we were in the company of others, but until he forgave me, I would worry and . . . mourn the loss of his favour. And then his forgiveness would come, and his sun would shine upon me again, and I would again feel as though I was in the company of brilliance and that my own brilliance was greater as a consequence. In my youthful enthusiasm, I thought that this was the pinnacle of wizarding life – a life of intellect and magical exercise. My uncle had been sending me money, irregularly, but enough to permit me to live as I did . . . and Gelly had invited me to live with him in his house, and it spared me the embarrassment, as I saw it, of staying in the small, dingy room above the Muntere Kobold. After a time, though, the allowance from home became smaller and my uncle wrote me and said that if I was going to stay in one place for a while, I should find a job. 

“I had resigned myself to working to earn my keep and began to look for a job, but even those jobs that had seemed promising . . . the offer would be withdrawn, or after a day, my employer would discover that he did not need me and I would lose the job. After this happened a few times, I learned that Gelly had been obstructing my ability to get and retain work. He explained that it was for my own good, that I didn’t need a job when I was his friend and that working only distracted me. We argued again, and I gave in for a time . . . but it was the beginning for me to begin seeing Gelly in a new light. I listened more closely to what he was saying and to his political and social views, and with shock and even sorrow, I realised that this wizard whom I had idolised so thoroughly, his goals were not the same as mine. I wished to increase my knowledge, my power, and my self-control for myself, and he . . . his ends went beyond that. He had often said it, but I had never really heard him, even when I argued with him about it. He believed that the reason to learn to control magic and to control oneself was so that one could more effectively control others. I had mistaken his tolerance for Muggle-borns for a generally enlightened attitude, but now I recognised that it was simply because he valued power above all else, and he wanted to control wizards with power. His attitude toward witches had always puzzled me . . . he seemed to believe that their power could never match the innate power of wizards and that witches were not to be trusted. I have always liked and respected witches. In addition to my mother, there had been many witches who had nurtured my development, my Great-aunt Sarah, Aunt Beatrice, Professor Terwilliger, who had been my Transfiguration teacher, and, of course, Dervilia . . . she had been a talented and brilliant witch.” Albus sighed. “I should have encouraged her to do an apprenticeship, but if it was difficult for a married wizard to find a master who would take him on, it was even more difficult for a married witch, and I did not think it worth her trouble and the inevitable rejections she would suffer until she found someone who would take her.”

Albus poured himself more tea and reflected a moment.

“Finally, one day, we had an argument, and Gelly . . . he scoffed at me. He said that knowledge and power were wasted on me if I did not see how they could be used. And he demonstrated quite thoroughly how well he had learned to use his magic. We duelled, and when I woke up, hours later, I was lying in the mud, my bag beside me, far from his house and nowhere near any wizarding folk. I was injured and humiliated, but I still felt an immense sense of relief and freedom. I hadn’t realised how he had taken over and dominated my life until I was free of him. It had only been a matter of months that I had been in Gelly’s company, but I felt as though my life had been taken and now had been returned to me.

“I travelled west again, leaving the German-speaking wizarding world behind and entering France. When I had passed through France before, I had heard rumours of a powerful but humble wizard and his equally impressive wife. I decided to seek them out.” He quirked a grin. “At that moment, ‘humble’ sounded wonderful to me. It took some time, but I found Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel living quiet lives in a small village outside of Paris. Truly wonderful people, Minerva. And despite my lingering arrogance, they were good to me, eventually even taking me into their home, and Nicolas began to teach me something of Alchemy, an Art that had always fascinated me, and one that was obscure and esoteric and that seemed to promise great power. Merely the thought of learning something unknown to most wizards and witches . . . it was thrilling to me. At the time that I met the Flamels, I had been gone from home for two years, six months of which had been spent – or wasted – in the company of Gelly. I learned a great deal from Nicolas, and from Perenelle, as well, but I was impatient. I wanted to learn more and learn it faster. I chafed at the pace and at the menial tasks which Nicolas would set for me each day before he would teach me . . . or watch me as he allowed me to experiment. I came to feel he was holding me back, and there was such a promise of greater knowledge just out of reach. I wanted that knowledge and power. I had forgotten the fear I had for the power I had exercised when I destroyed the wizard’s mind, and forgot that I had left home in search of self-mastery. 

“I tried to argue with Nicolas, but, maddeningly, he would listen to me calmly, whether I tried cool logic or I shouted and ranted at him, yet without responding to my complaints. One evening, though, after I had angrily and unjustly accused him of deliberately keeping me from certain knowledge because he was afraid that I would surpass him, he lifted one finger, and I was Silenced. He told me that yes, he was afraid, he was afraid for me. He said that I had great potential, and it wasn’t just magical or intellectual potential, but that I persistently turned away from the one area in which my greatest potential lay, and that he could not help me with that, that only I could.

“As soon as I left his presence, I regained my voice. I went to Perenelle, to whom I had often complained. I believed I had an ally, or, at least, a sympathetic ear, in her. And she listened to me, and she was sympathetic, but she said that Nicolas was right and that I needed to develop myself more before I could advance in Alchemy, that my very impatience was a sign that I was not prepared for further study.

“I became very discouraged, but through Nicolas, I found a Potions master who would allow me to begin an apprenticeship and who promised me that he would offer me for Mastership as soon as he believed I was ready without even requiring a full year’s service. Eight months later, I was a Potions master. Nicolas himself offered me for a Transfiguration Mastery, and I was accepted without ever having to serve a traditional apprenticeship, my time with Nicolas being substituted. So despite not being willing to allow me access to the most esoteric areas of Alchemy, Nicolas did help me, and I was grateful. However, my gratitude was tinged with resentment for what he would not give me. One last time, I begged him to teach me more . . . he lit a small blue fire, tossed some peculiar mixture of powders into it, and multicoloured smoke rose in the room. My mind grew lax and all I could see was the smoke and Nicolas’s deep brown eyes. I scarcely remember what he did then, but it was a manner of Legilimency or divination that I had never experienced or heard of before. When it was over, Nicolas told me that I was unready, and I would remain unready until I recognised that. He said that I had great potential, potential to be many things, but that I had to choose a path, that I had to find my path or set my foot upon one that found me. I felt he spoke in riddles and that I had already chosen a path, a path of learning and the life of the mind and magic. And my resentment was not diminished, but neither was my love for him and his wife.

“I decided to leave the Flamels. I was a master in two disciplines, and Nicolas still declined to teach me more or to supervise my own experimentation. I loved them both, but I believed they were holding me back, Nicolas in particular. My last evening in their home, Nicolas presented me with a book, a copy of Goethe’s _Faust_. He recommended it to me. Of course, I was familiar with the legend of Faust – who in the wizarding or Muggle worlds had not heard of the wizard who made a pact with the devil, after all? I knew why he had given it to me, but I pretended, even to myself, that I did not. I was not making a pact with the devil, after all, and there were things that I would not do in order to obtain greater knowledge. I found the gift insulting, but still I kept it and carried it with me.

“Not long after I left the Flamels, I received an owl from my brother. There was an outbreak of paralytic magical morbilliac fever, an epidemic, in fact, throughout Wales, Cornwall, and the west of England, and my mother had contracted it. This is a disease that was, and remains, fatal more often than not. I made my way home as quickly as possible, arriving the day after I received my brother’s letter. My mother was terribly ill and we had to take precautions to ensure that we would not contract it. We had to care for her using no magic, since casting spells in the presence of someone suffering from morbilliac fever opens one to infection, oneself. There was still no guarantee that one would not contract it, anyway, but my magical control at the time was sufficient that I believed it safe for me to assist in her care. One reason that morbilliac fever is so frequently fatal is that one can use no magic to care for the patient and the patient suffers as a result. Fortunately, potions could be freely used, as long as their brewing occurred elsewhere. I used all that I had taught myself, and all that I had learned from Nicolas and from my Potions master, to brew the potions my mother required and to alter them to increase their efficacy. Slowly, she began to recover, and I adapted my potions to encourage the recovery of her magic, as well. So many who survive paralytic morbilliac fever are left with such poor control over their magic that they are magical invalids for the remainder of their lives. I was pleased with my mother’s progress, however, and hopeful for her recovery.

“Imagine my surprise when Gelly appeared on our doorstep one day, saying he had been visiting England and thought he would see if I had returned to Wales. He behaved as though nothing had occurred between us that last time we had seen each other. He was still the brilliant, powerful, and charismatic wizard he had always been, and I felt flattered that he had sought me out. He told me he had heard that I had attained two Masteries, and that I had studied with the mysterious Flamels.”

Albus sighed. There was still so much to tell Minerva, and he still felt he had scarcely begun his story.

“I am sorry to say that I invited him into our house. He stayed in the local inn, but he was a regular visitor to our home. He avoided any mention of our previous disputes or even of the topics that had always given rise to our earlier arguments. I was tired from caring for my mother, my brother seemed taciturn company, at best, and spent his days . . . well, he was not of an intellectual bent, shall we say. Having Gelly visit daily was a respite for me. And my mother seemed to like him and he always treated her in a courtly manner. 

“Then I learned his true purpose in visiting me. He told me he was beginning an elite academy in Berlin that would take only the most talented young wizards and teach them all Arts without dividing them into separate disciplines. He would accept any adept wizard over the age of fifteen, he said, and he wanted me to join him, to, as he put it, become his wand-hand at the academy, where he would train wizards and contribute to the ‘uplifting of wizarding society,’ as he put it.”

Minerva’s eyes widened as Albus began to speak of an “elite academy,” and Albus believed that she now knew who his friend Gelly became – who he had always been, in fact – but he continued his story without pause.

“I told him that I was flattered, as indeed I was, but that I could not possibly leave my mother, particularly at such a crucial point in her recovery. I also did not think that I wanted to fall within his orbit again, but I did not tell him that. We had had a congenial visit, and I did not want to alienate him by reminding him of our previous parting. Gelly continued to try to cajole me into leaving with him. He said that he was returning to Germany in a few days and he wanted me to join him when he did. Once more, I declined, citing my mother and her recovery. He told me that if I were ever to amount to anything, I would have to cut my ties to my family, particularly to my mother. I told him that would never happen. The next day, I returned from procuring potions ingredients to find a note on our kitchen table. It was from Gelly. He said that now that I was free, I could join him. He would be waiting for me in the bar of the Hag’s Hump. Note in hand, I raced upstairs to my mother’s bedroom. She lay peacefully in bed . . . dead.

“Certain that Gelly was responsible, I Apparated directly into the bar of the Hag’s Hump, creating quite a disturbance with my arrival. I confronted him, publicly accusing him of killing my mother and saying that I would see him answer for it. He laughed at me . . . he said that he knew he would be able to tell my true colours by my reaction to her death, that he had hoped I would join him and leave that miserable place behind. He never admitted killing her, nor did he deny it. He left before the Aurors came. When they investigated my mother’s death, they could find no cause for it, and told me that she had likely simply expired from her disease. They would not listen to me when I said that she had been recovering. They even said it may have been one of my potions that had hastened her demise, that I had wanted to be rid of her,” Albus said softly, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “There was nothing I could do, and I found myself wishing I had killed Gelly for what I believed he had done, and then glad I hadn’t, glad I had exercised the control that I had been unable to years before, but then I would excoriate myself for that very control and ask myself what kind of son I had been, inviting a viper into my mother’s home like that and then not being wizard enough to take care of him . . .”

Albus paused, not looking at Minerva, avoiding her gaze.

“Did . . . did you ever find out what really happened? How she died?” Minerva asked softly.

Albus shook his head. “No. And I have no certain evidence, no facts . . . but I feel it, I believe he was responsible for it. He denied it at the time, and he denied it again when I saw him again many years later, but then, years after that, he simply refused to speak of it, or of anything at all from our past. I did question our house-elf, Kangtin – Wilspy had returned to my Uncle Christopher’s house after Aberforth started school and Ferchil had died whilst I was away – but he knew nothing but that the wizard had Apparated to the front of the cottage, let himself in somehow, gone upstairs to see my mother, they talked for a while, then the wizard came down to the kitchen, left me the note, and departed, Disapparating.”

“I am so sorry, Albus . . . that must have been just awful for you,” Minerva said quietly, tears in her own eyes.

Albus did not respond directly to Minerva’s statement, instead, picking up his story again. “I moved through the next days, mechanically doing what needed to be done. Finally, I told my brother to finish it – sell the cottage or keep it himself. I did not care. I went to my uncle, half-expecting, even at that age, that he would have some words that would fix everything for me. But he did not; there were no such words. My soul was disturbed and my mind found no rest. Nothing had meaning any more. I left home again, this time wandering through Europe with no goal in mind, no care for anything at all. My path had been reduced to a mere track, a meandering and narrow way. I was in a wilderness and darkness and I did not care whether I ever found my way out of it.

“I avoided people and places I had come to know in my previous travels. I did not work, I barely even thought. If there was a pub in a wizarding village or neighbourhood, I would stop there a while, drinking, watching others’ lives . . . seeing respectable folk come in for their pint or their glass then going home to their families, seeing less respectable folk drinking more and taking what they could with as little effort as possible, and seeing still others who cleverly exploited both classes of people. I listened to their stories . . . their happy tales I greeted with cynicism, and I scoffed at their tales of loss. Nothing had meaning . . . my material means were meagre, and though I could now write wizarding cheques and draw on the family Gringotts account, I rarely did so. Instead, I would find others desperate for company and entertainment, and I would provide that in exchange for a meal and a bed . . . not that I put it that plainly to myself at the time. I did not reflect at all on what I was doing or on the manner in which I was living. And if I forgot where I was at times . . . I did not care. And oft, I would offer more company and more . . . entertainment . . . to a pretty witch for a particularly warm bed, and believed I was giving and taking comfort, when in actuality, I was only losing myself in a different way than through alcohol or potions.” 

Albus avoided Minerva’s gaze as he thought of those long-gone days. “I became . . . dissolute and even somewhat profligate, and I thought it only right. I was unworthy of anything better, I believed, and I forgot even why I felt that way, but it seemed to be the only truth in my life. I became less and less charming company, and fewer and fewer wished to seek me for entertaining conversation or for more . . . I moved on, moving constantly, it seemed, still avoiding anyplace where I might see someone who knew me, although I doubt that most of my former acquaintances would have recognised me at that point. Even in school, I had been well-groomed and tried to dress in accordance with current fashion as far as possible on my limited budget. Now . . . my beard was unkempt, I barely concerned myself with personal hygiene, my clothes . . . I had somehow managed to lose most of my belongings one night, stolen by someone who took advantage of my state.” Albus shrugged. “I wandered like this for months . . . I am convinced that if it had continued much longer, I would have been dead within the year. However . . . one morning, I woke up in a mental fog, once more unsure of where I was, but now not even able to remember how I got there. I didn’t remember the previous night at all, and my memory of the day before was almost as hazy. I looked around me and was . . . shocked, or as shocked as I could be at that point in my life. I was certainly sickened, though that might as easily be accounted for by what I had ingested the day before as by the sight that met my eyes. I gathered my few things together, barely taking time to dress, and Apparated to the first nearby location that I could clearly call to mind, a spot by the side of the road just outside of town.”

Albus paused to rewarm his tea, seeming to do so without thought. His eyes were vacant and tired, reflecting the desperation of the events he was recounting.

Minerva rose and stopped his hand with a gentle touch from her own. “I think fresh tea would be better right now,” she said gently, and called Wilspy, asking for a fresh pot of chamomile tea, thinking its soothing properties would be welcome at that moment.

Albus sat back and smiled wanly at Minerva. “Thank you, my dear. Very thoughtful of you.”

“I find you can only rewarm tea so many times before it loses its flavour,” Minerva said matter-of-factly.

After their tea had arrived and Minerva had served them, her curiosity finally won out, and she asked, “What did you wake up to that shocked you so much, especially after all you had already gone through?”

Albus took a deep breath and let it out, and answered, though he was unable to look at her as he did so. “Well, lest you believe that I woke surrounded by dead bodies or some such thing . . . there was a tangle of naked limbs in the bed beside me. Several. And I didn’t recognise the faces of their owners. All I could think was, how had I ended up there? I, who had been the most promising student Hogwarts had seen in hundreds of years, who had thought himself so much better than his peers?

“I sat there by the side of that cold, hard road, quite sick, emotionally numb, with almost no money, hundreds of miles from home – feeling, actually, as though I had no home and nowhere to go – I sat there for a long time in the chilly early morning, with no energy to move and not enough to do myself in, either, though I thought at that moment that death would be preferable to continued existence. How had I gone from being the best and the brightest to being this debauched wreck of a wizard? As I sat there beneath a tree, in complete and utter despair, I heard people approaching. I cared not whether I was seen or not seen, and remained where I was. It was a caravan – three wagons, in fact, a few people on ponies, some on foot. They stopped there. As uninterested as I was in anything in the world but my own empty misery, I still could see that they had stopped to look at a pony, which was riderless and limping, clearly unwell. To say that I scarcely cared would be an overstatement of my concern for them and their animal. Life was misery, after all. Unrelenting misery. The men were shaking their heads, and I believed that they were going to kill the animal, put it out of its misery. Then I saw a little girl, perhaps seven or eight, her black hair in a long, thick braid down her back, her dark brown eyes large and round and filled with tears as she watched the men discussing the fate of the pony. She ran up to the poor creature and held on to it, weeping with every bit of sorrow her shuddering little body held.

“For the first time in months, I felt something other than bleak emptiness. I wanted to weep with the little girl, and I wanted to spare her the pain of losing the pony. So I rose from where I sat, knowing that I looked terrible and smelled worse, and approached the men. Using a combination of French, Italian, and German, I managed to convince them to let me prepare a potion to try to help the poor beast. They moved off the road and sat and watched me brew the potion. I used ingredients they had at hand and those that I could scavenge myself nearby, and within a few hours, I had a thick potion. Now this particular pony was unshod; it had suffered an injury to its hoof, something having been driven deep into the softer area in the centre of the foot. Now, I knew little of horses or ponies, or any Muggle animals, for that matter, but I knew a great deal about potions and a little something about Healing in general. Using only the magic that flowed through my hand as I held the beast’s leg between my own, I calmed the animal’s pain and began to clean out the infected flesh using a long, thin blade one of the men handed me. I finally found the source of the infection – a sharp metal shard – and removed it and the noxious tissue, as well. When the pus was well-drained, I packed the hoof with the potion. Normally, I would have simply sealed it off using magic, but with these Muggle Gypsies, I clearly could not do that. There was a blacksmith among them, and under my instruction, he fixed a solid plate to the hoof, holding the potion in place.

“I knew my potion would be effective, and likely within a matter of hours at the most, but lest they wonder at the speed of the pony’s recovery, I instructed them not to allow the pony to move about for at least another day, at which time they could remove the plate, clean out the potion, and allow the pony light exercise.”

Albus sighed. “To make a long story short, I stayed with these people. They invited me to share their meal, the pony recovered, the little girl held my hand and fell asleep, and for the first time in a long time, I felt some purpose and some genuine human warmth sparking in my soul. I travelled with them, and learned their ways and their language. I started to feel again. I paid my way by brewing potions and telling stories. I began to find healing by . . . helping them, by offering what small measure of healing I could give them. One night, Maria, the oldest sister of Elinor, the little girl whose tears had so moved me, came to visit me. And she stayed till morning. She often came after that, and I grew . . . quite comfortable for a while, living with the Roma, sharing their lot. But then, Maria’s brothers paid me a call one night and said that her visits would cease until I agreed to marry her. They were not angry at all, merely matter-of-fact. These people had become like a family to me, and I had begun to recover myself in their company. But two days later, I left them. I did not really belong with the Roma, and I knew it, and they knew it as well.”

* * *

 **Next:** “Defeating Darkness” 3 August 1957; 1866 - 1945. Darkness may seem formless, but it can take many guises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other than the fact that I changed Grindelwald’s first name to “Gellert” from “Gunther,” as it originally was in my outline, in order to avoid complete confusion (!), RaM is, as you can see, not DH-compliant. RaM!Grindelwald is a few years older than RaM!Albus; it is the opposite in DH – and, obviously, there are many other differences, as well, too many to enumerate. I think “non-DH-compliant” about covers it!


	103. Defeating Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness may seem formless, but it can take many guises.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, as well as other characters in Albus's tale, including Gellert Grindelwald.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not DH-compliant! Forget anything you think you may know about Grindelwald.

**CIII: Defeating Darkness**

Albus took another sip of chamomile tea, then finished his cup and poured both of them another. 

“I found myself heading south through Turkey then continuing to Persia and over to Egypt, then moving eastward again, stopping occasionally, meeting wizards, and humbly accepting whatever hospitality was offered me. I was feeling more like myself, my curiosity was returning, and I sought again to learn all I could from anyone who offered to teach me – even if it was something as simple and Muggle as how to smoke a hookah,” Albus said with a slight smile. “Eventually, I found myself in India, where I heard of a wizarding Master of every Art who lived high in the Himalayas. I now travelled with a goal in mind, to find this master and beg him to teach me. I did find him, and daily, I presented myself, and daily, I found myself essentially ignored, though in the most friendly manner. I could never find myself resenting this cheerful and kind old wizard, his face like a wrinkled, brown apple. He gradually began offering me lessons, although I did not recognise them as that at first. A few words, a story, a question without an answer . . . then he invited me to join him for a meal, and for six months, I ate at his table and slept on his floor and cleaned his small, two-room house, sharing tasks with a few others who had also come to the master for what they could learn from him. Somehow, no matter how menial the task, I did not mind it, and I found peace in the most mundane work. 

“Finally, one night I told Master Nyima all that had brought me to him, my mother’s death, my flight from home, my escape from myself, every seedy and humiliating detail; I told him of my guilt and my despair and my arrogance and my sorrow and my yearning, and as I told him, it was as though it were he who was telling the story, and as though it was a story he had always known and had often told. I . . . I wept then, and I felt . . . it is hard to describe,” Albus said, his voice hitching. “I felt liberated, in a way, something similar to the way I had felt when I awoke in the mud after having been discarded by Gelly. But this was better . . . I felt as though I had escaped not some constraining force outside of me, as I had then, but from something within me that had held me enslaved to it.

“A few days later, Master Nyima led me to a mountain, pointed to a cave, and told me to stay there and to practise. I asked him what I should practise, and he merely laughed. Before he left, he told me that he often took the wands of foreign wizards in order to assist them in their practice, but that he would leave me with mine because he believed I already knew it to be a mere tool and not the source of my magic.”

“He left you alone in the mountains? At a cave?” Minerva asked, incredulous. “What were you supposed to do for food?”

Albus laughed. “Oh, I could scavenge, but I usually just came down to the village every several days and . . . um . . . well, I suppose one might call it begging, but it was something different there. I would show up, people knew that I needed food, and they would bring it to me, and I would leave again. It was somehow normal there. We are all dependent upon one another all of the time, anyway, it’s just evident more at some times than at others. It was . . . it was like being reduced to infancy, again – not in a bad way, not at all – but I was beginning again, and like a baby seeking his mother’s breast without thought of anything except the care and nourishment he receives, I accepted the care and nourishment provided by the village. It was, in a way, my mother. I was in its care, her care, and when I left her, I repaid her by passing that care on to others when I could.

“What Nyima did, in fact, was leave me a few hundred of yards from the cave. And I soon discovered why. There was an aged dragon living in the next cave adjoining it, an ancient mother of dragons. She did not take very kindly to having a human neighbour. It took me four days to actually move into the cave. In the meantime, I made do with a nightly fire and the occasional warming charm. I did not sleep well or easy, however. Finally, we reached a kind of . . . truce, I suppose you would call it. I even brewed her potions to clear her sinuses. A dragon with congested sinuses is a sad sight, Minerva, truly,” he said, chuckling at Minerva’s incredulous look. “And I scratched her back. Literally. With no mate around, and her children long gone to their own territories, she had no other dragon to scratch the itchy scales she was unable to reach. She could roll about in the dirt and loose stone, of course, and that helped, but she was genuinely ancient and appreciated a more passive way to relieve her itching. And she, in turn, would occasionally share a goat or other animal with me. It was quite a surprise when I first woke one morning to find the slightly charred haunch of some unidentifiable hoofed beast outside my cave. I learned a great deal about dragons during those months I lived beside Mother Dragon.

“I used little active magic, though I practised the exercises in mental magical control that Nyima had taught me and the Occlumency exercises that I had learned from Nicolas Flamel years before. It was a wonderful time for me, Minerva. I cannot express the peace I found there. I began to find ways to assist the villagers. I set up some wards for them – warding in that part of the world is quite different from what it is here – and did a few other magical tasks as I was able. Their love and compassion, though, was not dependent on what I did or didn’t do for them. It was remarkable. And I began to remember all of the others in my life who had loved me, who had cared for me, and I began to understand the lesson that Flamel believed I hadn’t learned. That my greatest asset, my greatest potential, lay not in my mind or in my magic, but in my heart. It always does, for anyone, no matter their talents or abilities, whether magic or Muggle. It was only love that mattered – true love, generous love, based on compassion, and not on mere desire for possession and control – and I felt that love there from them in the village, and even from Mother Dragon there on the mountain. It was not enough to gain knowledge and self-mastery, but one should use it in the service of others, even if only in a small way. Quite the opposite of the lessons I had rejected from Gelly those years before.

“Then one night I awoke to the roaring of my neighbour. I rushed from my cave and found that a band of wizarding thieves had come to rob my cave, believing the foreign wizard to be hiding riches and Charmed objects. I had no such things, of course, but I do not doubt that they would have killed me to search the cave or in an attempt to get me to reveal the location of these nonexistent riches. But my neighbour, Mother Dragon, came to my assistance. We were doing well together, and I believed we would drive them off and remain unscathed ourselves, but then one of their number raised a Muggle crossbow and loosed a bolt that found her eye and went deep into her brain. With an unearthly scream, Mother Dragon thrashed a moment in midair, then plummeted to the ground, landing on several men and killing them instantly. The others fled into the darkness. I raced to her side, but my ancient friend was dead.” Albus paused, blinking back tears. “She gave all she had to protect me. I used my wand to dig a pit and I buried the thieves there, but she . . . her heart had been so great and so giving, even if in a dragonish way, so I took her heart and packed it into a charmed urn, then at dawn, I incinerated her after the manner of dragons. 

“Incinerating an entire dragon was tiring work after a long night, but I left the mountain immediately. I went to Nyima and told him what had happened and what I had learned. He would have continued to teach me, and I knew I had more I could learn from him, but I felt it was time to return to my own people and to resume my life here.

“Still, I took my time and travelled back to Europe, stopping along the way and seeing everything with newborn eyes. In Egypt, I found a new friend. One morning, I awoke, and he was there beside me, beautiful in red and gold, and he allowed me to name him Fawkes. He has been my companion ever since.

“Eventually, I reached France and, with some trepidation, I sought out Nicolas and Perenelle again. I did not know if they knew about my mother, or, more embarrassingly, how I had passed through Europe on my way east, and how I allowed myself to go to seed. Now, though, dressed in the bright colours of the east and with Fawkes at my side, I overcame my embarrassment and returned to them. They embraced me . . .” Albus bent his head and Minerva could see tears shining on his cheeks. “They embraced me and Nicolas began to teach me again. I told him of a peculiar phenomenon that I had been experiencing. As you know, I had been an Animagus from the age of seventeen. I was self-taught, but I had never had any trouble with my transformation. I had been very careful always, although I suppose that it may have been somewhat reckless to have taken it on at all without a teacher, but there was no one available to me at the time. Still, I had never had any difficulties, none but the most minor sort, and those many years before. And yet now, my transformation was uncomfortable, and more uncomfortable each time I tried it. In addition, I found that my wand was not as responsive as I was used to. I put that down to my becoming accustomed to doing so much wandless magic for such a long time. But Nicolas was intrigued, and he did another divination, as he had before, with his coloured smoke and its dizzying effects on me. 

“After this . . . divination, Nicolas instructed me not to transform into my Animagus form until he told me to, but to begin doing the novice mental exercises again, the internal ones only, as though I had never been an Animagus at all and was learning it for the first time. I did as he instructed without question. After approximately six months of this, during which time I lived and worked beside Nicolas and Perenelle and he treated me as an equal, although his knowledge and understanding far surpassed my own, the two brought me out to their garden one early morning and instructed me to transform into my Animagus form and to do it without any reflection. 

“I did as they told me, and to my great surprise, my Animagus form was different. Not terribly different, but where I had been an Augurey before, I was now a phoenix. To say it was surprising would be an understatement. This phenomenon was almost unheard of. Even Nicolas, at his great age, only knew of three instances in history when a witch or wizard had their Animagus form change. And then to have changed into such a strongly magical form . . . it was almost unbelievable.”

“How utterly extraordinary!” exclaimed Minerva, who had been listening quietly for some time, trying to absorb all that Albus was telling her and trying to understand that he was speaking of himself and of his own experiences many years before she was born. It seemed hard to comprehend that the kind, caring, vital, and courtly wizard whom she had known for so many years was the same man who had experienced such a youth. Her own life and her few trials seemed to pale in comparison. “Why did this happen? And how?”

“Nicolas said that I had undergone . . . a kind of purification and had become more myself and that the shift in my Animagus form was one sign of it. He compared it to an alchemical process, in fact,” Albus answered. He turned his head, rolling his shoulders and stretching slightly. “It is late, but there is more, if you would hear it, my dear.”

“Yes! Yes, of course. I do want to, very much,” Minerva answered.

“I stayed with the Flamels for a while, and we developed a good working relationship, but my thoughts turned more and more frequently to my brother and to my uncle and his family. It had been years since I had been home or had word from them. My brother had written to me a few times those first months I had been gone, but when I never answered his owls, he ceased. I wrote Aberforth a letter then, telling him I was coming home. I did not know where to find him, however. One of the last letters he had sent told me that he had sold Mother’s property and split the proceeds between us, depositing my share into my Gringotts account. But he did not tell me where he would be. So I waited, hoping that Aberforth would respond to my letter, despite not having heard a word from me for almost five years. Two days after I sent my owl off, I received a letter from him, remarkable only for its brevity. He was still in Godric’s Hollow and worked at the Hag’s Hump. He told me nothing else.

“I arrived at the Hag’s Hump at two in the afternoon and found my brother, now a bearded young man, behind the bar. He greeted me curtly, asked me whether everything was in order with my accounts, and said that I was welcome to look at the papers from the sale of our mother’s property if I wished. He had kept them for me. I told him I had not even given that a thought, but that I was home now and wanted to see him, learn how he was. That is when I learned that my Uncle Christopher had died the previous year and his daughter, Deborah, had married and moved to Canada with her new husband. Great-aunt Sarah, my father’s aunt, had died a couple years before that. But Aunt Beatrice, Uncle Christopher’s wife, still lived in the same house in Cornwall. Aberforth scarcely needed to say it, but I heard it in his voice, that Aunt Beatrice might be only marginally happier to see me than he himself was. 

“I could not blame Aberforth for his attitude. He was five years behind me in school, and in his eyes, I had always had so much handed to me. I believe he even resented me my memories of our father, whom he barely remembered, except for the feel of his beard and the smell of his tobacco when he held him and told him his bedtime story. And after Dervilia died and I left my apprenticeship soon after, I was gone for four years, only to return and become my mother’s little hero – that was what he called me at the time – and he resented my closeness to her when he had had her to himself and had done his best to help support her and be a good son during my years away. I do not blame him . . . and then, of course, he blamed me for her death. He knew my suspicions about the cause of her death, and he felt that whatever the cause, I was responsible for it. If it was, indeed, Gelly who had done it, I had brought the wizard into our lives and into our mother’s home. If it was not Gelly, then it was still my fault, either something I had done, a bad potion I had given her, or something I had not done that would have saved her. And I did not hold those feelings against him, either, as I blamed myself, and for the same reasons he did. I think . . . I think that even after all these years, I still do, but he has moved on . . . 

“I went to see my Aunt Beatrice, and to my surprise, I did receive a warm reception from her. Still, most of my ties had been cut, and somehow, some word of my earlier dissolute wanderings through Europe had reached the ears of my former friends and acquaintances. Some had even believed me dead, not having heard word of me in so many years. Seeing me again, quite whole and healthy, most did not credit the earlier rumours. But nonetheless, I could not simply pick up precisely where I had left off. There was no need to, of course, and I hadn’t expected to do so. I was, after all, a master of two Arts, and had learned so much more in my travels and in my work with the Flamels. I had a new beginning. And for this fresh start, I took some of my small inheritance and bought a small cottage in the North of England. I began my own alchemical researches, corresponding on an almost daily basis with the Flamels and visiting them often. For income, I brewed potions, usually ones that were rare and difficult to brew, because they brought the most Galleons and I then had more time to devote to my own studies. I was by no means a hermit, however, and travelled about England, Scotland, and Wales, visiting friends and acquaintances, lending my assistance, magical or material, whenever I could, remembering the assistance that so many had given me so unselfishly during my journeys.

“I did visit your Grandmother Siofre shortly after your grandfather died. I had seen him only twice since my return from my travels, and yet I grieved his loss, for we had been great friends in school, but your grandmother,” Albus said with a wry smile, “did not believe I would be a fit example for her young son, Merwyn. She told me I could come back when she was sure I had actually grown up and that this was not simply a temporary lapse into respectability. I could hardly fault her. I had been back for less than a year when Collum died, after all. In the ten years between Dervilia’s untimely death and my most recent return to Britain, it seemed to her that I had done nothing but attend my mother’s death and lead a wastrel life.

“In the meantime, my wand was becoming less and less responsive to me. Still perfectly useful, but . . . something was not right with it, or with me, and thinking of the internal transformation I had undergone that changed my Animagus form, I decided to visit Ollivander’s for a new wand. I had recently bought my cottage, and my funds were somewhat depleted, as they say, so I decided to offer him a barter. I would give him the dragon heart that I had harvested from Mother Dragon, and, because my new form was a phoenix, I gave Mr Ollivander a tail feather from Fawkes, thinking he could make me a custom wand using a core from my companion. What would be more fitting than that, I thought. After taking some measurements from me, he asked me for two tail feathers, not one, because he wanted to try two different woods. My first wand had been holly with a unicorn tail hair, but he was unsure whether holly would be the appropriate wood for my new wand, given the measurements he had just taken. He accepted the dragon heart in payment.

“Several weeks later, I received an owl from Mr Ollivander telling me that my new wand was awaiting me, and I Apparated to London on that very day. He had made two wands with the tail feathers I had given him, one in holly and one in yew. I first tried the wand of holly and Fawkes’s tail feather, since my previous wand had been of holly, but the results were hardly any better than my current wand, much to my disappointment. Ollivander didn’t seem fussed, however, as though he had expected that result, and he handed me the one of yew and phoenix tail feather. That one was, unfortunately, no better than the first. I was very disappointed and resigned myself to taking a wand that Ollivander had made with no particular wizard in mind; I had truly hoped that I could carry and use a wand that was connected closely with my companion and with my own Animagus form. I could not understand why neither wand was suited to me. 

“Ollivander drew out two other wands and handed me one. I tried it, and it was much more responsive, to the extent that I would have been satisfied with it, but he declared it lacklustre and unsuitable, and he took it and handed me the other. I knew as soon as it touched my skin that this was the one, and when I waved it, Ollivander declared that my wand had found me. The first wand was of _Hedera pythonica_ , magical ivy, and dragon heartstring, and the wand that chose me was of yew and heartstring from the same dragon. Ollivander further explained that, just as the two with the phoenix tail feathers were brothers, the latter two wands were mates and had been made with cores of heartstring from the very dragon heart I had given him in trade. And although I felt some sense of . . . loss, perhaps, leaving behind the wands that had not chosen me, it was a fair trade and we had had an agreement. And that is how our wands came into being, my dear.”

“So my wand . . . my wand contains the heartstring from Mother Dragon, the dragon who helped save you?” Minerva asked, pulling her wand from her pocket and looking at it as though she were seeing it for the first time.

Albus nodded. “The very same . . .”

“No wonder Ollivander told me that the dragon heartstring core was from an unusual source,” Minerva said softly, brushing its polished length with a fingertip.

“A very unusual source . . . that heart beat within the breast of an ancient dragon who permitted me to share her living space and who even cared for me in a dragonish way, perhaps seeing me as a peculiar sort of naked, abandoned dragon pup, and who fought beside me and died doing so. And now . . . her heartstring continues to provide me with care and protection, and you as well, my dear.

“But the story I was telling you does not stop there, as you know. Sixty-six years after I received my new wand from Ollivander, I received word from him that its mate had chosen a witch, a young witch about to begin school at Hogwarts. I had never forgotten that my wand had a mate, but after the first few decades had passed, I thought that perhaps it would not find its witch or wizard during my lifetime, that it was waiting until my wand had been passed on to another, perhaps . . . I did not know, and I ceased even speculating about it. I simply got on with my life. 

“I lived quietly, simply . . . as I say, I was not a hermit, but having had the experiences of my youth, I did . . . abjure certain aspects of wizarding social life. I felt . . . I felt that it was for the best for me, for my work, and,” he said with a slight self-deprecating chuckle, “best for those around me, as well, particularly the witches. And, as most of my friends were married and well-settled in life, it was just as well. Indeed, it was during this peaceful period of quiet study and experimentation that I met Gertrude, a young witch, newly married, barely out of Hogwarts, and yet with a brilliance in Arithmancy that challenged and excited me. She had novel ways of approaching problems, and her imagination in those days . . . When we began corresponding, I actually believed that I was writing to a witch much older than she was, and even after learning that Gertrude was as young as she was, it was still a surprise when I first met her. She was nothing like I had imagined, you see. She was very quiet, soft-spoken, and pretty, with a gentle, feminine way about her – I had envisioned someone much more brash and out-going, given the nature of her letters to me and the vibrancy with which she discussed her discipline, yet she did have a certain . . . inner strength that reflected my expectations. We became close friends, and as she and Reginald lived in York, I often visited them. He worked for the Ministry in one of the local offices, though he spent much of his time in London. So Gertrude and I would work on our Arithmantic problems during the day – my problems, actually, as I was working on new uses for Arithmancy in Alchemy and she was assisting me – then in the evening, Reginald would come home and we would have dinner together and the three of us would talk late into the night. It was with some sadness that I saw them move to Berlin, where Reginald’s work brought him, but we could still owl, of course, and I visited Berlin occasionally and stayed with them, coming to know young Robbie as he grew up, as well.”

“When was this? I’m afraid it’s all rather confusing to me,” Minerva said.

“Hmm . . . Mother died in eighteen sixty-five, I returned to Britain in early seventy and received my new wand that year, then I first met Gertrude in nineteen-seventeen, the same year she married. Robbie was born in England in the summer of nineteen-nineteen, and then they moved to Berlin in . . . hmm, late nineteen-twenty-one or early twenty-two. It was twenty-two. I remember because we had Christmas and New Year’s in York just a month or two before they left the country.”

Minerva nodded. “All right, I see now, and it fits with what else I know.”

“As I mentioned, I would visit them in Berlin from time to time. Seeing their happiness, my own thoughts began to turn toward a settled life with family, but with my situation as it was, and the events of the ensuing years . . . I was content enough, for one thing, and then later, the responsibilities I took on were naturally not conducive to such a thing for me. 

“Gertrude and Reginald, of course, were not my only friends, and I also would visit the Flamels occasionally, but my visits to Berlin are notable because on one occasion, I ran into an old friend. ‘Old’ in the sense of ‘former,’ to be clear about it. Gelly . . . I had heard he had established his so-called academy. I was grateful I had never been a part of it. It sounded to me as though his academy was merely a way for him to get sycophantic followers who hung on to his every word. It also sounded to me as though it was somewhat . . . unsavoury. But as I, in the manner of so many others, did not particularly wish to recall the painful events surrounding our earlier relationship, so I also did not pay very much attention to the rumours about this academy of his and of his own forays into the German wizarding political arena. Regardless of how well I had come through the past and how much I had learned along the way, Gelly never would be someone whom I cared to remember. I had had many quiet, peaceful decades of study and experimentation, writing and publishing, and a little travel, a few good friends, a mended relationship with Aberforth, and I was content. I wanted nothing from my former life.

“So, as I say, I found myself one evening in Berlin, sitting in a café waiting for Gertrude to join me, and who should walk up to me but Gelly. Still as handsome as ever, and even more charming and charismatic, if that was possible. But now I could detect a coldness in his eyes that I had not seen before . . . I believe it had always been there, but I had not seen it, being blinded by his charms and his empty blandishments. This was a wizard, a man, with little to no ability to muster compassion for others, and certainly no desire to do so. To the extent he was able to discern what others were feeling, it was only in order to exploit those feelings for his own gain. It was, essentially, an unremarkable encounter and it proceeded as one might expect. He scoffed at me and at my choices in life, deriding my continued belief that he was responsible for my mother’s death – saying, why would _he_ , of all people, go to that dirty little village and waste his energy killing a pathetic, invalid witch – and then telling me what I could have had if I had chosen to join him in his academy, the power, the influence, the knowledge. And when Gertrude arrived, his derision grew, and he said he pitied me my choice of companions. At that point, the party he was meeting arrived, consisting of some very wealthy wizards and a few well-dressed, well-coiffed, and rather attractive witches who had apparently been trained to laugh and nod in all the right places in a conversation. I couldn’t abide the sight of him. Gertrude and I left to find a more congenial atmosphere elsewhere.

“I barely spared him another thought, even when Reginald’s letters, and Gertrude’s, as well, never seemed to avoid mention of him. Reginald was becoming convinced that Gelly’s talk, and his supposed academy, were actual threats to the wizarding world, and Gertrude was becoming worried that Reginald’s talk of Gelly would lead to trouble for them. It was said that wizards who opposed him would simply disappear, or would turn up dead in some Muggle alley. Gertrude was worried about her husband, and I began to worry as well, despite my desire not to spend another second’s thought on Gellert Grindelwald. And then that fateful day came in late July nineteen thirty-five, some seven years after Gertrude and I had seen Gelly in the café. I rushed to Berlin as quickly as I could upon receiving the news that Reginald had been attacked and deposited on the Crouch doorstep. It was one of the most dreadful things I have ever experienced, and not just seeing Reginald like that, but also seeing Gertrude and the effect it had on her. And Robbie – they, quite sensibly, would not allow the boy in to see his father, but he knew what had been done to him. I did what little I could do . . . there is a method of alleviating pain that I learned when I studied with Master Nyima. I cannot say that I ever was particularly adept at it, but I did what I could, and I believe he suffered less in the end.”

“What is this method?” Minerva asked curiously, wondering if it was anything like the practices her mother used as a Healer-Midwife.

Albus hesitated perceptibly. “It is a magical mental discipline and it allows the practitioner to . . . let the patient bleed off some of the pain.”

“I don’t understand at all. Bleed off?”

“The pain becomes experienced less by the patient and more by the other person through something akin to Legilimency. It cannot cure . . . it is palliative only. And, sadly, it was all anyone could do, despite the presence of four of the best Healers in Berlin.”

“You mean . . . _you_ experienced the pain rather than Gertrude’s husband?” Minerva asked, sure she had misunderstood.

“I am not very adept at it, as I say, and I have only done it a few times, and this was the only time I had attempted it since leaving Nyima sixty years before. But I did what I could for Reginald . . . and I believe he died in a bit more peace than he otherwise would have. It is a difficult practice, and I do not know if, after this many years, I could do it again. My life has, for better or worse, required me, or allowed me, to develop other skills, and I believe this one, never well-developed, is lost. It was hard enough then to even remember how to initiate it . . . I think it was more luck than anything else that I had any success with it at all. But I think it helped Gertrude even more than it did her husband, believing that his pain was being diminished. What Grindelwald did to him . . . he remained conscious, and there were spells . . . the Healers’ magic simply caused him more pain when they tried to use them. It was diabolical, Minerva, what Grindelwald did to him, and I do not use that word lightly.” Albus sighed and looked very old and very tired. “I don’t think I ever regretted allowing Grindelwald to live after my mother’s death as much as I did in the moment that I saw Gertrude’s face on arriving at the house in Berlin, and then seeing Reginald, brave Gryffindor that he was . . . but I did not kill Grindelwald after my mother’s death, and I did not even kill him later, although there was a part of me that wanted to do that. If not for my sake and my loss, then for Gertrude and her on-going suffering. Her hair had been a beautiful, deep chestnut brown, and within weeks, it seemed, it had gone completely grey, as had her spirit. Grindelwald had already caused so many so much suffering . . . and it would only worsen. And I had done nothing to stop him when I was young and so I felt . . . pain that I had not, and responsibility for the suffering he continued to cause.

“Ah, Minerva, it is late . . . I wish to tell you about Grindelwald, but only if you wish to stay and hear it,” Albus said, looking at her with weary eyes.

“I do. I couldn’t leave now unless you forced me to,” Minerva answered. She thought she would perish from curiosity if she did not learn that night – or morning, as it now was – how he had defeated Grindelwald.

“Very well, then, but in respect for the late hour, I will give you an abbreviated version, complete, but not detailed. Many of the details are unpleasant ones, anyway. If at some later time, you wish to ask me questions about it,” Albus said, nodding slightly, “I will do my best to answer them.

“Soon after Reginald’s murder, Grindelwald declared his intent to bring ‘rationality and unity’ to wizarding Europe and to ‘uplift the wizarding spirit,’ and he moved to new headquarters, an old Grindelwald family castle, unplottable and heavily warded with ancient blood wards. Although there were attempts to locate this castle, they were unsuccessful for so long that, eventually, those who were trying began a different strategy. Although Grindelwald did stay within his fortified home most of the time, there were occasions when he travelled. The new strategy was to attack him while he was in another place. As you know, those attempts were never successful. You know, too, that the war, such as it was, was a long, protracted, and very nasty one, complicated by the Muggle war and Grindelwald’s interference in it.

“I told you once that I believed it inevitable that Grindelwald would one day capture me. I had hoped, though, that it was not. But so firm was my belief that it may actually have helped bring it about, I do not know. That last mission, however, it was meant to be the last mission. We had finally located Grindelwald’s hidden castle – your father’s assistance was actually instrumental in that, Minerva, although he never knew it – and I set out with a small group of Aurors, four of whom were very accomplished Occlumens. To them, I entrusted my belief that we might not prevail in our attack, which was deliberately deceptively small and highly targeted. I also informed those four, and only those four, what my strategy would be if we were, in fact, captured. To entrust this knowledge to anyone else would completely doom our mission and seal our fates. 

“Unfortunately, the mission went even worse than we had anticipated. We were detected as we were attempting to dismantle or fool one of the blood wards that shielded his stronghold. Of the twenty Aurors who had started out with us – yes, Minerva, twenty, not the small handful that the Ministry claims were lost – of those twenty, only six of us survived the attack, and only four of us were in any condition to be questioned. Grindelwald, on hearing that I was among the captives, had the four of us brought to him personally. Unfortunately for me, only one of the Aurors who knew of my fall-back plan had survived – Rufus Scrimgeour, whom I believe you know – the other two who were conscious and still with me, Alastor Moody and Katherine Fellows, knew nothing of it. And that was painful for me.”

Albus sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I could go into detail of how I subtly convinced Grindelwald that I had deliberately triggered the wards so that our presence was detected, how I persuaded him that I had come to admire him all over again, and to become disgusted with the Ministry and with the general state of the weak wizarding world, and how I had come to regret my choices years earlier and longed to be accepted by him once more. He was sceptical, as should not surprise anyone, but he performed intensive Legilimency on me. I have never experienced such gruelling hours. It was like the worst interrogation possible, but he was not looking for information about Ministry strategies or resources, and I knew that would not be what he would seek. When I had known Grindelwald more than eighty years before, when we were both striplings, my skill at Legilimency and Occlumency was poor and undeveloped. Grindelwald greatly underestimated what skills I had attained in the intervening years. Oh, he believed I was skilled enough at brewing Potions and at performing Transfiguration, but he believed that even any achievements I had made in curse- and ward-breaking was all done on the backs of others, and that none of it was truly a product of my own skill and diligence. And I encouraged this belief. I presented him with memories and emotions skewed to show him precisely what he wanted to believe. I showed him myself using Gertrude Gamp shamelessly, stealing her ideas and her work in order to advance my own, exploiting her affection for me and toying with her, even taking advantage of her grief, and then I showed him others whose work in Runes, archaic spellwork, and defensive wards I took, used, and presented as my own. I presented him these memories with a veneer of disdain for the lesser witches and wizards whom I used and discarded. I made him believe that I had charmed these folk, lulling them so that they did not even realise what I was doing. Even you, my dear, I presented to him in a false light, and it was so difficult . . . he wanted to know how I had escaped him a few months before, that time in France, for he was certain I had been gravely injured and unable to escape on my own. And so I showed him you and your accomplishments and I conjured up a sense of pride in you distorted by a possessiveness and a sense of control over you that I have never had – I do hope you believe me, my dear. He believed I saw you as a mere product of my own doing and as my tool to use as I wished, and not as an independent person in your own right. And the Flamels . . . I convinced him that I still resented them both, that I chafed because they would not share with me all they knew, and that I had left them on poor terms. And I showed him my time of dissipation after my mother’s death, and I convinced him that it had gone on for years, not mere months, that I had barely managed to pull myself out of the gutter, so to speak, and that I was desperate to join him and to regain my pride and to exercise power over those who had wronged me in my past. 

“I cannot describe to you what it was like, distorting my feelings and my memories in such a way, hour after hour . . . and I had to behave as though I was resisting, as though I did not want him to see my weaknesses and to know of my debauchery, and to then give in with the appropriate mixture of pain and relief. But worst of all was the sense, deeply hidden from my interrogator, that I was betraying myself and all whom I loved. Yet I could not think about that, and I could not even think about those whom I loved, you, Gertrude, the Flamels, my mother . . . It was only later, after it was all over . . . I felt as though I had deliberately filled myself up with the most vile sewage imaginable. It was hard for me to feel clean again . . . 

“But he believed me, and he returned my wand to me, and he had one last test for me. He wanted me to punish my compatriots. That was perhaps the worst moment of all . . . seeing Alastor, Katherine, and Rufus dragged out before me . . . wandless and weakened. I had not planned for this, although I should have, and I was not yet ready to duel Grindelwald. There were many people around him, and my friends had no wands. Desperately, I cast about the room, using Legilimency to try to find some weak mind that would allow me access whilst I talked with Grindelwald and scoffed at the Aurors. And then I found that weak mind and I knew where the Aurors’ wands were being kept. They were close by. If they had not been . . . I would have had to provide them with wands from Grindelwald’s guard and hope that they functioned moderately well for them. 

“I could stall no longer, but I had been able to cast a wandless nonverbal Accio, and, knowing that the wands were sailing through the castle, I told Grindelwald – and I addressed him as Gelly, as I did in the old days – I told him that a witch was hardly worth the magic expended and that Alastor . . . that Moody was . . . that he was a . . . a pathetic cripple and also not worth my energy, and I . . . oh, Minerva . . .” Suddenly, Albus’s cool narrative broke completely and his eyes filled with tears. He covered his face with his hands and took a few deep, shuddering breaths before lowering his hands, regaining his composure despite his tears, and continuing. “I turned my wand on Rufus . . . he, at least, knew and, I hoped, still believed, that this was a ruse. I cast curse upon curse . . . I did not put a great deal of force behind the spells, but they had to be real. It was . . . sickening. And yet I continued. I will never forget the expression of pain and dismay on young Alastor’s face. It was as though his world had crumbled and disappeared before his eyes. But then there was a shout from Katherine. She caught her wand and the other two wands sailed to their respective owners. Without hesitation, I turned on Grindelwald and cast a strong Stupefy. Of course, he blocked it just as quickly as I cast it. Despite his weakened state, Rufus immediately attacked, disarmed, and Stunned a few of Grindelwald’s guards, and Katherine did the same. It took a moment for Alastor to gather his wits, but soon, he, too, was keeping Grindelwald’s guards at bay, allowing me to continue without interference from them. Fortunately for us, because we were in the centre of his castle and Grindelwald felt safe there, there were relatively few wizards actually in the room with us, and the Aurors took care of them quickly, leaving me to deal with Grindelwald. They sealed the doors and kept out any other of Grindelwald’s men who attempted to enter. It was work for them to stay ahead of the guards’ efforts, and if it hadn’t been for the Aurors, I would not have had a chance at defeating Grindelwald.

“Grindelwald recognised that he had underestimated me before, but he did not realise the extent to which he had done so. I might have been weakened from the captivity and the Legilimency, but I had reserves of which he was entirely unaware, and I knew of magic that he could not harness. We duelled long, but in the end, I disarmed him and it was the very simple and standard spell, _Petrificus Totalus_ , that ended the duel. And ended his reign of terror.”

The two sat silently in the sitting room in the high Hogwarts tower, dawn seeping in through the windows. Minerva had begun to weep when Albus described his interrogation at the hands of Grindelwald, but had swallowed her tears and blinked them away; then when he described cursing Rufus Scrimgeour and young Alastor’s reaction, her tears flowed and she could not blink them away. Now she pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her face.

“I am sorry . . . perhaps I should not have told you so much,” Albus said softly, his own eyelashes still wet and pain written on his face. “It was selfish of me . . . wanting you to know, to understand . . .”

“No, no . . .” Minerva said softly, rising from her chair and joining Albus on the sofa. “I am glad you shared it with me. And if you ever want to talk about it, about how you feel . . .”

Albus shook his head. “No . . . I rarely think of it, any of it, really.” He reached out tentative fingertips and grazed her damp cheek briefly, and said, his voice hoarse, “I just thought . . . you have wondered . . . and it is all of a piece, this story. And we are friends . . . I wanted you to know just what sort of friend you have, and that he is rather different from what you have likely believed him to be. He is not just the one for whom you feel affection and gratitude, but he is also this other wizard . . . you deserved to know.”

Minerva surprised Albus by returning his gesture, touching his face, and then combing his hair back with her fingers and letting her hand come to rest on his shoulder. 

“You are the wizard I have always believed you to be and more. You are . . . you are Gryffindor, and you did what was hard and painful for you . . . I can only admire you more than I did before.” And she leaned forward and kissed his cheek, letting her lips rest a moment and her breath to pass warm across his skin before she sat back. “But now I see you are tired. And,” she added with a bit of a smile, “you have not had your Vitamin Potion tonight. Might I recommend the vanilla one?”

Albus smiled himself at that. “Of course, Mother McGonagall. And I think we might both have time for a few hours sleep, at least, as the dawn still comes early. I do hope you will be able to sleep after all of this. It hasn’t been the most pleasant of bedtime stories.” 

“Perhaps not, but I will rest easy knowing that I am at Hogwarts and Hogwarts is in your care,” Minerva replied.

The two stood and Albus placed a hand on Minerva’s arm. “Now that your rooms are on the seventh floor . . . the backstairs will bring you close to your quarters in Gryffindor Tower.”

Minerva nodded and let Albus lead her from the sitting room, through his bedroom, then down the narrow dark stair, and in the darkness, she felt no fear, for Albus was there before her. She said good-night to him at the bottom of the stairway, insisting that he return to his suite and find his bed.

Albus nodded and cupped her face in his hand, leaning forward just slightly and placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. Then the scarred oak door closed between them and Minerva headed back to her rooms on the other side of the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not DH-compliant. The only thing I changed after DH came out was Grindelwald's first name, since I thought calling him "Gunny" and "Gunther" might be a bit unnecessarily confusing. ;)
> 
> There is a one-shot set in 1917, ["The Unsentimental Arithmancer,"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/405281) that depicts Gertrude and Reginald's early married life and how Albus became friends with them.
> 
> As always, don’t take my story for information about the way the world works, including anything veterinary, such as a dragon’s congested sinuses or a horse’s infected foot!


	104. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Albus each reflect on the revelations he made. Minerva finds herself daydreaming of Albus and Maria. To her surprise, she finds her jealousy melts away.
> 
> Minerva reads about her installation as Head of Gryffindor in a clipping from the _Daily Prophet_.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short bit of erotic content in this chapter.

**CIV: Gifts**

Minerva lay in bed, tossing and turning, her head still spinning from all that she had so suddenly learned about Albus. The mysterious and painful disappearance of his father, his youthful association with Grindelwald, his mother’s death, his . . . wanderings . . . . Minerva didn’t know what surprised her more. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised he had known Grindelwald when they were young. They were the same generation, after all; it made sense. But that he had been _friends_ with the wizard, even for a brief time . . . still, Grindelwald must have been charismatic to have accumulated the followers he did. And Albus had had the nerve – the Gryffindor courage – to argue with him, even as he had wanted the older wizard’s approval. He had said that waking up in the mud, having been beaten by Grindelwald, had actually been a relief. 

What surprised Minerva most, though, had been Albus’s reaction to his mother’s death. Not his guilt and sorrow, that seemed typical Albus. But the intensity of his guilt and how it had driven him to despair . . . she never could have imagined Albus wandering through Europe, drinking, carousing, and generally leading a dissipated life, as he had phrased it. And yet when Albus had told his story, Minerva could easily see how he had come to that point and her heart had ached for him. Someone should have helped him, someone should have comforted him and saved him from himself and his guilt, intervened before he had woken up in that room, so disgusted with himself. Hot tears rose in her eyes as she thought of young Albus, so alone and in such emotional pain, surrounding himself with people, but still alone and in such pain that eventually he no longer felt anything at all. Thank whatever good fortune that had brought those Gypsies along at just that moment. What would have happened to him if he had not seen that little girl and wanted to help her and save the pony? Would he have died? Or would he have eventually gone home to Wales and his brother, still feeling guilt, his sense of self-worth even more damaged after his dissolute wanderings, and then led an undistinguished life, perhaps working in the pub alongside his brother? Never to do his research, never to write his books, never to come to Hogwarts to teach . . . never to meet her? And her own wand – what wand would have found her, if not the mate to his?

Minerva had felt nothing but relief when Albus told her of how he had travelled with the Roma, and was even relieved to hear that he had found some comfort and love with Maria. Now, though, lying there in bed, Minerva imagined young Albus, hair still deep auburn, youthful and beautiful, his need great, his bright blue eyes shadowed with pain, making love to a dark-haired, dark-eyed young Gypsy woman. These visions simultaneously created a flow of heavy, throbbing, warmth in her, and a gripping jealousy around her heart. 

Minerva reached out in the pale light and took the evil eye from its place on her bedside table. She looked at it, wondering if Maria had worn something similar, and Minerva slipped the cord around her own neck and held onto the talisman with one hand. She closed her eyes and imagined young Albus, surprised the first time that Maria came to him in the dark, and imagined the young woman, a lithe and sensuous shadow, undressing and joining him beneath his blankets. Minerva saw Albus kiss her and draw his hand down over the young woman’s breast, kneading and fondling, before seeking her core. Then she saw Albus taking hold of the young woman’s shoulders, rolling her onto her back, and rising up, naked, his erection large, parting her legs with his own, reaching down and guiding his penis to her entrance. Minerva’s breathing quickened and her own hand began to rub herself through her nightgown, where she imagined Albus’s erection to be poised above Maria. Albus would enter her quickly, and the young woman would cry out softly at his sudden presence inside her, digging her fingernails into his back. She would be young and tight around him. Minerva’s hand increased its pressure as she imagined Albus pumping in and out, and now she was the woman, Albus was making love to her, his body warm and damp with sweat as he shifted to move within her, changing his angle to bring her even more pleasure. Minerva moved aside her nightgown and moaned as she continued to touch herself, imagining she was with young Albus, bringing him comfort, pleasure, and love after his long, arduous journey through darkness and back to the light, kissing him, holding him, moving beneath him, watching him as he came within her. And her throbbing grew and released, Minerva turning her face into the pillow, biting down, crying out.

She gasped and sighed, catching her breath. There were tears on her cheeks, and Minerva felt a mixture of relief and regret. She should not allow herself such fantasies. It would only make things worse for her. But now she relaxed and let out a long breath. She was glad that Albus had found the Gypsies and that Maria had loved him for a while. He had needed that love, she was sure of it, needed to feel lovable again, and, perhaps even more important, he needed to give love. 

As for the rest of Albus’s story . . . she could understand why no one spoke of the events leading to his victory over Grindelwald. They could easily be distorted, and even if they weren’t, they had been painful for Albus and for the Aurors. But now Minerva’s mind was growing foggy, and as her mind drifted, she had the thought that if Albus and Gertrude ever had been involved romantically, they both certainly had experienced enough pain, and enough shared pain, that she could no longer resent it. They both deserved love, and it was clear to Minerva now why Gertrude was so devoted to Albus. She had known him, after all, since she was little more than a girl; they had celebrated holidays together as a family. And when Reginald lay dying, Albus did what he could, no matter how little he claimed it to be, to relieve the other wizard’s pain and to take it on himself. Gertrude had good reason to love this very lovable wizard in a special way. And although Minerva no longer believed them to be currently involved – surely Gertrude would have brought his birthday present to his bedroom and waited for him there, if they were, and Gertrude would have done something more special for him and certainly would not have let him have his birthday dinner with another witch if she were in the castle that evening, as she was – Minerva thought that if they ever had been lovers, it could only have been good for them both. And whatever their previous relationship, the two were still friends . . . and Minerva felt gratitude that Albus had had at least one good friend close by who could give him the support and love he needed during the hard years of the war, and after, too.

Minerva sighed and rolled over, a slight smile on her face. She loosed her grip on the evil eye, which she had held onto with one hand since putting it over her head, and she fell asleep as the sun rose above the mountains in the east.

* * *

Albus readied himself for bed. It had been a long and tiring night. He had known it might be difficult to tell Minerva about some of those events, some of what he had done, but he hadn’t realised quite how emotionally exhausting it would be. Perhaps he should have told her only a little at a time. If he had, it wouldn’t have had the cumulative impact on him, reliving so much of those difficult days. There had been so many happy days, too, at school, at the Flamels, with Master Nyima and with Mother Dragon. And then there had been those decades of peace after he had returned to Britain, reading, researching, experimenting, writing, developing friendships, travelling occasionally, trying to live up to the responsibilities that his great gifts had placed upon him, but that was only a small part of his story, and the less interesting part. 

It was best told as a whole, though, which is why he had chosen to do so. And Minerva’s reaction . . . it hadn’t precisely surprised him. He had not believed he would lose her friendship. But that she had been so accepting of it all, even of his disgusting behaviour after his mother’s death, that was somewhat unexpected. Albus was certain that although he had not gone into detail, he had told her enough that she had a very good idea of how he had spent his days and nights, and how very far he had fallen from that promising young wizard who had the highest cumulative NEWTs scores in the history of Hogwarts, and the most NEWTs, possible, as well, having taken twelve, sitting the exams in the History of Magic, Divination, and Muggle Studies despite not having taken the classes since his fifth year. And then, just seven short years later, he was a widower, his mother had died while in his care, and he had fallen into a pit of despair and self-loathing that he had dug for himself and simply enlarged through his own behaviour.

It was a miracle that on the very day that he had hit his nadir, he had crossed paths with the Roma, had felt the need of that little girl, and had managed to bestir himself to help her. And then the Roma’s silent acceptance of him, Albus thought as he climbed between the sheets, that had been his salvation, or the beginning of it, anyway. He had seen their need, and they had seen his, and, surprisingly, had not rejected him, leaving him for his own people to sort out. No, they had taken him in for a meal and then accepted his company as they travelled. And Maria. Beautiful, dark, loving Maria . . . she had come to him freely, even knowing, as she must have, that he would leave them, and her. So many gifts, so much generosity, if one only opened one’s eyes to it, and if one opened oneself and gave, as well.

Minerva was a gift. Albus closed his eyes and relaxed completely, letting out a long, slow breath. Such a gift . . . from the time her bright little mind had entered his classroom to her sweet, childish care of him when he returned, exhausted from a painfully unsuccessful mission, to her loving support of Hagrid as he made the transition from student to assistant groundskeeper, to the young, supremely competent witch who had saved him in France, and to the dear friend who kissed his cheek and accepted him and his past, faults and all, Minerva was a miracle in herself. Of all the people whom he had been graced to know and whom he had come to love, even of the witches whom he had loved, from his mother and Perenelle to Dervilia, to Maria, and even to Gertrude . . . of them all, Minerva was special to him in a way that none other was. It mystified him slightly, but he accepted his feelings for her. Somehow, Minerva being Minerva, he could not help but love her, and to love her above all others. If only he could separate his love for her from his passion for her, but they were one and inseparable. But his love for her, at least, was a good thing; miraculously, Minerva loved him, too, and she still did, even after all he had told her.

As the morning light blossomed over the mountains, Albus fell asleep, thinking of the wonder that was Minerva, and his heart was at ease.

* * *

Minerva woke to a flurry of feathers in her face. For pity’s sake, it was Bootsie, with a parchment larger than he attached to one leg. When she had finally freed the parchment from the obnoxious bird’s leg and herself from its annoying attention, she noticed another owl, much more sedate and well-mannered, sitting on the footboard of her bed. She took the letter from that owl, too. She had barely done that when a third bird arrived. Minerva recognised it as Hengist, her mother’s owl. Because she had no treats for any of the birds, Minerva told them to find the Owlery. It only had regular owl food, no special treats, but it was the best she could do.

Minerva cast a _Tempus_. Almost ten o’clock. Late, but not terribly, considering how very late she had gone to bed. Minerva took a quick look at the letter from Melina. As she expected, it was a wedding invitation, but there was a small note, as well, congratulating Minerva on her appointment as Head of Gryffindor and asking whether she had seen the announcement in the _Daily Prophet_ the day before. She hadn’t. She hadn’t even looked at the _Prophet_ in a few days. The next letter was from her mother, of course, also offering congratulations, enclosing a clipping from the _Prophet_ , and with a post script from her father. They were both looking forward to seeing her again as soon as her duties at Hogwarts permitted. 

Minerva sagged. She did want to see her parents, of course, but she had completely forgotten that she had promised them that she would take the rest of her holiday and spend at least a few more days at the house. Well, she would think about that later. Minerva turned her attention to the clipping.

  
_**New Head of Gryffindor Installed** _   


Yesterday evening, in a private ceremony, a new Head of Gryffindor House was installed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the preeminent institution of wizarding education in the British Isles. The new Head is one Minerva M. McGonagall, only daughter of Merwyn McGonagall and Egeria Egidius McGonagall. Professor McGonagall joined the staff of Hogwarts last December as Transfiguration teacher, replacing the renowned Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, who became Hogwarts Headmaster upon the death of Armando Dippet the year before. 

Professor McGonagall is best known for her innovative work and leadership in the Ministry’s Special Committee for Experimental Transfiguration, which she joined after attaining her Mastery in 1949. After her first apprenticeship with Transfiguration mistress Madame Feuilly, formerly of Beauxbatons, proved unsatisfactory, McGonagall, a former student of Headmaster Dumbledore’s, in a typical show of Gryffindor bravado, challenged Madame Feuilly in an age-old ritual combat. This Gryffindor daughter of Hogwarts prevailed in a public duel still remembered to this day by those who were present.

Good lord, Minerva thought, they made it sound as though she had engaged in a fight to the death or some such nonsense. And it hadn’t been very long ago, either. She hoped that people’s memories weren’t that short! __

_Although some anonymous former colleagues of Professor McGonagall question the wisdom of her installation as the youngest Head of Gryffindor in more than five hundred years, others are full of praise for the Transfiguration mistress. Indeed, the most recent Head of Gryffindor, Professor Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, praised her successor, saying that McGonagall would care for her House “as a mother lion would care for her cubs.”_

_Current Deputy Headmistress Gertrude Gamp, a Slytherin herself, made the following statement: “Professor McGonagall has always shown herself to be brave, resilient, and steadfast. She is an excellent teacher, a very talented mistress of Transfiguration, and a role-model for all students at Hogwarts. I taught Professor McGonagall myself, and I can say that my regard for her, always high, has only grown over the years. I am pleased to be able to call her a colleague, and I have no doubt but that the House of Gryffindor will benefit from her leadership and her care for many years to come. I offer her my congratulations on her achievement.” High praise indeed from a Slytherin._

_Her fellow Heads of House, Johannes Birnbaum of Ravenclaw, whose own installation created a storm of controversy, and Horace Slughorn, long-time Head of Slytherin, were also welcoming and unstinting in their praise of the young Transfiguration mistress. There is currently no sitting Head of Hufflepuff, and the incoming Head, Professor Norman James, was unavailable for comment._

_Headmaster Dumbledore, reached for comment the afternoon of McGonagall’s installation, had this to say: “Professor McGonagall was not only the most talented student of Transfiguration whom I had the good fortune to teach during my years here at Hogwarts, but one of the most talented of any master or mistress of Transfiguration whom I have known throughout my career. But she will be Head of Gryffindor not because of her talents in Transfiguration, considerable though they are, but because she embodies the ideals of Gryffindor. She is brave, yet not fearless, and her courage always defeats her fear. She acts selflessly to do what she believes to be right. Professor McGonagall will be an excellent guardian of both Gryffindor ideals and Gryffindor students.”_

_The staff of the_ Daily Prophet _offers its own congratulations to Professor McGonagall and its best wishes for many successful years nurturing generations of Gryffindors._

The article was quite a bit longer than it needed to be, but then, Minerva supposed that being the youngest head of Gryffindor in so many years did make it a little more controversial. She was relieved that they hadn’t mentioned that she was currently the only Gryffindor on staff, nor had they offered a quote from the “anonymous former colleagues.” She imagined that one of those colleagues was Dustern, but wondered who the others might be. It could have been editorial license, she supposed, and there had only been the one “former colleague.” Minerva shrugged. No point in dwelling on that. Her current colleagues had been accepting of her, and Gertrude’s words had been quite warm. She was no doubt quoted at length partly because she was the Deputy, but also because it must have seemed somewhat peculiar for a Slytherin to be so full of praise for a Gryffindor Head of House. Albus’s statement had been nice . . . she wondered whether he had offered his congratulations but they had cut it when they quoted him.

Minerva sighed. Why on earth was she fixated on the fact that Albus had never congratulated her? He had joined the toast – made with the centaur mead he had brought out for the special occasion. He had been pleased that she accepted the position; he had told her that. And he had spent hours last night sharing details of his life with her that he had shared with very few others – some of them very embarrassing, private details. But somehow, no one else’s words of congratulations meant as much to her as hearing Albus’s, and she hadn’t heard him voice them. It was foolish of her. Perhaps she would say something to him . . . just something light. No point in simply dwelling on it and not saying anything at all. Just because she had noticed he hadn’t said those particular words didn’t mean that it had any significance, after all.

The third owl was from Quin, thanking her for the tour the previous day. The tour. It seemed a very long time ago, now, after having spent so many hours listening to Albus tell the story of his youth. Quin said that he’d had a nice visit with Hagrid and his Jarvey and made it home to Ireland in time to have dinner with his “wee beasties.” He had cleared his schedule to spend a few days with them before he returned to London later in the week, and the children were thrilled. 

Minerva set the letters aside and called Blampa, who arrived accompanied by a tea tray. After thanking the house-elf for the tea and asking for a crusty roll and some cheese for her late breakfast, Minerva took a quick shower and dressed in her favourite summer robes of deep yellow and raspberry, then took time to put her hair in a chignon. There was no particular occasion to dress for, but she felt like taking the time. The morning was half gone, anyway. 

As she dressed and did her hair, pausing every now and then to take a bite of bread and cheese or a sip of tea, Minerva thought about all of Albus’s revelations the night before. It had taken him some courage, she was sure, to tell her all of that, especially about his period as – how had he put it? – as a debauched wreck of a wizard. He hadn’t gone into detail, but Minerva had developed quite a clear picture of the life he must have led at that time. She doubted he had fallen as far as he could have, but it was clear that he had despaired and become enmired in his own sense of guilt and unworthiness. It must have been very difficult for Albus to have admitted so much to her. He had said that she deserved to know just what sort of friend she had, and that he was different than she had believed. He had said it as though what she didn’t know of him was more important than what she had known, and as though her regard for him would be diminished now that he had given her a more complete picture of what his life had been before they had met. It had been hard to hear much of it, but it had been much harder for him to tell, and certainly far more painful to have lived. She had never experienced what Albus had, and she hadn’t the innate power he had and whatever drives went along with that power, and she certainly couldn’t imagine how she would react if someone she had believed a friend, even if not a particularly good friend, had killed her mother. And if she felt responsible for it . . . perhaps her reaction would not be what Albus’s had been, but he was a wizard, for one, not a witch, and he lived in a different era, had a different family, different friends, greater talents. Yet she could imagine feeling terrible loss and guilt if it had been her mother. And Albus clearly had felt completely alone. It wasn’t as though he had started his . . . _meanderings_ just for the fun of it. She certainly couldn’t look down on him for the way in which he reacted to his grief or guilt, or his ensuing despair. Thank goodness he had retained enough of his sense of self to be appalled when he woke up in bed with those strangers. Minerva gave a shudder of sympathy. That certainly must have been an awful experience for Albus. It was probably a blessing he could not remember how he got there or what he had done. No, she could only be grateful that Albus had been able to escape his despair and that he had survived it. 

Albus had even seemed to think that she might be disappointed in him because of what he had done in order to defeat Grindelwald, as though there had been some shame in it. It had been the only thing to do; if Albus hadn’t done what he had, he likely would have been killed, probably in one of the bizarre ways that Grindelwald liked to devise for his enemies, and the war would have dragged on. It is doubtful there would have been any single wizard powerful enough to defeat him; it was even conceivable that Grindelwald could have won, and not only conquered the wizarding world, but perhaps even attained supremacy in the Muggle one, as well. 

Albus may have had to trick Grindelwald in a rather unpleasant way, and even had to have done some rather unpleasant things himself, but he had rid the world of Grindelwald. Cursing Rufus Scrimgeour must have been dreadful for him, but at least Scrimgeour had known of the plan. Although he could have doubted Albus, wondered if the “fallback plan” wasn’t truly a plan to defeat Grindelwald, but a plan to join him, or even to supplant him. It must have been a relief to see their wands flying toward them. And poor Alastor! The wizard who had taught him, who had been his Head of House, who had sacrificed his Portkey for him, who had risked so much to save him, suddenly betraying him, even scorning him and the injury he had obtained in Albus’s own company. It must have seemed unbelievable at first, and then when the first curse fell on Rufus, what must poor Alastor have thought then? And Albus . . . no wonder he had looked so bleak for so long after he had defeated Grindelwald. It had been like filling himself up with the most vile sewage, he said, all that he had thought and forced himself to feel in order to fool Grindelwald. To hide from his interrogator all whom he loved . . . he had named her among them, her, Gertrude, the Flamels, his mother. 

Albus had said it. He loved her. He said it as though it were a simple fact, one that he didn’t have to reflect upon. He loved her. She was one of the people whom Albus loved. Albus loved her. Minerva sat on the edge of the bed. Why had Albus said it then, and not when she told him that she loved him just two nights before? Because it was a part of his story and he didn’t have to think about it last night? She had said it to him, and he had frozen . . . because he was surprised? Because he . . . didn’t know how to respond? Because . . . because . . . because . . . 

Minerva sighed. She didn’t know. Even after last night and all he had revealed to her of himself, there was some part of him that she didn’t understand. Perhaps even a part of himself that he didn’t understand. Perhaps that was the part of him that loved her. But he had named her with Gertrude, the Flamels, and his mother; it wasn’t as though he had said he was in love with her. At least he did love her, and he had then, more than a dozen years ago. Just as her mother had said he had when he staunched her magical drain when she was seventeen. Even in the midst of his ordeal with Grindelwald, Albus counted her amongst those whom he loved. He had been in such pain then; even telling her about it had been difficult for him. And Minerva would never forget the bleak look that crossed his face when, during her visit to him at St. Mungo’s, she had asked him how he had defeated him. He had said that it hadn’t been without great loss, and she didn’t think he had been speaking only of the loss of the fifteen Aurors, as dreadful as that must have been, but also of some part of himself that he had sacrificed in fooling Grindelwald, and of the dismay he had seen in young Alastor’s eyes, the curses he had cast, the pain he had attempted to absorb from Reginald Crouch, and the loss of his mother all those decades before. Each time she had seen him in those months after Grindelwald’s defeat, there had been a shadow of pain in his eyes, even under his smile.

Minerva pulled the small picture of Albus from her drawer and gazed at it. Yes, even in this photograph, she thought she could detect that look in his eye. She had worried about him, but after her attempts at comfort had been rebuffed after Carson’s death, she hadn’t reached out to him at all then. Perhaps she should have. Even if he hadn’t accepted her comforting, he would have at least known that she cared, that she had noticed. She should have. But there was nothing she could do to change that now. And now, she better understood the guilt he had felt at Carson’s death. After learning of his earlier experiences, it seemed a much more natural reaction, even if it still weren’t reasonable.

Minerva sighed and put the small photo down on her bedside table, next to the evil eye that she had removed from around her neck that morning. An odd impulse that had been, putting it on as she had. She reached into the drawer and took out the two white stones and arranged them in front of the picture on either side of the Muggle talisman. She sat for a long time, gazing at Albus, the stones, the rose . . . her love.

* * *

Albus rose, drank his morning tea, and showered, wondering if Minerva was still asleep, and whether she had slept well after their long night and all of the nightmarish memories he had shared with her. She had been so accepting of him, so loving, so Minerva. And although he was uncomfortable with what she might think of when she saw him now, knowing of his youth and his mistakes, he had no fear that her feelings for him had changed.

He washed using his favourite Muggle sandalwood soap, using the handheld showerhead to rinse his chest and back and between his legs. Albus considered indulging in . . . some physical release, but given the direction of his thoughts lately, it was unlikely that he could keep it to the merely physical. His mind would surely wander, and he knew precisely where it would wander. He would not offend her modesty and her privacy by thinking of Minerva in that way. With a wave of his hand, Albus turned off the water. He had always thought it unseemly to think that way about a woman whom one knew, unless one was already in that sort of relationship with her. Appreciation was one thing, fantasy an entirely different matter. He would likely be considered quite hopelessly old-fashioned in that, if anyone knew, but if he were, that was fine with him. There were times when being old-fashioned was perfectly all right. 

Albus towelled himself off and smiled slightly remembering Maria . . . she had been a sweet one, one who had often occupied his dreams in the years afterward, and one of the few women whom he counted among his actual lovers. Any others had been . . . something quite different. He had hardly been himself during those months, and he certainly hadn’t had any kind of relationship with any of them. He couldn’t even remember them, really, or what they looked like, let alone what their names had been. They all seemed to merge together. Remembering those months was almost like remembering something from someone else’s life, a story told to him rather than one he had lived, but live it he had.

Towel around his shoulders, Albus padded naked into the bedroom. It was nine-thirty. He really didn’t have anything planned for the day, except the usual. With the Hogwarts letters out, there were bound to be more letters from parents to be answered. Albus sat down on the edge of his bed. He truly wished that he had asked Gertrude to stay just a couple more days and deal with some of the correspondence. It wasn’t difficult, but with everything else . . . . Still, Gertrude was always diligent, and she certainly deserved her holiday.

Perhaps he could go back to bed for a little while. He could just lie down for a half hour, then have Wilspy bring him a bite to eat to hold him until lunchtime. Without really making a conscious decision, Albus tossed his damp towel toward the Charmed laundry basket, which drew the towel into itself, and then he lay down, pulling up just his sheet. Wonderfully soft Egyptian cotton, nothing like what he’d slept on during his travels, and certainly not when he had been with Maria. The woolen blankets had been quite rough, but he had hardly noticed. They had even seemed to add to the experience . . . odd that he hadn’t thought of Maria in so long, and now, after talking about her the night before, his memory of her was so vivid. She had had a beautiful mouth, her lips dark and full, and her eyelashes had been so long and thick, and her breasts . . . . Albus closed his eyes and drove the memory away, but not before his body, already sensitive, reacted. He rolled over and quieted his mind, but then another face invaded his thoughts, the dearest face in the world, and Albus wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips . . . and what her breasts would feel like under his hand and whether they would react to his kisses. Albus threw his covers back and went over to the wardrobe and selected a robe for the day. He would simply go to bed early that night, or nap in the afternoon. A nap that early in the morning was an absurd notion, anyway. It was time for work and for living up to his obligations.


	105. A Werewolf's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus and Minerva have a pleasant lunch together in the rose garden, then receive distressing news. 
> 
> **Beginning of Part Sixteen.**
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Gertrude Gamp, and Columbine Rosier Gamp.

**PART SIXTEEN  
CV: A Werewolf’s End**

Albus went down to the staff room for lunch, unaccustomed butterflies having mysteriously taken up residence in his stomach. A little breathing, a little focus, and the butterflies flew off, but Albus knew why he had felt nervous. He would be seeing Minerva. Their parting the night before – or early that morning – had been warm, and she had been very understanding and accepting. But after having had time to think about all he had told her, particularly about his period of dissipation – brief as it may have been, compared with his very long life – how would she feel about him now? Would she be uncomfortable with him now that she knew so much? Would she think of his profligacy each time she touched him, or, worse, each time he touched her? Albus didn’t believe that she would care for him any less, but such knowledge could make her less easy with him. He would have to be even more punctilious in his conduct and give her no cause for discomfort.

Unusually, he was the first to arrive, and he took a seat to one side of the room near the fireplace to wait for the others. Minerva had been characteristically kind last night, even calling for chamomile tea when he reached a difficult point in the story. And then she had asked him what he had woken to that had shocked him, and she had asked it so matter-of-factly and had seemed to accept his answer that way, as well. Minerva was extraordinary. He did wish he hadn’t had to say precisely what had driven him to Apparate to the side of that road, but when she asked, he wasn’t going to avoid the issue, and lying certainly had never been an option. Of all the memories from his youth, that was one of the most painful, and it was certainly disgusting in a way that the other painful memories were not. Waking with four others in the same bed and not remembering a thing . . . to this day, the memory caused his stomach to drop and his chest to tighten. He was no prude, but such a situation was nothing he would ever choose. Even at his most profligate . . . At least they had been strangers, no one he had seen before or ever again. Though they might very well have later learned who he had been. If they were still alive and could remember anything from that night, themselves.

By the time he heard footsteps outside the door, Albus had quite chased away any appetite he may have had and considered returning to his office and just calling Wilspy for a cup of broth. But then Minerva stepped through the door, looking lovely in her saffron and raspberry frock, and he knew that if he were to leave now, she would believe he was leaving on her account. So he rose and greeted her with as much of a smile as he could muster.

“Good afternoon, Albus! Did you know we’re alone today? I went out for a rather belated morning walk and saw Wilhelmina and Hagrid on their way out. She is taking him on a field trip to the dragon preserve where she will be working. And, of course, Johannes is with his friend and his mother until later today – I’m beginning to think the woman is wooing him with her pastries!” Minerva said with a laugh.

“I actually had forgotten that. Wilhelmina mentioned it to me a couple days ago. Well, so . . . I suppose we should call for our lunch, then, or it will never arrive,” Albus said. Minerva seemed cheerful and as friendly as always.

“We could, or we could ask to have it packed up and we could eat outside – even just out in the garden would be nice. It’s a beautiful day – the perfect Scottish summer’s day.” Minerva smiled.

“I suppose we could . . . yes, that would be fine,” Albus answered.

“Are you all right, Albus? You seem distracted . . . did you sleep at all?” Minerva asked.

“Yes, my dear. I slept fairly well, actually, although I imagine that we will both benefit from a full night’s sleep tonight. How are you?”

“I’m fine. I was able to sleep late, well, later than usual. And the walk was refreshing. If you don’t feel up to it, though, we can eat in here.”

“No, eating lunch in the fresh air sounds lovely. Though I don’t think I want to go far, particularly as we are the only ones in the castle at the moment, and I think a table and chair would be good for these old bones today.”

Ten minutes later, they were seated at a small table in the rose garden, and their lunch was appearing before them. They began eating in comfortable silence.

“You know, Albus,” Minerva said after a few minutes, “I received a number of owls this morning. It started just with a few from family and friends, but then there was one after another, some from Gryffindors whom I don’t even know, congratulating me as the new Head of Gryffindor. There were some from parents of current Gryffindors, too. I will likely spend the rest of the afternoon responding to them.”

Albus smiled. “They know how fortunate they are, I am sure. Or they believe they know, but they cannot imagine how truly fortunate we all are that you are the Head of Gryffindor.”

Minerva returned Albus’s smile. “So, Albus, are there many superstitions surrounding . . . oh, becoming a Head of House, or being Hogwarts Headmaster?” she asked.

Albus raised his eyebrows. “Hmm?” He swallowed his bit of chicken sandwich, then said, “I suppose there must be. I haven’t really thought about it before. Did you have a specific one in mind?”

“Well, perhaps there is a superstition saying that it’s bad luck for the Hogwarts Headmaster to congratulate a new Head of House, or some such thing,” Minerva said, taking a sip of water.

“What? No, no such superstition –”

Minerva smiled. “Ah . . . so a personal superstition, perhaps?”

“No, not that either.” Albus furrowed his brow, reflecting. “Haven’t I congratulated you?”

“I suppose, in a way, but you never said the words.” Minerva shrugged. “It’s silly of me, but every time that anyone congratulated me, it would occur to me that you hadn’t yet. I thought you may have been waiting until after I was installed – I’m a bit superstitious about that, myself – but then you still didn’t. In the great scheme of things, it’s not particularly important, of course.”

“I am sorry, Minerva! Of course I congratulate you! But I suppose I congratulate myself more for having persuaded you, and Gryffindor for being lucky enough to have you, and it just – I suppose I thought I had done,” he said.

Minerva laughed. “The more I thought about it, the sillier my concern seemed to me, but then I would still think about it, anyway. So thank you for uttering those words so I can now spend my time thinking about other things!”

Albus smiled and raised his glass of lemonade. “Congratulations, my dear Minerva, on your installation as Head of Gryffindor.”

Minerva raised her own glass. “And to you, for having persuaded me!” she added with a laugh.

“I spent the morning answering owls, myself. I didn’t get any actual work done. Fortunately, it appears as though the entire Department for International Magical Cooperation has gone on holiday for the month of August, so that means less work, and Madam Yaxley is taking another holiday abroad to ponder whether she will continue in her position now that the Ministry has reorganised everything. Given that she’s one of the few semi-competent former-Ministers-now-to-be-Heads, I hope that she does stay on. Although if it were someone new, perhaps my own role might be diminished, which would not be an entirely bad thing.”

“I haven’t seen the _Prophet_ for a few days; I hadn’t realised that the reorganisation was going through. Mother seemed to think it was a positive thing, in general, but that in practice, it wouldn’t make very much difference.”

Albus shrugged. “I don’t suppose it will. What really makes the difference is who is in place and how they manage things.”

“Are you busy this afternoon, then? I know you need to stay close, but perhaps you could join me for a while? Or, if you have work to do, I could come up and bring my correspondence, and then when I finished with that, I could lend you a hand if there’s anything I can help with. It might be nice to have company.”

Albus thought a moment. “I really don’t know, Minerva . . . I thought I might actually have a bit of a kip after lunch. Perhaps later you could join me – in my office, I mean. Or I could send one of the portraits through to you, if you are going to be in your sitting room.” Merlin, for a moment, it sounded as though he was inviting her to join him in his nap! And given his recent thoughts, it was hard for him not to hear it that way. Fortunately, Minerva didn’t seem to have heard it the way it sounded to him.

Minerva fought her blush. A pity he wouldn’t invite her to join him for his nap – not that he ever would, and it was a foolish thought. “Yes, that would be fine. I anticipate being in my sitting room or my study this afternoon. Though I might take a nap, myself. You’re welcome to come down to me, if you like. I mean, after your nap, of course.”

Albus nodded. “Perhaps we could play later – chess. I promised you a rematch, and we haven’t had one yet.”

After finishing their lunch, the two walked up to the second floor together. Minerva expected him to go off toward the gargoyle, but he continued up the stairs beside her.

“I’ll walk you up, Minerva. I need the exercise, I think. I was out in my Animagus form yesterday, and was rather stiff afterward.”

Minerva smiled. “What you need, then, is exercise in your Animagus form, Albus. Going up and down the stairs is good for you, but if you were stiff, it’s because you need a different sort of exercise. Your wings need a bit of stretching, I imagine.” She looked over at him. “You know, I don’t think I’ve seen you transform since I was a student. I haven’t, in fact.”

“Well, I do transform occasionally. I simply do it out of the public eye – not that I would consider you the public, my dear – and I have been too busy to have the time recently.”

“You should make the time. Now, for example. There’s no one around, and you can flap your way to your tower – come in with me and fly out one of my windows.” Minerva stopped. “Come, now, we’re only on the fourth floor. You still have an opportunity for a bit of exercise.”

“Oh, no, Minerva, I’m fine –”

“Well, of course you are fine. But you can still have a bit of fun. I never thought I would have to encourage Albus Dumbledore to have fun!” Minerva said with a chuckle.

Albus grinned, then with a suddenness that startled her, he transformed with a flash of bright golden flame and a small pop. He took off overhead, shooting up toward the upper stories, reaching the seventh floor, then gliding back down to her. Minerva laughed aloud. She continued her walk up the stairs as Albus circled and swooped about her. Her smile grew as he began to sing. His song had very nearly the same effect as Fawkes’s song, and she felt filled with light, bubbly cheer and great hope for the future, her future at Hogwarts with Albus. 

They reached her rooms, and Minerva said, “Come in, now, you silly thing!”

Albus landed on her shoulder; even with his wings folded, he was large, though he felt much lighter than he appeared. Minerva gave her password and the Knight opened the door to her. As she stepped through, a shiver went down her spine as she felt Albus deliberately bump his head just above her ear and heard him trill a soft, happy note. She reached up and stroked his head and neck with one finger, feeling a slight thrill go through her as she sensed the humming of his magic. She loved this wizard, no matter his form. Minerva tickled his throat as she turned her head to look at him. 

“I see why you don’t transform in public. You would be mobbed, you beautiful thing,” she said softly. She put a light finger on his beak, then kissed his head between his eyes. She stroked his beautiful fiery plumage and said, “As much as I would love you to stay – as you are or otherwise – I know you wanted to be going. I’ll just open the window for you.”

The soft, low warble that came from his throat went right to her heart, and it was with genuine reluctance that she brought him over to the window. Just as she unlatched it, she spied a large owl flying toward them. 

“I don’t know if this is for me or for you, Albus. Do the owls recognise you when you’re a phoenix?” She had never considered that question before.

Albus’s weight disappeared from her shoulder, and with another rush of flame, Albus reverted to his ordinary form, standing quite close to her. Before she could recover or even move, the owl was there, and it clearly had a letter for Albus.

Minerva sent the owl off to the Owlery for something to eat and was just about to make a joke about needing to stock owl and phoenix treats with her current rash of visitors, when she saw the look on Albus’s face.

“Albus? Is everything all right?” When he didn’t answer her, but only went over and sat heavily on the sofa, she became alarmed. “Albus, what is it?” She went to his side and reached a hand toward him.

His voice came out a harsh whisper. “I have failed, Minerva. Completely. Failed.”

“What? How?” She took the parchment that he held only loosely in one hand.

Her eyes widened then filled with tears and she sat beside Albus. “Oh, Albus, I am so sorry. Poor Robert – but it isn’t your fault. You mustn’t blame yourself,” she said, blinking her tears away and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“When he said he was staying at the Leaky Cauldron and not at my lonely cottage, I actually thought that it might be good for him. To be amongst people. I should have known, seen this . . . I should have visited him more, checked on him. Or insisted he stay here, in the castle, with us, with people who care.” Albus stopped suddenly and took a shuddering breath.

Minerva reached out to him again. “You couldn’t have known. He seemed better. And St. Mungo’s released him.” Albus just shook his head. “Do not blame yourself, Albus. I know it is hard . . . it’s hard for me to bear the thought of him being so desperate. But he’s not suffering any longer, at least. It isn’t what we would have wanted, but there is at least that.”

Albus shook his head again. “He needn’t have done this, Minerva,” he said hoarsely. “And I should have made it clear to him. I should have let him know that I understood, and told him that he wouldn’t always feel as he did, even if it seemed that way in the moment. But I didn’t realise. I should have. But he said nothing.”

“He probably made up his mind and just . . . went about it as efficiently as possible. He didn’t want to be stopped, Albus.”

“Oh, gods, Robert, you shouldn’t have,” Albus said in a whisper, taking the letter from Minerva and looking at it again.

Minerva placed her hand on his shoulder and tried to draw him closer. For a moment, Albus relaxed into her partial embrace, and she raised her other hand and rubbed his back. He sighed.

“I’m sorry, Albus. Very sorry.”

Albus shook his head and pulled away. “It is what it is, as you say. I must . . . I must make arrangements. Please stay here, look after the school. I won’t be gone long.”

“Albus – just sit a moment. I’ll call for tea.” Minerva’s hand slipped down to his wrist as he stood.

“No, no. I can’t. Truly. I do appreciate it, my dear. But there are things I need to do. And I need to find Gertie. I need to find Gertie,” Albus repeated, stepping back away from her.

“It needn’t be at this moment, Albus,” Minerva said.

“Best to do these things immediately. I will be back. The wards will pass to you automatically. I am sorry I haven’t talked to you about that process already. I will. Later. You should have no troubles, though, and you will know when I return. Every Head of House experiences it differently, but generally there will be a sudden sense of a small increase in the air pressure around you, then a slight breeze, and a sense of . . . lightness or relief as the wards transfer back to me. It may be different for you, though. Don’t be startled, whatever it may be. I shall just use your Floo, if I may.”

Minerva nodded, recognising that she had no chance at convincing him to sit, take some comfort from her, sip some hot, sweet tea, and share their grief with each other. She would have thought that she could do just as well as Gertie, though, for whatever he might want of her. But that was a foolish thought; Gertrude was Deputy Headmistress. Even if she weren’t, everyone on staff would have to be notified, and quickly, before they read it in the _Prophet_. 

“Would you like me to draft letters while you are gone? For the staff, and perhaps another for the families of the students, and one for the Board of Governors?”

“Yes, yes, that would be fine, my dear,” Albus said, nodding, distracted. “Thank you.”

Moments later, Minerva was standing in her sitting room alone. The letter from the Ministry official had been brief and to the point. Robert Pretnick had been found in his room at the Leaky Cauldron by the landlady, who was bringing him his lunch, as she did daily. There had been letters found, including one for Professor Dumbledore, and it would be released to him as soon as its contents were recorded for the purposes of their investigation. It was clear, however, that the cause of death had been a self-administered potion and had been fairly close to instantaneous.

Minerva went into her study to begin drafting letters. When Albus returned, he could duplicate them, making any changes he wanted, then sign and seal them himself. This sort of news was best coming directly from the Headmaster, and not from any proxy. Suddenly, she felt a peculiar sensation, a kind of vibration in the soles of her feet and a tickling in her palms, then it was gone. She shrugged. She must now be in charge of the wards. Not that she had much of an idea of what that meant, since she hadn’t discussed the Hogwarts wards with Albus since she was about eighteen, but, as he said, it was unlikely that anything would occur in his absence. With that thought, Minerva realised that she was completely alone in Hogwarts castle, but for the house-elves and whatever ghosts or other . . . beings might be about. But they hardly counted. It was a peculiar thought, and she felt a slight sense of anxiety, which she tamped down firmly. She sat and began the first of the letters.

* * *

Albus Flooed to his office. He left word with Dilys that he would be leaving the castle and that Minerva was in charge, transferred the wards to Minerva, then he tapped his fireplace to open an external Floo connection and lit a small fire, tossing a pinch of Floo-Powder into it. He bent over and put his head into the fireplace, saying, “Gamp Estate,” and prepared for the uncomfortable sensation of speaking through the Floo-Network. He had never liked doing it, but sometimes it was the most convenient way to communicate with someone, and if he wanted to be able to Floo through, he would have to call ahead.

A wrinkly grey house-elf greeted him, and Albus explained that he would like to Floo through. A few rather uncomfortable and warm moments later – he should have used a bit more Powder, he thought – and Columbine Gamp appeared.

“Please, do come through, Albus.”

With some relief, Albus withdrew his head from the fire, took a bit more Floo-Powder, and Flooed through to the Gamp parlour. 

“Albus, how lovely to see you! We have missed your visits,” Columbine said warmly as he stepped out.

Albus nodded and smiled slightly. “I am sorry, Columbine, but this is unfortunately not a social call. I need to speak with Gertrude.”

“Oh, I’m afraid she’s not here. I am not entirely sure where she is, in fact. She left quite early this morning, before we were up, in fact, and left word that she wouldn’t be returning until late this evening. I am afraid that all I can recommend is that you owl her.”

“Owl her . . . yes, of course. If I am unsuccessful in reaching her, could you be sure to tell her that I was here and that it is imperative that she return to Hogwarts as soon as possible? If she doesn’t get in until late . . . just ask her to return first thing in the morning. It is rather urgent, but if she is back very late, she might as well sleep here rather than at the school,” Albus said. “But if she returns this evening or sooner, I would appreciate it if she came directly to the school.”

“I certainly will tell her. If you like, I could send her an owl for you,” Columbine offered.

“That would be most convenient and very kind of you. Please tell her just what I have said, and tell her that if I am not at Hogwarts that she should find Professor McGonagall. She will be able to tell her what has happened. Now, do you mind if I make use of your Floo?”

A few minutes later, Albus was hurrying down a corridor at the Ministry. As well-intentioned as the Ministry officials might be, he was concerned about who was going to inform Robert’s Muggle relatives and how they would do it. Unfortunately, most of the Ministry’s involvement in the Muggle world occurred when there was a magical accident that needed to be explained away. Albus wasn’t even certain who the current Muggle Liaison was, but whoever it was likely had another job at the Ministry that took priority, and was more accustomed to Obliviating Muggles than offering them comfort.

An hour later, Albus found himself in a small neighbourhood of recently-constructed houses. Apparently Robert had left a letter for his relatives, as well, but it hadn’t been released yet, either. Albus had extracted a promise that he would be allowed to deliver that letter when the Ministry was through with it, and no one had objected to him notifying the relatives, an unpleasant job at any time, only complicated by the fact that his relatives were Muggles. 

Albus had Transfigured his robes into a fair facsimile of a dark brown Muggle suit, but he didn’t think it was his best work. At least he wasn’t walking down the Muggle street wearing ankle-length robes of copper and turquoise. He found the house and, after looking for a knocker, found a smallish black button. He pressed it and could hear the buzz of the doorbell, if the harsh sound could be said to be emanating from a bell of any kind. A moment later, and the door opened and Albus found himself looking down at a little boy with pale, straw blond hair and eyes as dark as raisins. A wizarding child, Albus thought immediately. The nephew whom Robert had wanted to help and see through Hogwarts. Albus smiled kindly down at the little boy and asked for his parents, his mum or his dad, and the lad ran off, leaving the door open and calling out for his mum.

* * *

Minerva was surprised by a clanking and barking from the sitting room. As she had been attempting to draft the letters, she had been distracted by occasional odd sensations that came and went. She assumed they had something to do with the wards, and she wondered how anyone managed to think with the wards doing . . . whatever it was they did. No wonder Dippet had been thrilled to hand the wards to Albus, if everyone experienced them like this. She imagined it could be worse – and during the school year, with so many people about, so much activity, so much magic in the air, it must be like having an itching jinx all the time. She couldn’t fathom that. But she hadn’t felt anything that she thought indicated that Albus was back and had regained the care of the castle wards, so she couldn’t imagine who was at her door. 

As she passed through the sitting room, she looked up at the landscape above the fireplace. The Silent Knight was exiting the picture, but Fidelio was still there, barking.

“All right, Fidelio, I’m coming,” Minerva said slightly irritably.

Fidelio sat, thumping his tail madly, ears forward, looking for all the world as though he expected a treat and a scratch behind the ears. She had to have the most peculiar door wardens in the entire castle, she thought, but she had chosen to bring them with her when she moved, after all.

As she approached the door, Minerva opened it with a wave of her wand. “Gertrude!” Minerva looked behind the witch. “Is Albus with you?”

“No. I received an owl from my mother saying that the Headmaster was looking for me, and I should return to Hogwarts immediately. She also said that if he wasn’t in, I should find you. He wasn’t in.” Gertrude stepped into the sitting room as Minerva opened the door more widely to admit her.

“Oh, oh, dear,” Minerva said, looking at the witch. She had clearly been out doing something active, as she was dressed in belted grey trousers, a pale pink blouse, and stout black boots with a dusting of red earth over them, and she had a grey jacket folded over one arm. “Come in. Have a seat. Would you like some tea? A ginger newt?”

Gertrude sat on the edge of the sofa. “No, no tea. The letter said that it was urgent and you would know what it was about.”

Minerva sat down across from her. She didn’t know what to say. “Professor Dumbledore received an owl about . . . about an hour ago, now.”

Gertie waited patiently. “Yes?”

“It was from the Ministry. Um, I don’t know as there’s any easy way to say this, but Professor Pretnick was found dead in his room at the Leaky Cauldron this noon. By his own hand, they believe,” Minerva said.

“Oh.” Gertrude let out a breath and seemed to sag slightly, her eyes losing focus. “Poor man. Poor Albus. And you, how are you?” she asked, looking up.

“I’m fine, I think. I am writing some letters for Albus. I have done the one for the staff and have the one to the Board of Governors half-written.”

“I am not sure what Albus would have me do . . . he probably wanted me with him while he informed the family, as I imagine he wished to do before the Ministry could do it in their normal fashion. But perhaps I could write the letter to the families of the Hogwarts students, unless you would prefer to do that, Minerva. Or if there’s anything else?”

“I can’t think of anything. That would be fine. And perhaps you could look at what I wrote for the staff letter, too. The letters are in my study.”

The two witches went into Minerva’s study, and Gertrude read the letter. 

“I think that’s fine. Anything else about what time they should come back to the school and so forth, Albus will have to add,” Gertrude said with a nod. “Why don’t I go up to his office and wait for him there and write the other letter – unless you would prefer to wait there, in which case I can work from my office.”

“No, that’s fine,” Minerva said absently with a nod and a wave of her hand. “You can Floo from here – from the sitting room. It’s connected to his office.”

Gertie nodded. “Are you sure you are all right, Minerva? You look . . . I suppose it’s natural that you don’t look like yourself after that news. But is there anything you need?”

Minerva shook her head. “No . . . it was just a very late night last night, and then this news now, and Albus –”

“Yes?”

“Albus was upset, then he just got up and left, like that. Just . . . gone.”

“He deals best with things when he is able to do something right away, and it is unsurprising that he would be distressed. He believed that he had found something of a solution to Pretnick’s difficult situation and that Pretnick was amenable to it. It was no doubt a shock to him.”

“I know that, it’s just that –” Minerva looked over at Gertrude. She had known him a lot longer than she had. “I don’t understand why he just left so suddenly. He seemed upset, and then he was leaving. It felt – abrupt, I suppose.”

“There are likely a number of reasons that contributed, but the overriding one was probably his desire to inform Pretnick’s relatives. They are Muggles, and the Ministry can be somewhat clumsy when dealing with Muggle relatives, from what Albus has said to me in the past. And as for any other reasons for it . . . I think he might just need time to deal with his feelings himself, even though I am sure that he knows that you care about him and you would not mind if he shared them with you. I think you could be a help to him, in fact, Minerva, but . . . Albus is complicated, as you know. If you were to ask my advice, I would say that in this instance, you might want to let him come to you. Sometimes, as I have said, you will need to tell him his own mind, but other times . . . Just let him know that you are here to listen or to . . . to keep him company.” Gertrude put out a hand and patted Minerva’s arm. “I know that urge to want to rush in and help him for his own good, and sometimes, he does need someone to give him a good shake, metaphorically speaking, but it’s best to reserve the shaking for those moments when he really needs it, I believe. Just love him, Minerva, and all will be well. I am sure of it.”

Minerva blushed and couldn’t find any words.

Gertrude shrugged. “That’s my advice, based on my experience, anyway. I’ll be in his office if you need me for anything.”

* * *

Gertrude returned an hour later, once again announced by Fidelio’s cheerful barking. “I decided that I could wait for him just as well anywhere in the castle. I left word with a couple portraits that I had returned, though, in case he goes directly to his office. I thought if you would like, we could have tea and a bite to eat.”

Minerva was just as happy to have Gertrude’s company. She had finished the letters and had spent the rest of the hour trying to respond to the mundane correspondence that she had received that morning, but she was having a hard time concentrating, between the feeling that there must be something more important she could be doing and the intermittent peculiar sensations that rippled across her magic.

As they drank their tea and ate the sandwiches that Blampa provided, Minerva mentioned that she had been given the wards.

“Obviously, since I am the only person here, and the Head of Gryffindor, he would pass them to me, but we hadn’t talked about it before, and, I don’t know, have you ever held the wards?” Minerva asked.

“Only a few times. He prefers, obviously, to pass them to a Head of House, since that is the way they are structured.”

“How do you manage with the constant . . . I can’t describe it . . . it’s like bubbling or something in my magic. It’s most distracting,” Minerva said.

“Oh, he should have mentioned that – it’s actually worse when there is no one in the castle and nothing really happening, oddly enough. It’s like when it’s perfectly quiet at night except for one frog croaking and just as you begin to fall asleep, the frog croaks again,” Gertie said. “But you can make it less noticeable. Where is your wand?” Minerva took out her wand. “All you need to do is just touch the naked stone of the castle with the tip of your wand and hold it there for a moment or two . . . you’ll know when it’s been long enough. I’m not entirely certain how it works, but it’s like tuning a wireless, according to Johannes. The castle will . . . shift something. Albus can explain it to you, I’m sure.”

Minerva looked at Gertrude somewhat sceptically, but then put the tip of her wand on the window ledge. She didn’t feel anything and shrugged.

“Try the stone of the wall,” Gertrude suggested. 

Minerva stood and touched the tip of her wand to the limestone wall next to the fireplace. She felt a peculiar rushing sensation go through her arm, then a slight vibration, then nothing at all. Minerva lowered her wand and stood attentively. No, she didn’t feel any other peculiar sensations at all.

“Better?” Gertrude asked.

“Yes, much to my surprise. It sounded very odd to me,” Minerva said with a slight smile.

“Good. Now you will only feel if something goes wrong. I am not sure how we are supposed to identify what it is, but Johannes said that once when he was holding the wards last October, there was a large explosion down in the dungeons, and he immediately knew the location of the problem and was drawn there, though he didn’t know why, and was quite startled when he arrived in the Potions classroom to find Horace on the floor with a small knot of seventh-year students trying to bring him round while a few others dealt with the fire.”

“Slughorn had an explosion in the Potions classroom?” That would be an unusual occurrence. At least for it to be a large one. Slughorn was very cautious.

“Apparently one of the seventh-year students thought he would experiment with substituting ingredients without asking Slughorn first. It was not a good idea. Demolished a bench and a cupboard, incinerated some potions ingredients – fortunately, none that were overly combustible, shall we say – and sent Horace to the infirmary for two days. He was a terrible baby about it, too.”

“What about the student?” Minerva asked.

“Oh, the student was fine. Horace looked over just as he was adding the venom or blood or whatever it was. He jumped on the student, knocking him out of the way of the explosion. The students said it seemed simultaneous. A second later, and it would have been the student, and he would have had it right in his face, not in the backside, which was Horace’s primarily affected area,” Gertie said with a slight smile.

“Slughorn jumped on the student?” Minerva said, eyes wide, trying to imagine such a thing. She didn’t think he could stir himself to cross a room at anything faster than a leisurely amble, and she would have thought he’d be the first to seek cover if he thought something was going to explode.

Gertrude smiled. “Yes, and to hear the students tell it, it was some sight. He was wearing bright yellow and orange robes that day, with a black teaching robe over them, open down the front. They said it was very amusing. Once they were certain he was going to live, of course,” she added with a chuckle.

“Of course,” Minerva said, smiling. “But still – please don’t take this the wrong way – but I still find it difficult to fathom.”

“Why? Because he’s Slughorn or because he’s Slytherin?” Gertrude asked, mirth in her eyes.

“Well, both, I suppose,” Minerva admitted. “Not really either one, just both together. And he doesn’t seem to be capable of swift locomotion, you must admit, let alone any kind of leaping about.”

Gertrude laughed out loud at that. “No, no, no ‘leaping about’ for Horace,” she said, then laughed harder. When she had some control over her laughter, she said, “It is an amusing thought, I agree, and incongruous, but he is an excellent Potions Master and he certainly takes the safety of his students seriously. He would never let harm come to them if he could help it. Surely you must appreciate that, Minerva.”

“Of course . . . I suppose it’s just the image,” Minerva said with a smile, just as amused by Gertrude’s own amusement as she was by the image of a portly Slughorn, clad in yellow, orange, and black, leaping on a student.

“I have known Horace since he was a boy, two years behind me in school here. He has always been somewhat physically indolent, and he certainly enjoys his myriad luxuries and tends to pamper himself, but when push comes to shove, he will usually do the right thing. And in this case, it was obvious and clear-cut what that was. He wouldn’t put himself in physical danger if there were some other remedy, of course – he’s no Gryffindor – but if that’s the only avenue . . .” Gertrude shrugged.

Minerva remembered what Slughorn had said about Gertrude having had a crush on him when they were in school together. That seemed even more unlikely now.

“So . . . were you two friends when you were in school?” Minerva asked.

“We were in the same House, but I would not go so far as to call us ‘friends,’ but then, I call few people that now, and although I may have been more sociable as a student, there were few whom I would have called friends, even then. Horace, though . . .” Gertrude stopped. “For some reason, he took to following me about. Rather annoying, actually. I was a prefect, and when he was made a prefect, he did whatever he could to have patrol the same evenings that I did. So I suppose he thought us to be friends.”

“He had a crush on you?” Minerva asked, trying to hide her amusement at the thought of a mini-Sluggy have a crush on young Gertie.

Gertrude shrugged. “I suppose something of the sort.” She raised an eyebrow at Minerva’s poorly suppressed grin. “It’s not as though I was completely homely as a girl, you know.”

Minerva shook her head. “I didn’t think you had been. You aren’t now. It’s the image of a young Slughorn, who, for some reason, I can only picture as a shrunken version of his current self,” she said with a little giggle, “following you about being, well, Slughorn.”

Gertrude smiled. “I’m sure you will see the same thing year after year as you teach here, students with crushes and such, and then the students grow up, and some are just like larger, older versions of their younger selves, and others change quite a bit and you wouldn’t recognise them twenty years later.”

“And what sort am I?” Minerva asked, curious, though she was fairly certain that she hadn’t changed very much, except, of course, to have grown up.

“Obviously you have matured and don’t run about doing headstrong things anymore – perhaps you actually should occasionally – but you were always bright, serious, and caring. You were sometimes even too solemn, I thought, for a Gryffindor, but I didn’t get the sense that you were unhappy. You were just very . . . intense. You still are, though a bit less so, perhaps. No, you are one who is completely recognisable, and all to the good, Minerva,” Gertrude said.

Suddenly, Minerva sat up straighter and said, “Oh! Oh! Oh, my!” She blinked.

Gertrude became alert. “What is it? Is there something wrong?”

“No . . . no, I don’t think so. I think perhaps that Albus may be back?” she answered in a questioning tone.

“You felt the wards shift back to him, then?”

“Yes, at least, I think that’s what it was. I could feel him – that is, I felt something,” Minerva said, trying to keep from blushing. “I thought it was him taking the wards back.”

Five minutes later, the wizard himself appeared, his head floating in a green flame in Minerva’s sitting room fireplace.

“May I come through?”

“Of course!” Minerva said.

He disappeared for a moment, then stepped into the sitting room. “I am glad to find you two together.”

Minerva stood and offered him her chair, but he sat instead in one of armchairs by the fireplace. 

“Would you like a sandwich? Some tea? Blampa can bring a fresh pot,” Minerva offered.

Albus smiled. “A sandwich would be most welcome. But I don’t think I could drink any more tea. Perhaps just some water.”

Minerva called Blampa and asked for pitchers of both water and apple juice, then put a sandwich on her plate after cleaning it with a quick charm, and handed it to Albus, saying, “It’s cheese and mixed pickle. I hope that’s all right.”

“Fine, my dear. Thank you very much.” 

He bit into the sandwich and chewed slowly, then accepted the glass of apple juice Minerva handed him. He looked very tired, she thought. He had needed a nap and instead he had had to rush about taking care of unpleasant business. The two witches waited quietly for Albus to eat.

After he had finished half his sandwich, he looked up at them and said, “I’m glad to find you together. More convenient this way. And I’m sorry, Gertie dear, to have dragged you away yet again from your holiday. It looks as though you were having a nice time, too.” Gertrude was still in her Muggle trousers. “There is little to tell you, except that his remains will be released to his family sometime in the next few days. I did go and break the news to them. It was difficult, since they did not know that he had been bitten, or anything of where he had been in the last few weeks, which was most unusual for them, since he generally spent most of his holidays with them. I tried to emphasise the heroic aspect of what he had done . . . but still, it was difficult.” Albus let out a deep sigh. “The letters will be available tonight, and I will fetch theirs at the same time I retrieve mine, and I will deliver it personally. I think tomorrow will be soon enough for that, though. It will give them some time to . . . become somewhat used to the idea. If that is possible.” He sighed again.

“We wrote your letters, Albus. There’s one drafted for the staff, one for the members of the Board of Governors, and Gertrude wrote one for the students,” Minerva said. 

Albus nodded. “Thank you. That will save me time. I will owl the staff and the Governors this evening before I return to London then, and prepare the letters to the students to be sent out tomorrow. Could you send those out in the morning, Gertrude? Johannes was returning at the same time I did. I already informed him of the sad news. I am sure that he would be happy to assist you. And Minerva . . . I hesitate to ask this of you, and you needn’t feel obligated, but if you would accompany me tomorrow morning when I deliver Robert’s letter to his family –”

“Of course!” Minerva said immediately. “Just let me know when. And what I should wear – a Muggle dress, I suppose?”

Albus nodded in response. “Thank you for the sandwich. I think that we will skip dinner this evening. Anyone who wants something can call a house-elf. I told Johannes already when I saw him. Wilhelmina and Hagrid won’t be back until late tonight, so no one else is affected. I will get the letters ready – I am sure you would like to return to your rooms and change, Gertrude, but if you could accompany me to my office first?”

Minerva gave Albus the letters she had written for him, and then showed the two to the door, as Albus said he would prefer to walk and not develop the habit of Flooing everywhere in the castle and become lazy. Minerva highly doubted that that particular wizard would ever become lazy, but she didn’t say anything. As he and Gertrude were leaving, Albus turned to Minerva.

“How were the wards? I presume, because you didn’t mention anything, that everything was fine here.”

“Indeed, although for the first couple hours, I thought they would drive me to distraction, the way they burbled through my magic at odd intervals, but Gertie showed me how to settle them down, or whatever you might call it, and then they were fine until you came back.” Minerva smiled involuntarily. “That was rather interesting and not at all what I expected based on your description, Albus.”

“Really?” Albus asked, raising a curious eyebrow. “You shall have to describe it to me at some point, and I will also explain the transfer process better. I am sorry I did not tell you about it earlier. I thought there would be plenty of time between now and September to do so.”

“That’s fine, Albus. It was just . . . peculiar,” Minerva reassured him.

“I will let you know when we will leave. Would you mind accepting the wards again this evening when I pop into the Ministry? It will only be for a short time, but if not, Johannes –”

“I am happy to. I am not going anywhere, after all,” Minerva said.

Minerva closed the door behind them, then cleared up the tea things with a wave of her wand. For the first time, she wondered what it was that Gertrude had been doing that she had been dressed in her “scandalous” trousers and unavailable to accompany Albus. Then she thought that Albus may have wanted to fetch Gertrude to go with him to see Pretnick’s family that afternoon, but it was she whom he wanted with him tomorrow, and not Gertrude. It shouldn’t matter, but the thought pleased Minerva, and she was very glad Albus had asked her, even though it was bound to be a sad and uncomfortable outing.


	106. Reverberations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus and Minerva talk about the wards. They read Professor Pretnick's letter. Albus tests the wand effect between their wands. Minerva becomes upset with Albus when he seems to withdraw from her again, and Albus feels he continually disappoints Minerva.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall.

**CXXV: Reverberations**

Minerva was sitting at her desk when she again felt the tickling in the palms of her hands and the vibration in the soles of her feet that indicated the wards had shifted to her. From what she remembered from her time assisting Albus with the wards during the summer before her seventh year, he was able to seamlessly transfer the wards to and from Dippet without being in the Headmaster’s presence, but in order to transfer them back to Albus or to one of the other Heads of House, Dippet actually had to be in the physical presence of the other person. Dumbledore had explained that it was very useful for him to be able to do transfer the wards discreetly, since it further camouflaged the fact that he actually held the wards most of the time, even when Dippet was present in the castle. If for some reason the person holding the wards had to leave the grounds and was unable to pass them on, as soon as they departed, the wards would snap to whichever Head of House was present and closest to Hogwarts Heart. If no Head of House were available, the wards would simply “tend to themselves,” as Dumbledore put it. It was not ideal to have the wards unattended, since if there were an accident or if someone was attempting to foil the defensive wards, no one would be made aware of it, and there was also some benefit to having the wards tended by a true intelligence, rather than by the castle itself. Dumbledore had told her, though, that now that he had completed the most fundamental repairs on the ward lattice, the wards themselves would remain unaffected for a long time even without the annual renewal – years, in fact – and would only very slowly begin to disintegrate from the lattice, beginning with the wards that he had not yet repaired, and ending with the wards that helped maintain the physical integrity of the castle, which had been among the first that he had realigned. Hogwarts own magic was sufficient to maintain them without a Keeper, and although the infusion of magic at the time of the ward renewal each August assisted in retuning the wards and reinforcing the ties between Hogwarts and the Heads of House, and the Headmaster or Headmistress, it was not immediately essential to their continued functioning. If the wards were not renewed yearly, however, not only would the connection between the Heads of House and the castle’s magic begin to thin, but the lattice itself would, over time, weaken. The castle and the foundational wards could only do so much without the contributions and the stimulation provided by the annual ward renewal.

Minerva wondered why she had been installed after the ward renewal, and not before it. Obviously, since James was unavailable for the warding and Dustern’s contract term didn’t end until the third of August, it made sense for Dustern to take part in the warding, but she didn’t understand why Wilhelmina had participated in the warding, and not she. Minerva was also curious about how it was that Hogwarts knew she was a Head of House now. It must have something to do with the Gryffindor book accepting her. She wished that _Hogwarts, A History_ , had discussed the wards and how Heads of House were chosen and installed, but she supposed it was just as well that that information was not commonly available. Nonetheless, Minerva Summoned her copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ from its shelf and flipped through to find the chapter that described the rejection of the designated Head of Hufflepuff a few hundred years before.

She was about to begin reading that chapter when she decided to flip to the back of the book. For her eleventh birthday, her parents had given her a self-updating edition of _Hogwarts, A History_ , with a one-hundred year subscription to the updates. Minerva wondered whether the book’s editors had yet added anything about her to the book. It wasn’t evident from the final page that they had, but the pagination had changed, so she used an indexing spell and found a page with her name on it. She smiled. There it was, in the chapter containing current descriptions of the Houses and their most recent accomplishments. It was just a few brief paragraphs, but now she was a part of _Hogwarts, A History_. Her name had been added to the table of Hogwarts staff when she began teaching, of course, but to her, that wasn’t the same as being mentioned in the text itself.

_“On the second of August 1957, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, Care of Magical Creatures instructor, stepped down from her position as Head of Gryffindor and was replaced by Minerva M. McGonagall, Transfiguration Mistress. As a student at Hogwarts (1936 - 1943), McGonagall was first a prefect and then Head Girl, and achieved nine NEWTs (seven ‘Outstandings,’ in Ancient Runes, Astronomy, Charms, Defence, Herbology, History of Magic, and Transfiguration, and two ‘Exceeds Expectations,’ in Arithmancy and Potions, respectively)._

_“Professor McGonagall is known for her innovative work with the Ministry’s Committee on Experimental Transfiguration and her scholarly contributions to Transfiguration Today and Metamorphosis Monthly, but her most remarkable achievement was her defeat of Madame F. Feuilly, formerly of Beauxbatons, in an Apprentice’s Challenge in 1948. No Challenge had been issued in Transfiguration since 1696 in Halle, when an apprentice, K. Schmidt, Challenged his master, Master Friedrich Hauptmann, and failed. Following his failure, Hauptmann dismissed Schmidt, rather than releasing him, and the apprentice disappeared into obscurity. Of the six recorded Transfiguration Challenges issued between 1220 and the present, McGonagall was one of only two apprentices to be successful. Issuing the Challenge was certainly a hallmark of a true Gryffindor. McGonagall’s achievement, however, was Madame Feuilly’s downfall, and the latter witch left Beauxbatons in disgrace mere months after her defeat at the hands of the Gryffindor witch._

_“There are rumours regarding McGonagall’s participation in covert missions during the Grindelwald era, but none have been confirmed, and it is known only that she first worked in a small office of the Department for International Magical Cooperation, War Division, following her NEWTs in 1943, and was promoted in January 1945. There are significant lacunae in her Ministry record surrounding the cause of her promotion and the sudden change in her duties, and one may draw the conclusion that McGonagall exercised some measure of Gryffindor bravery that brought her to the attention of her superiors._

_“Professor McGonagall replaced Professor Dumbledore as Transfiguration teacher in December 1956. Dumbledore was Head of Gryffindor House until his elevation to Hogwarts Headmaster in November 1955. Notably, Dumbledore was McGonagall’s Head of House and Transfiguration teacher during all but McGonagall’s first year as a student, and she appears to be the eminent wizard’s natural successor. What we might next expect of Professor McGonagall is only speculation, but good authority has it that she may be in line to replace Gertrude Gamp as Deputy Headmistress, a position normally held by a Head of House and formerly held by Dumbledore himself. (See the entry on page 1,837 for the facts surrounding Professor Gamp’s unusual appointment as Deputy despite her never being a Head of House – the first such appointment since 1527.)”_

Deputy Headmistress? Minerva had always had great respect for _Hogwarts, A History_ , but this seemed a bit of unwarranted speculation on their part. Simply because she had followed Albus as Transfiguration teacher and then as Head of Gryffindor, it did not follow that she would become his Deputy. And although she was aware that there had been some resistance to the idea of having a non-Head-of-House as Hogwarts Deputy Headmistress, it hadn’t been particularly vehement. Gertrude was well-respected and had taught at Hogwarts for more than seventeen years when Dippet died. The fact that she was a Slytherin had helped there, and not only because it provided balance with Albus being a Gryffindor, but also because it seemed almost half of the Board of Governors were Slytherins and rather liked the notion of a Slytherin as Deputy, and if it couldn’t be Slughorn, they were just as glad that it was Gertrude, despite the fact that she was somewhat unconventional.

Minerva hoped that Gertrude didn’t see this. She might think that Minerva had designs on her job. But she probably wouldn’t have any reason to look at _Hogwarts, A History_ , and fortunately the _Daily Prophet_ hadn’t published that tidbit of speculation. Of course, Gertrude had said that she didn’t want to be Deputy forever, or some such thing, and hadn’t ever wanted the job in the first place, only taking it because Albus had needed her. 

Minerva thought back on the conversation she had had with Gertrude that morning in Gamp garden. Knowing Gertie a bit better now, Minerva thought that the older witch had been simply impressing upon her that Albus needed help and support, and that she was in a good position to provide it and would be in an even better position if she became Head of Gryffindor. Gertie had been providing support to him for years, since before Albus became Headmaster, Minerva was sure. But being his Deputy was quite a different proposition from being his friend; Gertie now had taken on responsibilities for Hogwarts, by extension of her friendship with Albus, that she wouldn’t ordinarily have taken on. Dropping everything for Albus now meant something more than it had when he was the Deputy and she was just his friend. Or even if she’d ever been more than just a friend. . . . perhaps Gertie wouldn’t mind the book’s speculation, after all. 

It was a rather absurd idea, though: she, Deputy Headmistress. She wasn’t even thirty-three yet, and even if her age wasn’t a factor, she had only been at the school less than a year. And she was a Gryffindor, the same House as the Headmaster – although the Headmaster was traditionally said to be Houseless upon taking up the position, and that’s why his robes reflected the symbols of all four Houses. There would doubtless be some opposition to such an appointment, even if not from the staff, from the Board of Governors. Now that the idea entered her head, though, Minerva found herself liking it, despite its improbability. As she had said to Gertrude herself, Flitwick might make an excellent Deputy. But would he be as devoted as Gertrude had been? He and the Headmaster were friends, but they hardly had the bonds that Albus and Gertrude did. Not that that was a necessary prerequisite. From everything Minerva had been able to tell, Albus had never been great friends with Dippet, although he seemed to like him fairly well, yet Albus had been completely devoted to Hogwarts and had served the school well. It was probably only an incidental benefit to the school and to Albus that Gertrude was so devoted to him personally. But Albus was an extraordinary wizard with extraordinary duties; he was also not only Hogwarts Headmaster, but he had obligations outside the school. Beyond that, he was a man who would take on too much, if given the chance, and although he was quite capable of delegating, he had a tendency to drive himself too hard. He needed someone to look after him personally, not just in his capacity as Headmaster. Minerva was sure that Gertrude would have done that for him even if she hadn’t been made Deputy, but it was much easier for her since she was. 

If anyone spoke to Minerva about becoming Deputy, she would not shy away from it the way she had been so uncertain about taking up the position as Head of Gryffindor. There were three other Heads of House, but she doubted that any of them cared for Albus in any way approaching her concern for him, even on a platonic level. No, if Gertrude did want to leave her post, then Minerva would take it up if asked, and without hesitation. No doubt, Gertrude would continue to care about Albus and the school and could be counted on to lend a hand now and again if need be, but if she were no longer Deputy, she would want to be secure in the knowledge that whoever became Deputy after her would take care of Albus and occasionally protect him from himself. 

Minerva suddenly sat up straighter and shivered slightly. Albus must have returned. She would just ask him about the wards. Minerva sent the book back to its shelf and left her rooms, taking the stairs at a trot. She wasn’t sure where Albus was, whether he had returned to his office before taking the wards back or had done so as soon as he passed through the gates, but she wanted to catch him before he became busy with something else – unless he was with one of the other staff members, of course. But she could wait for him in his office in that case, and if it were too long, she would just leave him a note that she would like to speak with him. There was no rush, but now Minerva’s curiosity was piqued, and she wanted to know more about it all as soon as possible.

 

Minerva thought she could hear someone else on the stairs below, and as she rounded the landing between the third and second floors, she caught sight of Albus making the same turn between the first and second floors.

“Albus!”

Albus looked up. “Minerva! Is anything wrong?”

“No, nothing. I just wanted to speak with you. Do you have a moment? I know that you’re busy, but – ”

“Not too busy for you, my dear,” Albus responded. “I have done what I could for today, anyway, for the most part. I finished up the two letters to the staff and the Board of Governors and Gertie was owling them for me. So I can certainly spare a few minutes for the Head of Gryffindor!”

Minerva smiled. “Actually, it’s in conjunction with that that I want to speak to you. My being Head of Gryffindor, that is.”

“Let’s go up to my office, then.”

As they walked down the corridor toward the gargoyle, Minerva remembered why he had left the school. 

“I’m sorry, Albus, I should have asked immediately. Did you get Robert’s letter?” she asked.

“Yes, my dear, I did. I have not read it, however, as I did not wish to do so in the middle of the Ministry.”

Minerva nodded in understanding. “If you would like, we can discuss this later and you can read your letter.”

“The letter will keep a short while longer, I think,” Albus said as the gargoyle opened to them.

Albus let Minerva go ahead of him, and when they reached the top of the stairs, he stepped lightly in front of her and opened the door for her. A wave of his wand, and the lamps were lit. It was still light out, but it had been an overcast day, and the dark clouds now gathering warned of an approaching storm. Indeed, looking out the window, Minerva could see grey sheets of rain falling over the distant, mist-covered mountains and the occasional flash of lightening, too far off for its thunder yet to be heard.

“It is good you were able to Apparate back before the storm hit. I know you are a strong Apparater, but if there’s lightning, it’s probably best to avoid it,” Minerva said.

Albus nodded. “I have had to Apparate either into or out of areas with thunderstorms on a few occasions. It is highly uncomfortable and does take a greater degree of concentration than usual. Fortunately, I have never Splinched. Nonetheless, I would avoid Apparating in such a storm unless I had no other option, either to wait or to travel in some other manner.”

Minerva was pleased when he didn’t make a move to sit behind his desk. It seemed perhaps he would, indeed, be more open with her now. 

“I was curious about the wards, the rewarding, and my position as Head of Gryffindor,” Minerva said.

Albus smiled, eyes twinkling. “You are never curious about just one small thing, are you, my dear?”

“Well, as you said at the time, we should have guessed that my Animagus form might be a cat,” Minerva said, returning his smile.

“Do you have more specific questions, or would you prefer a long, rambling dissertation that might keep us here till midnight?” Albus teased.

Minerva shook her head, smiling, and said, “Specifically, I was wondering first, why Wilhelmina had participated in the warding and why I hadn’t been installed beforehand, and second, how it is that you can pass me the wards when I’ve never done anything with them, and third, what it is that I feel when you take them back again.”

“Hmm, well, in answer to your first question, Wilhelmina had taken part in the ward renewal before, as you know, and I thought it would be valuable for you to see at least part of it done before you participated the first time. Also, and this is connected to your second question, you do need to be introduced to the ward lattice before you can actually work with it – at the moment, you can make changes to the portrait network in Gryffindor Tower, but until you are introduced to the ward lattice and Hogwarts magic, you can’t manipulate the wards or the portrait network in the rest of the castle. I can, in theory, pass the wards to anyone, although only someone who is or once was a Hogwarts Head of House or Headmaster or Headmistress can manipulate them. So you could react to a change in the wards or to an alarm, but you cannot at this time make any changes yourself. In order for Gertrude to be an effective Deputy, I introduced her to the wards when she took her post. Normally that is only done for Heads of Houses. It is usual practice for the newly installed Head to be introduced to the Hogwarts magic and the ward lattice on the same day they are installed, but because I still had a few minor tweaks to perform, including helping Johannes with a minor problem with the Ravenclaw portrait network, and the others had organised a celebration for you, I thought there was no hurry and we could do it any time between then and the first of September. Does that answer your questions?

“Yes, although I don’t understand the mechanics of the transfer and only remember what little I was told that summer that I worked on the wards with you and Gertrude.”

“I think it would be most helpful if you were to read the section on the warding that is in the Gryffindor book. Only the explanation in the Ravenclaw book is more thorough than the one there. After you have read that, you can ask me any specific questions you may have. Does that suit?”

“That’s fine – it makes complete sense, in fact. But what of my third question?”

“Your third – ah! What it is that you experience when I take the wards back – without a description of what you experience, I don’t know as I have any explanation, except to say that passing the wards to you is rather passive, as though you were standing there and I placed a scarf around your neck. You notice the scarf, but you needn’t do anything, and it’s a fairly unremarkable experience. On the other hand, when the wards return to me – unless you pass them to me – I am actually reaching out and _taking_ them from you. They have had a little time to settle into your magic, and so you notice when I reach out and take them away – as though I am pulling on many small strings until they all snap back to me. I haven’t known anyone who claimed it to be more than slightly uncomfortable at the worst, and it’s usually just as I told you earlier, a slight sense of pressure against your magic, as though the air pressure had increased, then a bit of a breeze passing through your magic, then a sensation of lightness. Was it particularly uncomfortable for you, my dear? If it was, perhaps simply introducing you to the wards will ameliorate that effect.”

“No, and now I think I understand why I didn’t experience it quite as you said I would, since I know now that you are reaching out and taking them back. I am just surprised that I should feel it when you are so far away from me.” Her brow furrowed.

“What was it you felt, then?” Albus asked.

“You know that I said that I have sometimes used the musical metaphor when thinking of the way your magic feels, that I understood when you spoke of harmony and instruments playing in the same key?” When he nodded, Minerva continued, “Well, I am often able to sense your magic; even as a student, I was quite aware of it, despite not normally being particularly perceptive that way. At the time, I put it down to . . . to having so much familiarity with your magic from working with you, but now I see that it may have just as much to do with the fact that our magic resonates well together, as you put it – that whatever it is about our magical signatures that drew us both to these wands, or our wands to us, allows me to sense your magic in a way that I don’t usually sense the magic of others.”

“Yes, I see that – it actually crossed my mind after the occasion upon which you were able to sense my presence in the classroom during your tutoring session, but I said nothing of it, as I was not yet going to tell you of our wands,” Albus said, nodding. “But what does that have to do with your third question?”

“I could feel your magic as clearly as if we were touching and you were performing some spell nearby. It was . . . loud, to carry through on the music metaphor. Not unpleasant, merely unexpected, and I could feel that it was your magic passing through mine in this rushing way, more like a fast mountain stream than the gentle breeze that you described. And then there was the lightness that you mentioned, but I also felt cold afterwards – not physically, and it didn’t last, but . . .” Minerva shrugged.

“How very unusual.” Albus thought a moment. “Do you mind an experiment, Minerva? I don’t think there’s any danger to it. The usual way of passing the wards back and forth involves having the two individuals in physical proximity and using both wands. I have found that inconvenient, and after so many years of manipulating the wards, it is certainly just as easy for me to do it the way that I do. But I would like to see what you would experience if we were to pass the wards in the traditional manner.”

Minerva nodded. “I would be interested, too.”

He stood and she followed suit. “You need your wand out, my dear, and I, mine,” Albus said. “There we are. I will do it nonverbally as it’s a bit faster that way. Now hold your wand up, yes, like that.”

Albus raised his wand, holding it at an angle to Minerva’s, and a moment later, she felt a vibration in the soles of her feet and an itching in her palms.

Albus raised his eyebrows. “Well?”

“It was much the same, although slightly more intense. The other times, I felt a mild tickling in my palms and a vibration in the soles of my feet; this time, my palms seemed to itch for a moment.” She shrugged.

“All right, my dear, now we will try it with me taking them back. Just stand just as you were a moment ago and this time, set your mind with the notion that you are allowing me to regain control of the wards, almost in the way that you form intent when casting a spell.”

Minerva nodded. Albus raised his wand, pointing it straight up, then with a twist of his wrist, pointed the wandtip toward Minerva and then back toward himself.

“Oh!” Minerva gasped, and for a moment, she thought she might faint, not from lightheadedness, but from the sudden intense sensation of beauty surrounding her. She shivered, then blinked.

“Minerva! Are you all right? That wasn’t supposed to happen. I’ve never seen such a thing!” He reached out a hand to her.

“I am fine – what do you mean? I am afraid that whatever I was experiencing distracted me, and I didn’t really notice what happened.”

“First, you sit, then tell me what you experienced. Are you sure you are all right?” Albus asked, his concern evident.

“Quite fine, Albus. Although . . . it’s silly, but I wish we could do that again,” she said, blushing despite herself.

Albus furrowed his brow. “What happened?”

“It was, just for a moment, it was as though I heard, or felt, the most beautiful music and I saw . . . it was like a kaleidoscope of colours, beautiful, brilliant colour, but I could still see the room, it was just colour overlaying everything, and then there was a rushing sensation and I was surrounded by warmth and softness, and a bubbly tingling, and then it rushed away again, and was all gone and I felt . . . cold.” She blushed again. “It’s hard to describe. It was like that and it wasn’t. I don’t know as I really saw anything, or heard anything, for that matter, but it felt like that to me.”

“I think it best if we do not transfer the wards using our wands again until I am certain that I have not harmed you in some way, Minerva.”

“I feel absolutely fine now, Albus. And it was quite pleasant.” It was more than pleasant. Minerva thought that if it had continued, it would have been quite literally orgasmic. But that was something she certainly could not tell him.

“Mmm, perhaps, but it sounds more invasive than it should have been. I want to be certain that I am not having a negative effect on your magic or in some way, as unlikely as it would be, binding your magic to mine. Highly unlikely, of course, particularly given that there is no intent to do so, but I would rather be cautious. Although passing the wards certainly has become so mundane as to seem nothing more than passing the Quaffle, some of the wards themselves possess a deep and ancient magic, and they may be having some unexpected effects that are only being triggered because we are possessed of mated wands.”

“It could be partly the wands, but it could also just be the nature of your magic and mine. Perhaps even if you were to use a different wand, I would feel the same effect, just not to the same degree. I am, after all, more aware of your magic than is usual for me,” Minerva said.

“You may very well be right, Minerva, but I would rather wait. And now . . . I had some thought, when you mentioned it to me, that I might introduce you to the wards this evening, as it doesn’t take very long, but I think I would prefer to wait until I have had time to do some research and perhaps perform some experiments. I may wish to borrow your wand for a few hours one day, if you permit me.”

“Of course, Albus, whatever you think best. And just let me know when you would like the use of my wand – I can have a nap or something and let Blampa spoil me the way she thinks she ought to,” Minerva said with a grin.

“I am sure that we will be able to introduce you to the wards. The worst case scenario, I will use a different wand, or even have someone else perform the introduction, although that is not ideal. Although I do believe that I could trust Gertrude to do it correctly, or even Johannes or Horace, for that matter. But it would be best if I were to do it. It is one of the very few rituals formally approved by the Ministry that involves active blood-letting, and it is very important that it be performed properly. I would far prefer to do it myself, particularly . . .”

“Particularly?” Minerva asked, still trying to comprehend that this introduction that Albus had spoken of so lightly involved active blood-letting, usually associated only with the Darkest Arts, and with concern that there might be a very good reason for Albus not to trust it to someone else.

Albus looked up at her. He smiled slightly. “I have felt somewhat responsible for your well-being for a very long time, Minerva. I would simply not wish anything to go awry.”

“Is this business about the . . . the active blood-letting in the Gryffindor book, too?” Minerva asked, wondering why no one had said anything to her about it before.

“Oh, yes, it’s mentioned briefly by Gryffindor himself, and then there are a few remarks by some of the other former Heads of House. Of course, in Gryffindor’s time, it was not viewed in the same way that it is now. It wasn’t treated lightly, of course, because of the power behind any magic involving active blood-letting – or the use of any human blood, for that matter – but there weren’t the taboos upon it that there are now, and you would find a crofter using a blood ward on his home as casually as you and I cast an Anti-Apparition ward on our homes. More casually, in fact, as often the accompanying spells were not as complex or difficult as the ones we use today.”

“Yes, I had known that – I did attend Hogwarts, after all, and it would hardly be the ‘preeminent institution of wizarding education’ on the British Isles if I hadn’t picked that up somewhere along the way,” Minerva answered. “But you said something wasn’t supposed to happen – what was that? I’m afraid I was distracted by what I was experienced and didn’t notice anything else.”

“There was an echo between our wands, resulting in a rather interesting luminance. There is not supposed to be any visible radiance when this spell is performed properly, not without intending it, and I certainly did not intend it.”

“Was that what I saw, then?” Minerva asked. 

“From what you say, you saw multiple colours that completely dominated your visual field.” Minerva nodded in response, and Albus continued, “This was primarily golden and was concentrated in a two-foot radius around our wands. What you experienced was internally generated, which is why I am concerned about what I may have done that had such an effect.”

“I think it was just the experience of your magic reaching into mine and reverberating that created it, that’s all,” Minerva answered. “I understand your concern, and appreciate it, but I don’t share it. Still, you need to do whatever it is to make certain of that, and that’s fine. But about this introduction to the wards . . . I’m sure it can’t be dangerous if generation upon generation of Heads have taken part in it, but I’m still leery of it, even with you in charge of it. More leery of any side-effects than of the ritual itself.”

“That is natural, my dear, and rest assured that it really is quite simple, as concerned as I am that it be done properly. It barely calls for any blood at all. It is just important that it be fresh and actively flowing when the ritual is performed. It’s just the slightest prick to the tip of one finger and a small dot of blood, and the pricking can be done magically without interfering with the rite, although there was a copper knife that was used for the purpose for a very long time, and that was what I used when I became Headmaster, just to honour tradition, in a matter of speaking.”

“Oh! When I think of active blood-letting, I think of, I don’t know, large gashes and subsequent copious haemorrhaging,” Minerva said, relieved.

“Oh, no, nothing like that at all; it never has been. Even if we were to use the copper knife – or any blade – we would still only require a small drop, and it needn’t be arterial blood, as in some of the oldest rituals,” Albus explained. “And it not only introduces you to the castle’s magic and the wards, but this ritual is what allows you both to draw on Hogwarts magic and to manipulate the wards; it also strengthens the Hogwarts magical field, which, in turn, lends support to the ward lattice. If anything, you will be donating more of your magic to the castle in this rite than blood, far more, though it should not prove a problem. You shouldn’t be any more tired afterward than you would be if you demonstrated a few basic spells to one of your classes. If you are, it is because of an error on my part and too much was drawn off – which is one of the reasons I want to do certain tests first to determine whether the amplification effect of our wands will prove a problem. I doubt very much that there could be any negative effects, but I want to be certain before we do the introduction.”

Minerva smiled. “That’s fine, then. Has anyone every balked at the ritual? And if so, wouldn’t it be better to mention it before the person is installed?”

“The information about the blood-letting isn’t precisely secret, but it is arcane and something that is not advertised, so to speak. I imagine that there may have been some who were uneasy with it, but I am unaware of any cases in which a Head, once installed, refused to participate in the ritual. And such a thing would have had to have been recorded if it ever did occur, simply because only after the introduction can an individual participate in the rewarding, and there hasn’t been a Head of House who has never participated in at least one. Except for Dagobert Farrier. But that is because he was killed just days after his installation and never had the opportunity.”

“Who was Dagobert Farrier?” Minerva asked, intrigued.

“A Hufflepuff Head of House in the early seventeenth century,”Albus answered. “He was killed by a jealous husband, apparently. Nothing to do with Hogwarts at all.”

“Ah . . . well, I do hope we are able to perform the introduction soon. Now that I know about it, I feel as though I’m not genuinely Head of Gryffindor yet.”

“You are, my dear, completely. Your name is in the Gryffindor book, after all, and that is the most important part. We will get the rest sorted out, I promise.”

Albus’s smile was so warm, Minerva felt as though her heart was going to leap from her chest, and she was overcome with the urge to go to him and embrace him, lean against him and feel his arms around her. Instead, she merely suggested calling for some supper.

“I am not particularly hungry, Minerva, but feel free to call Wilspy for something, if you like. I will be happy to keep you company.”

“No, I’m not very hungry, either. What about your letter?” she asked.

Albus sighed. “Yes, I do want to read it this evening.”

“Would you like me to leave? If you would like to read it privately, I understand,” Minerva said.

Albus shook his head and pulled the letter from his pocket. “No need for that . . .”

Minerva watched as Albus unfolded the parchment, the seal having already been broken by the Ministry officials. It was growing even darker as the storm approached, and Minerva lit another lamp for him to read by. As Albus read, his mouth became a grim line, and Minerva could see tears welling up in his eyes. When he was done, he held the letter loosely on his lap for a moment and looked away with unseeing eyes.

Finally, he took a breath and said, “If you would like to read it . . .”

“If it is private – ” Minerva began.

“It is, but you are not the public, my dear, and you . . . I do not know if Robert would have objected, but I do not.” He handed her the letter.

_“4 August 1957_

_“Dear Albus,_

_“I want to thank you for your kindness, generosity, and hard work. Please know that I do appreciate it although I will not avail myself of it._

_“Robert Pretnick, the Robert Pretnick whom you knew and whom you hired to teach at Hogwarts, died on the twelfth of July, bitten by a werewolf. I, who write you this letter, am a mere ghost in a shell. I know all that you have said about my life and my future, but my life ended when the werewolf took it from me. For all the good that you say I may yet do, I fear more the evil that will emerge three days a month, every month, until the day I die. If I live another fifty or sixty years, as the Healers have told me I might, that is six hundred-fifty opportunities for this evil within me to strike and curse another victim or, no better, to kill. To be safe every full moon, for three times six hundred and fifty of them, I do not believe that is likely. Possible, but not likely. How could I live with myself if I were to awaken after a full moon to discover that I had killed or infected another? And you know that a werewolf’s favoured target is a young child – to deprive a child from its family, or to deprive the child of a normal life, that would be far worse than death to me. I think of my own nephew, Matthew, and what it would do to our family if he were killed or so cursed, and I know that I cannot risk this happening to any child or any family._

_“I am very glad that I was able to help Bertie Higgs and his family, and to save them from the fate that befell me and the poor creature whom I was forced to slay. He is a fine boy; my role in the family’s escape eases my heart, and I know that my life has been well-lived, even in its last hour._

_“Please do not mourn me, or if you do, remember this: your care and kindness eased these dying days, for, indeed, I have been moribund now for weeks. Remember, too, that I do not die in despair, though some may see it that way, but in gratitude for what little good I have been able to accomplish in my life and that my death was in service to others. No other death could be happier for one who is a proud Gryffindor. I know that Professor McGonagall has been named our new Head of House; please pass on to her my warmest congratulations. I am proud to draw my last breath knowing that our House is in her care. Her visits in St. Mungo’s were very welcome, and I thank her for them._

_“Please give my regards to all my former colleagues, and express my deepest gratitude to them for all of the heartfelt work they did on my behalf. I am thankful. If you are able to see my mother and my sister and her family, please tell them that I love them and hold them in my soul as I go._

_“Good bye, Albus. I am sure we will see each other again sometime, wherever it is that Gryffies go to play when they depart this world._

_“Yours sincerely,_

_“Robert J. Pretnick”_

“Oh, Albus . . .” Minerva whispered.

“We will have a private memorial service for the staff on Tuesday,” Albus said softly. “I added that to the letters we sent out today. I have asked those who are able, to return to the school by tomorrow afternoon. We will have a brief staff meeting at three o’clock. That will give you and me time to deliver Robert’s letter to his relatives.”

“Albus . . .”

“I am aware that Professor Dustern was unpleasant to you the other day. Gertrude informed me. But I felt it was only right to invite her, as well, in the event that she would like to join her former colleagues for the memorial. I do not believe that she and Robert were close, but she taught him when he was a student. She may be affected.”

“Albus, how are you, though . . . this letter. It is,” Minerva swallowed and took a breath, then continued, “it is very sad. Whatever he may say, I doubt that you are at peace with what he did.”

Albus shook his head. “I do not agree with his reasoning, his conclusions, or his final action, but I do appreciate his sentiment and I understand why he did as he did. I still feel that there must have been something more I could have done . . . but the time for that is past,” he said with a sigh.

“You may talk to me about it, you know.” Minerva said.

A faint smile crossed Albus’s lips. “I know, my dear. You are a treasure – ” He stopped himself. “I do appreciate it. But I will be fine. Truly.”

“Albus, you have said that to me before, on other occasions,” Minerva objected. “I do not know if you really are fine.”

“I said I will be fine, my dear. And I will be. I simply . . . I simply do not wish to discuss it right now.”

Minerva nodded, but her own eyes filled with tears. It was a combination of Robert’s letter, Albus’s clear rejection of her offer of comfort, despite all he had shared with her the night before, her own sadness, and sheer exhaustion. She rejected Albus’s offer of a handkerchief, and fumbled for her own, then wiped her eyes.

“I will be fine, too, Albus,” she said evenly, standing. “I know you have a lot to do. I will leave you to it.”

“Wait, Minerva – ” Albus stood and reached for her. “You needn’t go. I . . . I may not want to talk, but I do welcome your company. And if you would like to talk . . . .”

Minerva shook her head, but made no move to leave. How could he tell her all he had of his past, weeping in remembered pain and sorrow, and then the next day, reject her offer of comfort for present grief? He had seemed to share so much of himself, and now, he would share nothing.

“Ah, Minerva, do not leave like this . . . so upset . . .”

Minerva turned away from him, and his hand caught her arm as thunder reverberated from the hills and lightning struck the loch with a sharp crack. 

“I will be fine, just as you will be. I have things to do, myself,” she said in a low voice.

“Minerva.” Albus stepped toward her. “Minerva. Please.”

Hearing those words, she could not leave, and she turned back to him. Seeing his bright blue eyes saddened so, she could not go, and she stepped in and put her arms around him, leaning into him, relishing the steady thrumming of his magic and the solid warmth of his body as his arms went around her.

“I just . . . you know I love you . . . I cannot leave you like this,” Minerva whispered.

Albus nodded mutely, seeming to hold his breath; Minerva waited, then let go and stepped back.

“But perhaps I ought to leave,” she said. “We are both tired, and we have an unhappy task tomorrow – if you still want me with you in the morning.”

“Of course I do; there is no question about that. I will call for you at eight o’clock.”

Minerva nodded and went towards the door. Albus opened it with a wave of his hand. 

As Minerva stepped through the door, Albus said, very softly, “I am sorry I am not what you wish me to be, Minerva. . . . I hope you sleep well.”

Minerva paused, her back to him, and nodded. “Good night, Albus.”

When she was gone, the door shut behind her, Albus slumped back into his chair and held his head in his hands. He could not do this anymore. It was like walking on the edge of a cliff in the dark. Soon, one day, he would slip and not be able to recover. Albus wished Minerva had stayed, though he thought it wisest for them both that she hadn’t. He had asked her to stay, and he should not have, and despite wishing that he had asked her again and had not let her leave, he believed it was for the best that she had gone when she did. How he had wanted to ask her again to remain with him, how he wanted to hear her voice and to seek comfort in her embrace, but when he thought of holding her, he thought of never letting her go, and when she relaxed in his arms and said that she loved him, it broke his heart, but better his heart be broken than her trust in him. She still loved him despite what she had learned the night before, but Albus did not know if that affection, or any affection, for him would survive if she knew of his desire for her. She would be disgusted, and become more disgusted, he was sure, as she remembered his youthful indulgences and disgrace. He loved her and did not want her to ever think that he had the same impulses toward her that he had acted upon as a young man, impulses which could hardly even have been called feelings, they had been so devoid of emotion or even of desire. No, better for her to think that he did not fully appreciate her than for her to believe that he harboured such desire, such passion, for her. 

Albus sat there long, listening to the rain beat sharp against the Tower windows and the thunder reverberating in the hills, and he closed his mind to all but the storm outside.


	107. Unsolicited Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus receives some unsolicited advice from more than one source. Minerva reflects on the day. She regrets her behaviour toward Albus, which had left him feel as though he were wanting in some way.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Gertrude Gamp, Dilys Derwent (portrait), and Eliphelet Longbottom (portrait).

**CVII: Unsolicited Advice**

Hearing neither the rain nor even the thunder, Minerva sat at the desk in her study, her quill in her hand, but she wrote nothing. She had letters yet to respond to, but her mind seemed a blank. All that she could hear were Albus’s final words to her, _I am sorry I am not who you wish me to be, Minerva._

Albus could not know what she wished from him, not what she truly wanted, but he was able tell that she did want something more from him, and it pained him. At least, Minerva hoped that he had no idea what it was she wanted from him, from their relationship. Given his obviously friendly affection for her, his almost paternal feelings, what would he do if he learned of her own overwhelming love for him? But Albus still wanted her to accompany him in the morning. Whatever he thought, or guessed, about the pathetic state of her emotions, he had not changed his mind about that – despite the fact that she had tried to pressure him to talk about something he did not wish to discuss. She had made her need for him to talk to her more important than his own comfort. And that was not what she wanted. Not at all.

Minerva closed her eyes and breathed a strained breath out. She should have just let him be. Albus may not have wanted to talk about it, but he had wanted her to stay. She should have stayed. Instead, she had left him, alone and feeling as though he were lacking, feeling worse than he would have felt if she had said and done nothing. He had already had dreadful news that day after a very long, emotionally exhausting night. It wasn’t as though she didn’t understand the desire not to talk about something, to let something rest a while before talking about it. She had waited fifteen years, after all, to speak to anyone of her feelings for Albus, and she still had never properly discussed her magical accident with anyone. And after her mission in France and Carson’s death, her parents had tried to get her to talk, and she wouldn’t. And then after Albus’s visit, they had been even more concerned about her. She knew that, she had seen it, and she knew that they wanted her to talk. But if her parents had hounded her about it . . . tried to insist that she talk about it before she was ready, she would have gone to stay with Murdoch, she was sure. But shared grief and pain . . . that was something different, wasn’t it? 

No . . . it had still been wrong to press him. Albus hadn’t wanted to discuss his feelings at that moment. Perhaps he wouldn’t have wanted to discuss them with anyone. She should have done as Gertie had advised and just let him take his time and come to her. And to love him. But it was so difficult to love him and not to show him how very much she did, and she didn’t know how to do that. Her attempt to get him to talk was a substitute for what she had really wanted to do: take him in her arms and hold him. 

Now, too, Minerva had no doubt that Quin had been wrong. Albus didn’t harbour any hidden love for her. Oh, he did love her, but as he had when she was a child. He had practically said that there in his office. Something about having felt somewhat responsible for her well-being for a long time . . . his feelings stretched back to her days as a student, and she had no indication from him that these feelings had changed at all. Even when she told him that she loved him . . . he might as well tell her she was a good girl again. But that was foolishness. Albus had said and done nothing wrong. She simply had expectations that were unreasonable, not only that, but he didn’t have the slightest idea what her expectations were, and she had no ability to tell him.

It seemed to Minerva as though each time that she felt closer to Albus and the more she enjoyed his company, the more she would afterward feel even further from him and as though it were impossible to even be in his presence. Is this what Quin meant about her joy dying? If it was, then she was helping to kill it. She had to accept what relationship she and Albus actually had and not try to force things to be other than they were. If she did push too hard, she was bound to say or do something that would be dreadfully embarrassing for them both, as if she hadn’t already done so that evening.

The storm outside was letting up, although rain still pattered against the window pane. Minerva pulled her parchment toward her.

_“Dear Albus,_

_“I am sorry I left as I did. It has been a long day, and just as long for you. I should have been more understanding. We did have a nice lunch, though, and I enjoyed discussing the wards with you. I hope you will remember that, and not just my later irritability._

_“Since we have to leave so early in the morning, I thought perhaps you might want to join me for a quick breakfast first, if that fits in with your plans._

_“I hope you will call on me over the next few days if you need any assistance with anything._

_“Sleep well!_

_“Yours,_

_“Minerva”_

Minerva wanted to tell him that she loved him as he was – and she did, though she wished their relationship could be different – but she could not think of a way to say it that would not sound overly sentimental or romantic. She was already walking a narrow line. Perhaps she could say something when next she saw him. If he came to breakfast, she could say something then.

* * *

The storm was subsiding as Albus looked up and sighed. Someone was coming to see him. There were few people in the castle now – he didn’t believe that Wilhelmina and Hagrid had returned yet. He was unsure whether he would be pleased if it were Minerva returning or not. He would be pleased to see her, but his mood was not conducive to being with her, particularly not if she embraced him again; his control was very tenuous at that moment. If he held her in his arms, he didn’t think he could let her go or, worse, given his current weariness, if he could resist doing more than just holding her. 

And if it were Johannes coming to see him, as much as he liked the Herbology teacher, Albus didn’t believe he could sustain rational conversation with him just then. There was one sharp rap of the knocker. Gertie. Albus sighed again, this time in relief, and gestured for the door to open.

“Albus?” Gertrude stepped in. She looked at him a moment. “What is wrong? Other than the obviously distressing news about Pretnick?” 

Albus shook his head. “Nothing. Just that. And I am tired.”

Gertrude examined him. “If you say so. You do look tired, though. Minerva said it had been a late night for you?”

Albus nodded. “Yes . . . we talked quite late.”

Gertrude sat down in the chair to one side of him. “Did you. . . . About Hogwarts?”

“A little about Hogwarts. A little about other things.”

“And today?” Gertrude asked.

Albus glanced over at her. “What do you mean?”

“Just that, what did you discuss with her today? Hogwarts?” Gertrude asked with a slight shrug.

“Primarily. The wards, her position, that sort of thing.”

“And Robert Pretnick, I presume – as that was a rather dominant bit of news today.”

“Some,” Albus said with a nod.

“Is that the letter?” Gertrude asked, pointing to the parchment that lay on the low table in front of him.

“Yes. You may read it, if you wish.”

Gertrude picked it up and read it through twice. She nodded. “Very Gryffindor. Not particularly sensible, but very Gryffindor. He was a fine wizard.”

Albus nodded.

“Strikes a chord with you, Albus? Perhaps a few?”

“I understand what he was saying, but I agree with none of it,” Albus responded. “Not his assumptions, not his reasoning, not his conclusions, and certainly not his action.”

“I didn’t ask whether you agreed with him or not, Albus,” Gertrude said gently.

“I don’t even know what I feel,” Albus said softly, “beyond the sense that there was so much more I could have done for him that I did not do. That I could have averted this, that I have failed . . .”

“I expected you would feel that, and I believe that if you were counselling another in your situation, you would see how Pretnick’s choices were his own and not a result of your failure. And I know that you will eventually see that, and feel it, too. But there is something beyond that, isn’t there? And some of it has to do with Pretnick and his death and some of what troubles you . . . is unrelated to that entirely.”

Albus looked at her wearily. “There are always things that trouble me, Gertrude. You are beginning to sound like one of those supposed seers who says enough that is vaguely true that, to the gullible, they sound as though they actually possess the Sight.”

Gertrude shrugged again. “We have known each other a very long time, Albus. The only sight I possess is that with which I see you now. You are tired, you are troubled, and you need some supper, which I can easily guess you have not had.”

“I doubt you have eaten, either. You haven’t even changed clothes,” Albus pointed out. “I am not particularly hungry.”

“There is no one in the castle who seems bothered by it, although I have found a few of the portraits making amusingly scandalised remarks,” Gertrude said with a slight smile. “Let’s have some supper, then. Just a cup of soup, hmm?”

Albus nodded wearily, and Gertrude called Wilspy, who reappeared just a few minutes later with soup, fresh bread, and butter. They ate in silence, and when Albus had finished, he sat back and sighed, closing his eyes, then he looked over at Gertrude.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. Now . . . do you feel up to telling me what is troubling you?”

“No . . . except to say that I do understand what you meant by his death striking more than one chord with me, and you were right.” He smiled slightly. “Thank you again – for understanding.”

Gertrude nodded and looked at him a moment. “I do understand, Albus, and I care. And I know that Minerva cares, as well. She must have been distressed by this news.”

“Yes, of course. It is, as you have said, distressing.”

“And she knew, too, how much you had hoped to be able to help him.”

Albus nodded.

“And I am sure that, caring for you as she does, it was just as distressing for Minerva to know how upset you must be as it was simply to hear the news of it herself,” Gertrude said.

“That is an exaggeration; however, I know she was concerned,” he conceded. “I tried to allay her concerns and reassure her that I will be fine – as I will be.”

“I am sure you will, and no doubt Minerva knows that, too. But she was with you when you heard the news that he had been bitten, she helped you in the days following, she was your proxy on the committee, and she was with you when you received the news today from the Ministry. I would say that my estimation of her distress was not exaggerated in the slightest, particularly knowing how devoted she is to you. You may not be able to help Pretnick, but Minerva is here and she is concerned about you and distressed by the situation. It may sound paradoxical, but you can help her by letting her help you.”

Albus looked at Gertrude sharply. “Have you spoken to her?”

“Not since you saw us together earlier. But your reaction tells me that if I had, it might have been an informative conversation.”

“No . . . but you are right. She was distressed when she left. But I am not in any position to alleviate that distress.” He sighed. “And even if I were . . . I am so tired. And I really do not wish to discuss it yet. Not with you or with Minerva or with anyone. I am sorry.” He took a deep breath. “I am sure you have other places you would prefer to be, and yet again . . . here you are. . . . Here you are.”

Gertrude took his hand. “I don’t mind. I told you I would always be here when you need me, and I try to live up to that – and it is no burden. You know it is not. No more than it would be for you.” She stood. “But if you don’t feel up to talking yet, I think some sleep might be in order. For a wizard who rarely admits fatigue, I think the fact that you have said you are tired several times this evening might just indicate that you need some rest.”

Albus stood, and Gertrude placed one hand gently on his cheek. She said, “You will have a better perspective on things in the morning. Take some time to talk to Minerva while you are together tomorrow. You will both benefit, I am sure.” 

“I am tired, but I do not know if sleep will help . . . the last days . . . the last weeks . . . I feel old, Gertie,” he said, turning his face toward her hand, closing his eyes. “Like an old, worn-out wizard.”

Gertrude shook her head. “You are not an old, worn-out wizard. But you need to deal with whatever is causing you to feel that way. And sleep might not be the complete cure, but it is a good first step, hmm?” She caressed his cheek with her thumb. 

He nodded and smiled. “Very sensible. Of course.”

“Come here,” Gertrude said softly, and put her arms around him. He leaned his weight on her and let out a long breath, and the two stood like that for a few minutes. Albus breathed deeply and tightened his arms around her, then rested his head against hers.

“Here now, I think you are falling asleep already. I’ll go now, and you sleep – rest, Albus. It will do you good. And it will help you deal with the source of your troubles.” She gave him a brief squeeze before stepping back and out of his embrace. “I will see you tomorrow.”

He walked her to the door. “Sometimes it is still difficult – ”

“Is it? Or is it only that you think it would be easier for you otherwise?” Gertrude asked with a raised eyebrow.

Albus smiled. “You are, perhaps, right. It is also ego speaking, I think.”

“Good night, Albus.” 

“Good night.” He leaned toward her and she turned her cheek to receive his kiss. As she opened the door, he said, smiling a little, “You still look rather fetching in trousers, you know.”

“So I have been told, Albus, so I have been told,” Gertie said with a slight smirk. As she stepped onto the moving stair, she called out behind her, “Don’t forget: talk to Minerva, comfort her, Albus. She needs you.” 

Then she was gone, and Albus was standing at the open door thinking that Gertrude couldn’t be more mistaken. Minerva didn’t need him, but he did need her.

As he closed the door, Albus heard Dilys’s voice above him.

“She gave you good advice, you know. You shouldn’t have let Professor McGonagall leave as she did. They both care about you. You should heed them,” the portrait said.

Albus sighed. They were just portraits. “I know they care about me. And I am not in the habit of holding my staff in my office against their will.”

“Mmm, you should have with that first one,” Eliphelet said with a bright eye. “She could be quite the enjoyable diversion for you – hidden depths, that one – depths to be plumbed, if you take my meaning!” He leered. Before Albus could object to the portrait’s description of Minerva, the headmaster continued, “But that second one, quite fetching, a bit more mature, but that can be a very good thing, and you were right about the trousers. Never saw a witch in trousers before – brought my eye right to the crux of the matter, so to speak. Would love to get my hand in there, I would – ”

Albus turned and raised his hand to the portrait, ready to cast a spell to cover the portrait and silence it in one go, but Eliphelet was already half-way out of the portrait on the way to his great-great grandson’s boring library, no doubt. Albus gritted his teeth and ignored Dilys’s voice floating down to him, instead, leaving his office for the Headmaster’s library, the closest avenue of retreat at the moment.

Albus slumped into the chair by the door, closing it behind him, leaving himself in the pitch dark. Gertrude. She did look quite fetching that night, and she had been so understanding, just as he could always count on her to be . . . but this, he couldn’t talk to her about this. He had no desire to discuss Robert’s death just yet, nor the turmoil of feelings it brought to him, and he had no ability, let alone desire, to discuss the greater source of his distress: his own unseemly desires for a young witch who looked up at him as a father-figure, and that was a generous description of himself – he was old enough to be her grandfather. Indeed, some of his classmates had great-grandchildren older than Minerva. She had come to know him when she was such a sweet, earnest young girl . . . her teacher, her mentor, and now, her friend. How could he confess his love and desire for her to anyone, even to Gertrude? Even Gertrude would be bound to be . . . not shocked, perhaps, but surprised, and definitely pitying. And it would bring up other uncomfortable topics . . . he was, sadly, well past the age when he could be considered remotely an eligible wizard. Gertrude would doubtless be kind, and perhaps brisk and practical, but she would see his folly and think him a wizard in his dotage with an unseemly, perhaps even laughable, infatuation with a very young witch completely out of his reach. How he wished it were only an infatuation.

Albus rose and turned in the dark, finding the door. Before opening it, he leaned forward, his palm resting on the door, and lay his head on the back of his hand. He had understood Gertrude, but . . . Albus sighed. It was a simple fact that the time in his life when he may have been able to develop a relationship with a witch was past. If nothing else had convinced him of that, the fiasco with Valerianna should have. But still . . . perhaps a nice widow of one hundred or so. He let out a short, bitter laugh. Even if he wanted such a “nice widow,” meeting one would not be easy with all of the duties and pressures of his work. And any such witch would likely have certain expectations of him, socially, professionally . . . and it would not be fair, either. Even if this “nice widow” were seeking companionship and not the love of her life, it would certainly not be fair to become involved with anyone now, not with his feelings, his passions, directed, however inappropriately, toward another witch, toward Minerva. If only he had found that hypothetical witch sooner, before Minerva returned to Hogwarts, before his emotions and his attachment to her had become so unavoidably powerful. He had thought he had found this witch, even before he became aware of his growing feelings for Minerva, and she was a witch whom he thought was eminently suitable, and he cared for her so deeply, and his attraction for her was so strong . . . but even by then he was already well past “eligible” and on his way to “obsolete.” And there was nothing to be done for it now. The past was past, and at one hundred-seventeen, he had a lot of experience dealing with the past and with irretrievably lost opportunities. The trouble was, despite what he had said to Gertrude about feeling old, there was a part of him that didn’t feel old at all, and that part of him unfortunately also included the part of him that loved Minerva. Perhaps it was time to resort to other remedies . . . a potion. If he could kill at least the most superficially physical part of his passion for Minerva, perhaps the rest of his passion would die a natural death, and he could love her as he should. There were several simple potions that acted directly on the libido, after all . . . most had side-effects, however, and rather unpleasant ones. And as much as he was desperate to protect Minerva from himself, there was still that selfish streak in him that did not entirely wish to be freed from his passion for her. He just wanted to avoid acting on it and making her uncomfortable with him. No, potions could wait. They would be the absolute last resort.

Gertrude was right. He needed sleep. Such bleak thoughts, such regret, it wasn’t his general nature, despite the difficult period in his youth. Albus opened the door and reentered his office. He glanced up at the portraits. 

Dilys said, “He came back. I sent him away again. I told him that if he kept up the way he was, he would meet the same fate as Charles, behind a curtain. I think he will stay at the Longbottoms’ library for a while.”

When Dilys mentioned the curtain, Albus reflexively looked over at the dusty brown cloth that covered the portrait of Hogwarts most ignominious Headmaster. He had used his ability to access any area of the castle at any time to enter the rooms of young students and molest them, and then Obliviate them afterward. Apparently he received quite a shock when one night, the wards and secret passages wouldn’t respond to him. He had been discovered the next day by the Head of Slytherin, trapped in the corridor of the girls’ dormitory, unable even to leave despite the fact that the corridor had never been warded against exit. He was Headmaster less than two months. After he was found, and it was clear that Hogwarts herself had somehow rejected him, it was learned what he had been doing, and the man was sacked. When he died, his portrait appeared in the Headmaster’s office. He had been a legitimate Headmaster until Hogwarts rejected him, after all. But his portrait had been immediately covered with a brown cloth that had never been removed, and no one ever spoke his name. Other Headmasters or Headmistresses may have occasionally abused their position to entice, lure, impress, or intimidate, many were even cruel and overbearing, but none had ever come close to committing the transgressions that he had by so very egregiously violating the most important duty of any Hogwarts staff: the care and protection of her students.

“He was right about one thing, though,” Dilys continued. “You should have kept Professor McGonagall from leaving. Professor Gamp was right, as well: that one cares about you. You shouldn’t allow her to believe that her affection and concern is unwelcome. I may just be a portrait, but I’ve seen a lot, hanging here, and I’m a bit more awake than many of them. You seem to be accepting and rejecting her simultaneously. Do something about it. She’s a generous witch. She will understand, if you allow. That’s my unsolicited advice for the day. Now I’m off for Mungo’s. They’re having a poetry reading in Healer Bothwick’s library. It’s not a very large painting, and if I don’t want to be sitting behind a bookcase or perched in the still-life across the way, I have to leave now. Good-night, Headmaster!”

Albus brought himself up to his suite and went into his study. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out the picture of Minerva, the copy of which he had given her. Perhaps it had been then . . . Albus gazed on Minerva’s face, mesmerised, watching as, time and again, she turned toward the Albus in the photograph and smiled in delight. Even now, seeing Minerva smile could not help but bring a slight smile to his own lips.

Albus put the photograph down on one side of the desk, then sat, took a bright red quill in hand, and set about writing a note. When he was finished and had sealed it with a small blob of golden wax, he called for Wilspy.

* * *

Minerva returned from the Owlery, entered her small kitchen, and began making herself a cup of mint tea. She needed something soothing before bed, but did not want chamomile tea, and her mother’s favourite, warm milk, didn’t appeal, either. Of course, she could always follow her father’s example, and do a bit of slightly warmed Scotch and water with a smidgen of honey. 

As Minerva set the tea to steep, she heard a tell-tale crack in the sitting room. She stuck her head out. 

“Wilspy – I’m in here,” she called.

“A letter from Professor Dumbledore for Professor’s Professor Minerva,” the elf said brightly, holding out a small rolled parchment.

Minerva took it, and before she could say anything, Wilspy had popped away.

Bringing her tea with her, Minerva went into the sitting room and sat at the round table by the window. She unsealed the parchment.

_“Dear Minerva,_

_“Your presence and your assistance today was invaluable and very welcome; if I have not thanked you for it, I do now._

_“I hope that you understand that simply because I did not wish to talk at that moment, it did not mean that I wanted you to leave. I am sorry if I made you feel that way. Your friendship and your companionship and your affection mean more to me than you can know. I truly do value your care and concern. We were both tired, though, and Robert’s death distressed us both. I hope you will forgive me for not saying and doing the correct thing._

_“I hope this letter isn’t too blunt, my dear, but I am just off to bed and am hardly able to hold my eyes open. But before I retire for the night, I would like to ask you to breakfast with me in the morning, if you would care to. Perhaps seven o’clock in my sitting room? If I do not see you, I will call for you at eight o’clock, as previously arranged._

_“Yours fondly,_

_“Albus_

_“P.S. I do hope to see you for breakfast, my dear.”_

Minerva smiled. It was no declaration of love, not that she would expect that, and it was rather blunt, as he said, but there was still something very sweet about it. Well, now, who was going to go to whose rooms for breakfast? Clearly their notes had crossed. But that notion pleased her. And if he was blunt, at least she understood his meaning, and it reassured her that he had not taken her declaration of love as she meant it; given his feelings toward her, that would be disastrous. But he did value her concern and her affection, and that was certainly reassuring.

Minerva decided that she would call for Wilspy when she woke in the morning and ask her whether Albus was expecting her or coming to her rooms. Since she hadn’t suggested a time, perhaps she should just go up to his rooms. But she would call Wilspy first, or send a message to Albus with her. Given their recent interactions, Minerva could see herself arriving in his sitting room as he took his backstairs to the seventh floor to go to her quarters. That was one misunderstanding they could definitely avoid, at least.

Leaving her teacup, still half full, on the table, and her ginger newt uneaten on its saucer, Minerva brought the note into her bedroom, placed it, open, by her specially framed photograph of her and Albus together, then got ready for bed, opening the draperies and setting a _Tempus_ alarm for six-thirty. With one last look at her little “shrine” with the small photo of Albus, the dried rose on its frame, the twinned white stones, and the blue nazar stone, Minerva slid between the sheets, and scarcely had she placed her head on her pillow, when she was sound asleep.


	108. In Memoriam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Albus deliver Professor Pretnick's letter to his family. Hogwarts informal memorial service for him is the following day, and Albus and Minerva spend more time together.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Gertrude Gamp, Professor Dustern,

**CVIII: In Memoriam**

Minerva woke with her _Tempus_ alarm and was pleased when a few minutes later, Blampa arrived bearing a cup of tea. Encouraged by this to force herself out of bed, Minerva saw the letter lying on her dressing table. Her sleepy brain hadn’t immediately recalled that she needed to contact Albus. She called for Blampa, who popped in looking far more cheerful than Minerva felt.

“Blampa, can you fetch Wilspy for me, or give her a message for the Headmaster?”

“I, Blampa can fetch Wilspy and give her a message, yes!” Blampa said, bouncing on her tip-toes.

“Only one or the other. Please have Wilspy let the Headmaster know that I will meet him for breakfast in his suite at seven. Please return to me here afterwards.”

The house-elf Disapparated, and Minerva selected her navy blue Muggle suit and cream silk blouse. She had acquired it when she lived in London and occasionally had the need for such a thing. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, to her way of thinking, the skirt seemed too narrow to walk in comfortably, but it was stylish when she bought it a several years ago, and she thought it was still sufficiently fashionable that she wouldn’t look entirely out of place. Black slip-on court shoes, taupe stockings, chemise – she couldn’t bring herself to wear a bra. Uncomfortable things. She had tried one once, thinking to have one to go with her few Muggle outfits, but decided that she was hardly likely to undress for a Muggle who would notice her chemise and its Support Charm. And suspenders were likewise out of the question; her Charmed stockings would have to do. They required no garter belt. She couldn’t imagine having to dress completely as a Muggle everyday. She had a little blue hat with a small black feather that went with the suit, and she found that. Minerva thought she would look quite presentable. 

There was a sharp snick, and Minerva turned around.

“I, Blampa, gives Wilspy Professor Minerva’s message for the Headmaster,” Blampa said proudly.

“Very good, Blampa. Did Wilspy say anything?”

“No, Wilspy goes to her Professor.”

“Thank you, Blampa. That will be all.”

Minerva showered quickly and dressed, putting her hair into a French twist. It would look well with her little hat, she thought. For jewelry, since all of her earrings were Charmed and would not bear close inspection by a Muggle, she decided to wear only a small gold and cloisonne brooch on her suit jacket. Slightly old-fashioned, but it picked up the colour of her suit nicely. The last thing she did before leaving her room was to find a pair of gloves and her small black handbag. It was just large enough to put her wand in diagonally. She kept some Muggle money in it, and she added a fresh handkerchief. If she were truly Muggle, she would have a lipstick and compact, but Muggle make-up always felt so peculiar, particularly the heavy, waxy-seeming lipstick. She could purchase some Charmed make-up, she supposed, but she never really used it, being perfectly adept at the few make-up charms she used regularly.

Minerva Flooed to her office then hurried up to the second floor. She was very nearly late, and would have been if she had had to walk the entire way. She could have simply Flooed to the office, but she understood that that was to be reserved for emergency use only. And she couldn’t blame Albus – you couldn’t have people popping in unannounced all of the time, after all, even if the only people who could do that were the Heads of House and the school matron. And the Deputy, of course, but she knew that Gertrude didn’t make a habit of using the Floo. Even though he was expecting her this morning, Minerva thought it polite to give him some warning that she was coming up by using the gargoyle entrance. It seemed to provide an admirable doorbell for him, if he weren’t too deeply asleep.

As she rode the stairs up to the office, Minerva was slightly nervous. In so many ways, she felt closer to Albus than she did any other human being, and there were times when she had the sense that he felt close to her, too. Perhaps not in the same way, but that he trusted her and loved her. She had certainly felt that way the other night when he had told her so much of his past, all of those things he had seemed to fear would disappoint or disillusion her. But then at other times, she could feel him withdrawing, or he would behave in a way that puzzled and confused her. They would have such a lovely time together, she would feel closer to him than ever, and then – he would do or say something that left her wondering whether he truly enjoyed their time together anywhere nearly as much as she did. Part of it might be that she tended to be oversensitive to his every word and gesture, positive or otherwise, because she placed such a great weight on their relationship and her own feelings for him were so very intense. Minerva worried now that even if Albus were his normal, kind, genial self, that she would find him wanting and say or do something that was unwarranted, hurting his feelings. Worse, though, Minerva feared saying or doing something that would reveal the true nature of her love for him. She had given Albus opportunities to explore how she felt about him if he did, indeed, feel something more for her, as Quin had suggested, but he had not responded at all. She was once more becoming resigned to the fact that his love for her was that of a mentor or older relative and likely to remain that way. And it could be that he was past wanting any kind of romantic relationship with anyone at all, and it wouldn’t matter if she were older, or if she hadn’t been his student. But that was of no consequence. Albus felt as he did, and her explorations had only made her sadder.

Last night . . . at least he hadn’t stiffened and patted her back, telling her he was “fond” of her, too. But he had not seemed to respond at all when she said that she loved him. Minerva didn’t know which was worse. But at least he seemed to accept her words. She would just have to be very careful not to repeat it too frequently or to say it in a way where he could hear precisely how much she loved him. That thought brought tears to her eyes, and she wiped them away before opening the door at the top of the stairs. 

Minerva began to cross the office to the brass staircase that led to Albus’s suite when Dilys’s cheerful voice greeted her.

“Good morning, dear! Come to see the Headmaster? Very good . . . he was saying just yesterday what a treasure you are . . . and how he values you and your concern. I am sure he will be very pleased to see you. He was quite sad when you had to leave yesterday.”

Minerva never felt particularly comfortable speaking with these portraits, though she supposed she would become more used to it. Certainly the portraits at Hogwarts, particularly those of the former headmasters and headmistresses, were more lively and seemed more real than most portraits she was acquainted with, with the exception of a few at the Ministry, but she had rarely been in their company.

“Good morning, headmistress,” Minerva said, unsure what else to say in response to the information that Dilys had just imparted.

“Dilys, please, dear. Well, you go on up. I am sure you are anxious to see him.”

Minerva went up the stairs, remembering how the first time she had attempted it, she had landed at the bottom and Albus had stood at the top, quite amused. She still didn’t find it amusing. But he had been sorry, and as far as Minerva could tell, she was one of very few people who did not require an invitation to mount the stairs. Gertrude was correct in one thing: he should change his system. Simply requiring a second password would be sufficient security, she would think. It was nice, though, that he had charmed them to recognise her. Dilys was right, too. Albus did value her. And it was unsurprising that he had been sad when she had left, but so had she. She would have to work on avoiding creating circumstances that would lead to such strained expectations on her part. She should just be patient with Albus. Give him his own time. And perhaps if she did that, he might eventually come to love her as she did him, which was hardly likely to happen if he felt that he was always wanting in her eyes, or was not who she wished him to be, which sounded even worse. She would not want Albus to be anyone else; Minerva only wanted him to feel something for her which he clearly didn’t and which could not be forced.

As she reached the top of the stairs, the door to the sitting room opened, and Albus was standing there, dressed in a grey flannel three-piece suit with a neat pocket square, a gold fob hanging from his watch-chain, and matching gold cufflinks, his black shoes shined to a high polish. He hadn’t applied a Glamour; however, Minerva thought she spied a black bow-tie obscured by his beard. She thought he looked very nice, and very authentically Muggle, despite the long hair and beard, and she hoped that he didn’t use a Glamour that day.

She smiled. “Good morning, Albus!”

“Good morning, my dear. I was pleased to receive your invitation to breakfast last night, and equally pleased to receive your message this morning saying that you would be arriving at seven. You look very nice, quite smart,” he added as he admitted her to his sitting room.

“Thank you, you do, too. Very appropriate,” Minerva said, admiring how nicely the suit accentuated his long legs and broad shoulders. Sometimes in his robes, you could scarcely tell where his waist began, let alone how fit he was.

“Yes, well, I didn’t think that a more colourful choice would be suitable for this occasion. I am glad you find it appropriate.” He pulled out a chair for her. 

Albus thought Minerva looked lovely, just as lovely in a Muggle suit as in her prettiest robes, but her legs were really quite distracting. He was very glad that shorter robes had never become fashionable among adult witches. Minerva had lovely ankles, and the curve of her calf was enough to make him want to caress her leg from her calf to her sweet foot. It was very good he couldn’t see her knees, Albus thought, and a vision flashed through his mind of himself kneeling behind her and kissing the backs of her knees while gently caressing her legs from her ankles to her thighs, reaching up under her skirt – he pushed slightly on the back of Minerva’s chair as she sat, and made an effort to redirect his thoughts. Breakfast, breakfast . . . he cleared his throat.

“I wasn’t entirely certain what you would like for breakfast, my dear,” Albus said, still standing behind Minerva, regaining control of himself, “so I simply asked for tea. We can call Wilspy for whatever you would like.”

“I’m actually ravenous this morning. I didn’t feel hungry at all yesterday evening and didn’t have any supper, so I haven’t had anything but tea since about three o’clock yesterday, when I had sandwiches with Gertrude, and I didn’t eat much then, since it was so early,” Minerva answered as he came around the table and took his seat.

“Well, we’ll ask Wilspy for a full breakfast, then!”

“Haggis, too, please, Albus.” She was one of the few people she knew who liked haggis for breakfast, but she liked it better than regular breakfast sausage. She might not be fond of meat in general, but she did like fish and all kinds of cured meat and sausages.

While they waited for Wilspy to return with their breakfast, Minerva asked, “Where does Professor Pretnick’s family live?”

“Just outside of London,” Albus answered as he poured their tea.

Minerva hesitated. “How are we getting there? Portkey or Apparition? I’m just thinking about my planned breakfast, and I assume they are not on the Floo-Network.”

“I thought we would Apparate – I’ll make it an easy Apparition for you, Minerva. You can eat all you like and not worry,” he said with a smile that belied his nervousness at the thought of holding Minerva in his arms, bringing his magic in perfect tune with hers, and Apparating her to the Muggle neighbourhood.

Minerva nodded. “All right . . . your Side-Alongs are usually perfectly comfortable. Better than using a Portkey, in fact.” Her heart beat faster at the thought of being so close to Albus, feeling his arms and his magic enfolding her. She would have to be careful, but there was no reason why she shouldn’t enjoy it, just a little. 

Albus spoke briefly of his visit to Robert’s sister, Anne Carter, the previous afternoon, and Robert’s mother, Sharon Pretnick, who lived with her daughter’s family.

“I believe that Robert was right. His nephew is certainly a wizard. I haven’t checked the Hogwarts book yet, to confirm it, but I have no doubt that Matthew Carter’s name is in it.”

“He spoke of his nephew to me when I visited him. He had wanted to help him make the transition from the Muggle world to the wizarding one,” Minerva said.

“I know . . . that was one of the things I told him the last time I saw him. That he should be there for his nephew, that he needed to be in his life. But . . . that obviously did not outweigh all of the other factors.”

Breakfast arrived, eggs, bacon, haggis, fried bread, toast, grilled tomatoes, and a large bowl of mixed berries and cream.

Minerva ate with a good appetite, having some of everything but the fried bread. Albus had eggs, bacon, and fried bread.

“You should have some of the tomato or fruit, too, Albus – and that’s the last word from ‘Mother McGonagall’ for the morning,” she said, holding up a hand. “Promise!”

He chuckled and helped himself to some fruit. “I think I would worry if you stopped being Mother McGonagall entirely, my dear. I would think I had fallen out of favour and lost your affection.” Hearing his own words, Albus fought a blush.

“Never, Albus.” Minerva reached across the table and took his hand. “You will never lose that. It is impossible.” She looked at him, trying to discern his mood. “I am sorry about the way I left last night. It was probably wise to retire, since we were both tired and it had been a long day, but I should never have left you as I did, feeling as though you were wanting in some way. You are not. And I don’t want you to change, not at all.” She wanted to tell him that he had her heart just as he was, but she could not. Instead, she added, releasing his hand, “I have become very attached to the wizard you are.”

“Well, thank you, my dear – and a very good thing, too, since the one change I tried recently was not a particular success.” Seeing her puzzled expression, he smiled and waved his wand twice rapidly, applying a quick Glamour that removed his beard and shortened his hair.

“As I said before, you are quite handsome with or without the Glamour, but I do prefer your usual look. If you are going to go out like that today, though, you’ll need to fix it – it’s wavering a bit,” she said.

“No, no, I thought I would go as myself. This was just a quick reminder of my recent folly.” He waved his wand once, completely removing the temporary Glamour, and hoping that his expression didn’t show how pleased he was by her words. It was silly, after all. She was just being kind and polite . . . a bit of social courtesy.

Minerva laughed slightly. “Oh, I wouldn’t call it a folly. After so many years with the beard and such, I certainly understand that you must have been curious to know what it would be like without it. It’s fortunate you are adept with Glamours and you were able to make the change so thorough but temporary. There’s a fellow in Portree, in the little bookshop there, he has green hair. I have never been able to decide whether it was intentional or not, and whether it is the result of a Glamour, a colour charm, or a potion. Whatever it is, it’s been that way for years. Morgan says his hair used to be brown, going grey.”

“Well, I am fortunate there, then . . . although green hair could be quite fun,” he said with a chuckle. 

“Not if we are going out among Muggles, though, Albus. You would be sure to attract far more attention than you even would in your robes!” Minerva said with a laugh.

“Speaking of Muggles, however, I had Wilspy fetch me yesterday’s post, and there was an invitation waiting for me in my owl box. For Melina and Brennan’s wedding.”

“Yes, I received mine yesterday morning,” Minerva said. 

“It’s to be the twenty-third. I don’t know if you are planning to be at Hogwarts at that time, but I thought if you were, well, perhaps, if you would like, perhaps we might go together?” Albus asked. “Of course, if you have another escort, or aren’t going to be – ”

“I would love that. Yes. And even if I’m at my parents, I would like to. Yes. That’s an excellent idea,” Minerva said quickly, trying not to sound too excited about it.

“Very well. We can discuss the details closer to the event.”

Minerva hesitated, remembering that Gertrude had been invited, too. “You know, I think that Melina and Brennan may have invited Gertrude. Brennan met her at my tea and they mentioned something about it.”

“Really?” Albus said, finishing his last bit of bacon. “Perhaps we could sit together. The Hogwarts contingent, so to speak.”

Minerva smiled. “Yes, that _would_ be nice, wouldn’t it? And Poppy, too, since I believe she is also attending.” He hadn’t seemed to consider even for a moment asking Gertrude to come with them. Of course, she could make it there quite easily on her own, Minerva was certain. Although she should be generous about it . . . if all three of them were in the castle and were going at the same time. What mattered was that Albus had asked her to go with him, and they would be together.

Albus nodded. “Melina also asked about the binding, as you had said she might. It won’t take long to remove the one and replace it with the basic marriage bond. I’m sure we can find somewhere to perform it quickly, and Brennan will be free to speak to and about the wizarding world however he wishes. Although, of course, I do hope he has some degree of circumspection.”

“I’m sure he does. He doesn’t want to be dragged off to a Muggle asylum, thought a lunatic, or, worse, be Obliviated by the Ministry,” Minerva responded.

They finished their breakfast and left for their unhappy deed. They walked down to the gates together, Minerva taking Albus’s elbow. He had put on a black bowler. Minerva thought a Homburg would suit him better, though, and suggested a change. Albus took off his hat and handed it to her, and with a quick wave of her wand, Minerva had changed the style of his hat. 

“If you like it, you could make the change permanent, Albus, but this should last the day, at least,” she said, “and I think it looks quite good on you, for a Muggle hat.”

“I will take your word for it, my dear!” he responded cheerfully.

They stepped through the gates, and Albus turned to Minerva. “Are you ready?”

Minerva nodded. “Yes. I trust I will not lose my breakfast.”

“I will endeavour to see to it,” Albus said with a smile. He held out his hand to her, and Minerva stepped into his arms. “Just blank your mind and let me take care of the destination and the rest.”

She relaxed, closing her eyes, her head resting against his chest, one hand on his shoulder and the other arm encircling him as she listened to his heartbeat and felt his magic surround her.

“Let me know when you are prepared,” Albus said softly, one arm around her shoulders, the other at her waist.

Wishing she could stall, but knowing she shouldn’t, Minerva nodded against his chest and said, “I’m ready.”

Albus moved his hand up and held her just a bit more closely, then Minerva felt the sensation of Apparition and a moment later, she opened her eyes. They had arrived. Slowly, she stepped back and to his side, taking his arm as she did so.

“All right, my dear?” Albus asked.

“Perfectly, Albus. Very smooth. I scarcely knew we were Apparating, and I didn’t hear a thing.” Minerva smiled up at him. She looked around her. They were on a quiet street with small, detached houses. It looked as though they had all been constructed on one of three or four plans, sometimes reversed. “Which house is theirs? I’m surprised that people don’t sometimes find themselves in the wrong house; they all look alike.”

“Give it a few decades, and the houses will take on more individuality,” Albus said, “but they don’t live on this street. I thought we would walk a little ways. There’s a park around the corner. We can cross through that and we’ll reach their street easily.”

Minerva nodded. As they crossed the little park, Albus indicated a bench near the small children’s play area. 

“Let’s sit a bit, shall we?” he asked.

Before Minerva sat down, Albus gestured with his hand, drying the bench of any remaining morning dew and sweeping it clean.

Minerva smiled and sat, crossing her ankles, her purse in her lap. “Thank you, Albus.”

“We wouldn’t want your smart suit to become soiled,” Albus said, sitting beside her. “I wanted to tell you a little about yesterday afternoon. It was a pity that you weren’t able to accompany me then, but when I was unable to find Gertrude . . . I wasn’t comfortable leaving the school entirely unattended.”

“I hadn’t realised you wanted me with you yesterday,” Minerva said.

“Yes, I had hoped to find Gertrude and bring her back to the school with me, but when I couldn’t . . . I needed to reach the Ministry quickly, not simply to find out what they knew but to try to stop them before they made the family notification.”

“Of course. Gertrude said something about the Ministry not doing well at that when it came to Muggles.”

Albus shook his head. “They mean well, usually, but they tend to confuse the Muggles’ ignorance of the magical world for general ignorance. They condescend to them, but at the same time, they don’t explain the circumstances properly. As a result, the families are never entirely sure what brought about their loved ones’ deaths. And particularly since this was not the typical magical accident, I thought they deserved as much information as they could comprehend, but especially to know how very heroic Robert had been. I thought it most appropriate for that news to come from me, rather than some Ministry official who had never known him. I thought that it would be good to have you along, not only to provide me with a little support, my dear, but as a representative of Gryffindor House. Having read his letter last night, it seems even more appropriate for the current Head of his House to be with me today.” He smiled at her. “And, of course, I very much appreciate your company, my dear. Thank you for coming with me on this sad errand.”

“I hope that his letter . . . well, I suppose it’s bound to upset them, but I hope it also gives them some comfort. Have you read it, Albus?”

He shook his head again. “It was already read by too many others at the Ministry. It was meant for them. If they care to share it with others, that is a different proposition. It does seem to be quite long, though, longer than the one that he wrote to me. In any event, yesterday, I told his sister and mother about the attack last month, and how bravely Robert defended the Higgs family. I told them that the werewolf was a Muggle woman, partly so that they wouldn’t associate his death only with the wizarding world. I would be distressed if this event caused them to deny Matthew his place at Hogwarts. I explained to them the typical life of a werewolf, but also how we had created a place for him at Hogwarts, and how his colleagues supported him, then . . . well, I hadn’t received his letter yet, so I couldn’t explain his reasoning, but I told them that Robert nonetheless believed that he could not live as a werewolf and so took his own life. It is a pity that the Ministry did not release the letter to me before I called on them; I could have given them a less bleak picture of his decision. As much as I still disagree with what he did, he believed that what he was doing was the right thing, not just for himself, but for others.”

“I know . . . I just wish he had talked to someone about it before he carried through on his plan,” Minerva said with a sigh. 

“I think the primary problem was his assumption that it was almost inevitable that he would at some point attack and kill or infect someone else. It is moot now, but I could have assured him of his safety. Not only is Belby committed to finding some kind of potion to alleviate the werewolf’s condition, and I believe that he will eventually achieve that, but we could have isolated him entirely. My cottage is, as I said, very isolated. He would run no risk whatsoever of encountering another human being if he were to stay there over his transition.”

“How can that be?” Minerva asked.

“It is the only habitation on its own little island, and it is secured by wards. It is truly set apart from the rest of the world. Perhaps I could have impressed that upon him . . .”

Minerva wondered again whether this was the same cottage at which he had discovered Valerianna with another wizard, but since they had never explicitly discussed Valerianna, and he might not know that she had heard that part of the story, she could find no way to ask about it tactfully. Instead, she listened as Albus told her about the family’s reaction to the news the previous day.

“It sounds as though they took it very hard,” Minerva said after he had finished describing his visit.

“It was a shock to them, particularly as they had no idea that he had been bitten or in hospital. There is one other thing, Minerva,” Albus said hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“It’s just . . . last night . . . I know we have cleared the air, so to speak, but I need to explain to you that I did enjoy our time together, and your offer of comfort was welcome. It’s simply that I often need time to process something before I can talk about it, and especially when I am tired. I did not mean to seem to be putting you off, my dear. I know that you care about me, and that means so much to me, please don’t doubt that. I would have found your continued company a comfort, truly . . . I just couldn’t talk about my own feelings just then. I wouldn’t have been able to find the words even if I had wanted to talk. Can you understand that?”

“Yes, I can, and I said something similar, myself, when everyone was trying to cheer up Gertrude a couple weeks ago . . . it’s just . . . it reminded me of the way you were after Carson’s death,” Minerva answered frankly.

“That was somewhat different . . . both the circumstances and my own internal state at the time. I mistakenly thought I was protecting you by not burdening you with my own grief, but I also . . . I needed to put my feelings aside for a time in order to do what needed to be done. It had been a very difficult few years up to that point, with many losses and many failures . . . I honestly do not know if I could have gathered myself together sufficiently to mount the attack on the Grindelwald’s castle, let alone to duel him, if I had . . . let go just then. It probably did take longer for me to recover after the war as a result, but, for me, the way that I function best, it was the only thing I could do at the time. Perhaps if I had had the presence of mind at the time, I might have at least . . . accepted your company. But by that point in the war . . . I think I was even beyond that.”

“I remember how you returned one night when I was in my fifth year; you were very distraught,” Minerva said softly.

“Yes, and you responded perfectly, so warmly, as I have always appreciated from you. You were very young, but you were very comforting for me, just your presence and knowing that you cared . . . .”

“Didn’t you have anyone you could talk to during the war?” Minerva asked, then immediately regretted it, feeling that she was treading on personal ground where she did not belong, but Albus answered her question without hesitation.

“Yes . . . sometimes I would, of course, speak with some of the Aurors and others who had shared the same experiences. And Gertrude was at the school, and she is well-acquainted with pain, and she lost her husband, then later, her brother, to Grindelwald. I spoke to her sometimes, but primarily . . . primarily, she was just company. She . . . she has an ability to sit and just be there.”

Minerva nodded. “Quin said that after Aileen died, she stayed with him night and day.”

“I am sure that she was a comfort to him,” Albus said softly. He looked up. “But come, it is getting later. We need to deliver the letter and speak with the family, then return to Hogwarts and prepare for the staff meeting, although I do not believe that it will be a long one. I was thinking that perhaps tomorrow, if you would like, you might say a few words at the memorial? As Head of Gryffindor?”

“Of course. I will be pleased to,” Minerva answered.

Albus stood and offered her his hand, which she took as she rose from the bench. He placed her hand at his elbow, and together, they set off to speak to a family about their sad loss and deliver his final letter to them.

* * *

Although there had been some debate the day before about the appropriate venue for Pretnick’s memorial, it was held in the rose garden, just as Wilhelmina had originally suggested. To Minerva’s surprise, Professor Dustern did, indeed, come to the small gathering, though she had not been at the meeting the previous day. The entire Hogwarts staff was present, Norman James appearing somewhat haggard after multiple Portkeys across Asia then Europe had brought him back to Britain a week early, and six members of the Board of Governors were in attendance, as well – two Gryffindors, two Slytherins, one Hufflepuff, and one Ravenclaw. Minerva had spoken the first words at the event, in her first official act as Head of Gryffindor House, and then those who felt comfortable doing so, stood and informally offered their memories of their late colleague. Finally, Albus offered his own words, stressing the heroism exhibited by the late Defence teacher and only referring once to the pressures that had brought him to end his own life, saying that he hoped that advances both social and medical would be made so that future victims of the werewolf curse were not faced with such a grim fate.

Gertrude, in her capacity as Deputy Headmistress, had arranged for light refreshments to be served in the garden and had asked the new Charms teacher to provide some appropriate background music for people to mingle and reminisce about their deceased colleague. Minerva was trying to decide whether she had any appetite when she sensed someone at her elbow. She turned and saw Professor Dustern.

“I would like to offer my condolences to you on the loss of your fellow Gryffindor. Professor Pretnick was a model for your House – I don’t mean, that is, not that his last action – I am not saying this correctly.” Dustern took a breath. “I taught him for the seven years he was a student here, and when he was brought on staff last summer, I was pleased to welcome him. He will be missed, I am sure . . . more than I will be, certainly. But also, if I may, what I said to you last week was uncalled for. You were always an exemplary student, both bright and diligent. I do not doubt your ability as a teacher or in your new position. I . . . apologise.”

Minerva, as dumbstruck by this speech as she had been by the witch’s previous invective, could only nod at first, but then she cleared her throat and said, “Of course . . . I am sure it had been a trying day for you.”

Dustern just pursed her lips and nodded.

“Apology accepted, then,” Minerva added lightly, deciding it cost her little to be magnanimous in this situation.

The former Charms teacher’s expression softened. “Congratulations on your installation as Head of Gryffindor. I wish you the best.” She offered her hand, which Minerva took and shook briefly, then Professor Dustern departed with a nod.

Minerva watched the witch discreetly as she spoke with a few of her former colleagues, shook Flitwick’s hand, then left the garden, headed in the direction of the gates.

“What did she have to say for herself?” Gertrude said as she appeared at Minerva’s side.

“She apologised for what she said last week before you Silenced her,” Minerva answered.

“Did she really?” Gertrude asked, one eyebrow raised.

“You could have knocked me over with a feather. I really don’t know which surprised me more, her initial speech or her apology,” Minerva said.

Gertrude shrugged. “I doubt you will have to deal with her again. If you do encounter her elsewhere now, though, at least you will be less uncomfortable. I actually was coming over here because I think that Albus needs to have some time to himself and some rest. Knowing him as I do, however, I believe that he would stay here until the final guest left, regardless of who it was or whether his presence was necessary. So, if you do not mind colluding with me in a bit of a rescue operation, I thought that together, we might be able to convince him that he has done enough and that he can leave the guests to their own devices.”

Minerva looked over at Albus, where he stood speaking with two of the members of the Board.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked neutrally. In principle, she agreed with Gertrude, but she thought it best not to agree to anything immediately.

“Simplicity is the best strategy here, I believe. I will approach him, join the conversation, then you will come along, and I will persuade him that he can leave the Hogwarts guests to me and the Hogwarts staff to themselves and that you should take him off for a walk – or he, you. I suggest down near the greenhouses and Johannes’s gardens, since you are unlikely to encounter anyone down there who would engage him in conversation. Does that sound acceptable to you? If you don’t mind going for a walk with Albus, that is.”

“Of course I don’t mind. We can try, I suppose. Oh, there goes Cornelius Fudge to speak to him now. I couldn’t understand why he wanted to be on the Board of Governors. I don’t think he has the slightest bit of interest in education, and he and his wife have no children. I assume he thinks that it will help him advance in the Ministry if he is on Albus’s good side.”

“Mmm, well, let’s go save Albus from the sycophants, shall we?” Gertrude said.

Minerva waited a few minutes until it appeared as though Gertrude had succeeded in fully entering the conversation, then she approached the small group. The music had shifted from sedate adagios to some brighter, lighter pieces, no doubt to encourage the mood of the attendees to likewise brighten. It seemed a good time for Albus to depart.

“Professor McGonagall, I was just speaking of you,” Gertrude said. “I am sure that you are acquainted with Mr Fudge, Hufflepuff, a few years behind you in school, and this is Mr Darrowby and Mrs Ingers, both of Slytherin.”

Minerva greeted the three school governors cordially.

“Now, I believe you needed a word with the Headmaster,” Gertrude said. “Perhaps we should allow you some privacy in which to discuss your matter. Better yet, you might wish to find somewhere else to speak. Professor Dumbledore,” she added, turning to Albus, “I am sure that Professor McGonagall could benefit from a walk, she has been so hard at work the last few days. I am happy to stay and speak with our guests.”

Before Albus knew what was happening, he had agreed, barely had a moment to take his leave of the school governors, and Minerva had taken his arm and was very gently steering him out of the rose garden and around the castle toward the greenhouses.

As they rounded the west side of the castle and the music grew faint, he smiled down at her and said, “I should have known when I saw the two of you with your heads together a few minutes ago that you were planning something.”

“Yes, well, we both know how you are – and how those people can be. They’d keep you there forever if they could,” Minerva said with some exaggeration. “We were your rescue team.”

Albus chuckled at that. “The two of you together could be quite dangerous, I do believe!” he teased.

“You never know what might happen when a Slytherin and a Gryffindor get together,” Minerva said with a grin.

“So, is there more to this plot? Do I need to be on my toes?” Albus asked.

“Oh, you should always be on your toes,” Minerva teased, “but as for this plot, I have now achieved our goal: we have arrived at the greenhouses.”

“And what are we supposed to be doing at the greenhouses?” Albus asked.

“Avoiding people,” Minerva answered simply, but her mind went to the students who liked to go to a particular nook behind greenhouse three in order to avoid people for a very specific purpose. “Let’s just walk a bit. You were supposed to be taking me for a walk, after all.”

Albus said, “Then may I recommend that we walk over to the gardens behind greenhouse three, my dear? Johannes has some lovely flowers in full bloom there.”

Minerva blushed, thinking of her recent thought about the activities that were often engaged in behind greenhouse three, but she answered, “That sounds very nice.”

Albus noticed Minerva’s blush and realised that his suggestion had likely sounded like a pick-up line, a very bad pick-up line.

“Or, if you prefer, we could walk down by the lake,” he offered.

“No, the gardens would be nice,” Minerva said.

The two walked and talked, Albus pointing out particular plants that had interesting properties or uses in potions. The conversation eventually turned back to the memorial, its attendees, and various remarks made by Robert’s colleagues. As they walked, Minerva’s hand slid down Albus’s arm, and she took his hand. Her heart beat faster. Holding hands with Albus, feeling the warmth and strength of his hand around hers, and his magic pulsing against her palm, Minerva felt simultaneously nervous and enlivened, and her hopes rose, soaring again for the first time in days.

“Perhaps we should return to the castle,” Albus suggested softly, and his voice sent a thrill through her. “Most folk should be dispersed. Or we could use the lower entry at the base of the north tower. We would probably avoid everyone, even staff, if we were to do that.”

Minerva nodded her assent. Could he possibly be feeling anything like what she was right then?

They walked back to the castle, Albus dropping her hand as they approached the tower. He didn’t draw his wand, but simply held out his hand, and Minerva could feel a ripple of magic aimed at the ancient door. It creaked open, and Albus waved his hand again, lighting the lanterns that hung inside the door.

“Have you ever been this way?” he asked.

“No. I’ve been through the exit by Wilhelmina’s quarters, but not this one,” Minerva answered.

“We’re in the upper dungeon here. It is only narrow for a short way, then we will come out to the main corridor on the same level,” Albus said. 

They reached the main corridor, and Albus offered Minerva his arm again. She was slightly disappointed that he didn’t take her hand, but she supposed that there was a remote possibility that they might encounter Slughorn or one of the other staff members. It would look peculiar for them to be walking hand-in-hand.

“Now, here is another Headmaster’s shortcut,” Albus said as they reached a bright tapestry depicting magical animals of every description, a bearded, white-haired wizard standing in their midst, a large staff in his right hand. He somewhat resembled Albus, but for the colour of his hair and beard.

Albus waved his hand and the tapestry drew itself to one side, revealing what appeared to be a blank stone wall, but at a gesture from Albus, the wall shimmered, the outline of a door appeared, then the stone vanished, revealing a hallway, well-lit with lanterns. It was wide enough for them to walk side-by-side. The doorway vanished as soon as they stepped inside, and Minerva shivered, but she was with Albus; she was safe. After a dozen yards, Albus stopped, placed his hand on the wall to his left, and another door appeared. When they stepped through, Minerva was astonished to discover they were on the second floor.

She looked around. “But ... we didn’t go up. How did we get here?” she asked.

Albus shrugged and smiled, amused. “It’s Hogwarts, my dear. That hallway had exits to the second, fourth, and sixth floors, and, of course, to the upper level of the dungeons. It feels as though we are remaining on the level, but we are not. May I accompany you to Gryffindor Tower? Or walk me to the gargoyle?”

Minerva smiled. “Your gargoyle is fine, Albus.”

When they reached the gargoyle, she was disappointed when Albus thanked her for her assistance rescuing him, then bowed over her hand, lips barely brushing her knuckles, before he wished her a good afternoon.

“I hope the rest of your afternoon is pleasant. I assume I will see you at dinner?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” Minerva answered, hiding her disappointment that he didn’t invite her up. “I hope you have a good afternoon, as well, Albus. I enjoyed our walk very much.”

“As did I, my dear. Very much. Thank you for your lovely company.”

Minerva made her way back to her rooms, taking the stairs all the way up rather than going down one flight and Flooing from her office. Her heart was in her shoes, and when she reached her rooms, she stared at the Silent Knight, her mind a blank, forgetting what her most recent password was. To her mild surprise, the Knight bowed to her.

“My lady, I am your servant. Wish you entry?”

“Yes . . .” Before Minerva could utter her password, the Knight opened her door to her.

“A most pleasant afternoon to you, my lady,” the Knight said.

“Um, thank you.” Minerva stepped through. 

There was apparently something wrong with her door portrait, since he was not supposed to open to anyone, even her, without a password, but she couldn’t be bothered with that at the moment. Somehow, she doubted, despite the Knight’s peculiar behaviour, that he would simply open to anyone who came by. She would have to read the Gryffindor book on the portrait network. Perhaps there was something she could do to fix it. If not . . . if not, she’d have to consult Albus. 

Albus . . . her throat tightened. She was such a fool. And if he were beginning to twig to her feelings, if when he held her hand – no, when _she_ held his hand – if he found that odd or uncomfortable . . . . Oh, no, he couldn’t possibly know how _she_ felt and yet _not_ return her feelings, could he? No . . . she couldn’t bear that. But it would explain why he had taken his leave from her as he had, not to mention why he hadn’t invited her up to his office. Or he could simply be tired. That was as likely an explanation as any, she decided, trying to be rational about it. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to be only Albus’s friend and nothing more. Minerva didn’t know how much longer she could bear it.

She felt like taking a nap to shut out the world for a while, if nothing else, but instead, she went into her pleasant study and pulled out a parchment and her favourite quill.

_“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
“6 August 1957_

_“Dear Quin,_

_“We had a private memorial service for Robert Pretnick today. No doubt you saw the article in the Prophet about his death. Every member of staff attended, as well as several members of the Board of Governors. As you can imagine, it has been a sad few days here._

_“Oh, Quin, I do not know how long I can continue like this. Albus and I seem so close sometimes, sometimes I feel so very happy in his company, but then other times, even being with him is painful. Even when I am happy with him, there is an undercurrent of fear and sorrow floating through my soul. I do not know how I will be able to bear it._

_“I have no doubt that we are becoming closer friends, and I know very well that Albus values me and values our friendship. I thought that would be enough, that it could be enough, but it no longer feels like enough. And yet, if I were to act on my feelings, I know he would withdraw from me, not meaning me any harm, of course, and he would likely wish to continue with our friendship, but he would withdraw as surely as he has withdrawn when I have offered him other, less amorous gestures of my affection for him. And he would pity me._

_“Today, we took a stroll in the gardens after the memorial. We were both relaxed. He joked with me, we talked about the plants, and potions, and the beauty of the day, and at some point, I took his hand. He didn’t object or let go, Quin. I thought, foolishly, that this meant something, that perhaps you had been right, after all, and he does harbour some romantic feelings toward me. But then, we reached the castle. Clearly, I recognise that it would be inappropriate for us to walk hand-in-hand through the castle where anyone could happen upon us and get the wrong idea – though I wish it were the “right” idea – but as we proceeded through the castle, he seemed to withdraw from me with every step we took. There was nothing overt about it, nothing I can put my finger on. It simply felt that way to me. Then he asked me if I would like him to walk me to Gryffindor Tower, and I told him that wasn’t necessary, so I left him at the entrance to his tower. It would have been nice if he had invited me up, Quin, but it isn’t even that he didn’t – and I could certainly understand if he wanted some time to himself after the last few days – but his manner when I left him. It was, not cool, precisely, but far more formal than it has been in the last few weeks. I felt as though, as we walked through the castle, we stepped back in time by a month or more._

_“I do not know what to do, Quin, and I don’t expect you to have any solution for me. I just needed to speak with someone. I don’t know if you are still in Ireland with your family or if you are back in London, either alone or with your children, but I believe I will be leaving for my family home in the next day or so. I promised my parents that I would spend some time with them, and Melina wants me to visit now that she has moved into the new flat. I believe that Brennan is already moved in, as well, but I have not asked and she has not said. I am hoping that some time away from Hogwarts might help me to clarify my thoughts and feelings and regain some perspective._

_“Thank you very much for listening to me – even if it’s just reading my letters – I really appreciate having someone who knows and cares._

_“I hope you and your family are all well._

_“Best,_

_“Minerva”_

Minerva was just sealing her letter when she heard barking coming from her sitting room. When she entered the sitting room, the Silent Knight bowed with a creak and left the landscape, and Fidelio sat down and thumped his tail, tongue out in a big doggy smile.

“Good boy, Fidelio. You may rejoin the Knight now,” Minerva said. She wished she knew who was at the door, but the Knight had not deigned to announce whoever it was.

Minerva opened the door and saw Gertrude standing there.

“Gertrude! Good afternoon.” 

“Good afternoon, Minerva. I thought I would stop by on my way to my rooms.”

“Your rooms are on the second floor, Gertrude, unless you have recently moved,” Minerva pointed out, but she opened the door to the older witch. “Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you. I was imprecise in my language. I thought I would stop by before going to my rooms,” Gertrude said, choosing the armchair next to the fireplace.

“I’m sorry – would you like some tea? Biscuits?” Minerva offered.

“No, thank you, although if you were about to have tea, please don’t let me keep you – ”

Minerva shook her head and sat down in the armchair across from her. “Everyone has left, I presume.”

“Yes. Did you successfully avoid everyone on your walk with Albus?”

Minerva nodded. “Yes. It was quite uneventful. I left him at the gargoyle about forty-five minutes ago.”

“I am sure he appreciated your rescue,” Gertie said with a crooked smile.

“Mmm, although he knew immediately that you and I had colluded. He seemed amused, though.”

“Yes, well, we were rather obvious about it, although I don’t believe the governors were any the wiser, even Ingers and Darrowby, although they likely knew he was taking advantage of the opportunity to escape the gathering early.”

Minerva was at a loss. Although she had come to have somewhat warmer feelings for the witch sitting across from her, she had no idea what to say or why the witch had stopped by and stayed.

“I was just about to owl a letter,” Minerva said, thinking that perhaps Gertrude would excuse herself at that point.

“Convenient to be so close to the Owlery,” Gertrude observed. “Did you and Albus have a good walk, then? It was a beautiful afternoon for a walk in the gardens.”

“Yes. It was a nice afternoon. We walked through the flower gardens before we returned to the castle,” Minerva answered. 

“I am sure that Albus was glad for the respite and to be able to spend some time with you.”

Minerva nodded noncommittally. Given her feelings at the moment, she really didn’t want to sit there discussing how glad Albus may have been to spend time with her.

“Albus may not always express himself as openly as one might think he should, as a Gryffindor, but that is an acquired habit, the result of long years of self-denial and discipline, but he cares for you very much, Minerva. You have a special place in his life, and I think you can do a lot to help him overcome some of those habits.”

“Perhaps . . . would you like to walk with me to the Owlery? I thought I would take a nap before dinner,” Minerva said.

Gertie chuckled. “No, thank you. I just wanted to stop by and see if you were in and if you had a nice walk. A nap sounds like a good idea. I may have one, myself.”

After Gertie left, Minerva shook her head. She wondered whether the other witch had some notion about her feelings for Albus and had been fishing to see what Minerva had to say about him. But she had had few occasions to observe Minerva and Albus together, and certainly on almost all of them, they had been in public. Minerva was fairly certain that her behaviour around Albus in public had been perfectly appropriate. No, whatever Gertie’s motives were for her visit and her statements, they were based on something other than observing Minerva when she was in the company of Albus. And Minerva was fairly certain that Quin would never say anything to anyone. She would talk to him about that the next time she saw him. If he had, it was likely inadvertent. She would just owl her letter and take her nap and not think about anything for a while. Then she would go to dinner and behave as though everything in her life was normal.

* * *

Albus went up to his sitting room. He should stay in his office and do some work, but there was nothing pressing, nothing that couldn’t wait until tomorrow. He was pleased with himself. He had become aware of his growing pleasure in Minerva’s company, and when she took his hand as they walked through the gardens, he had allowed him to take some enjoyment in it, mostly contentment that she cared for him. Still, as they walked, his imagination began to create a new notion, the notion that Minerva cared for him in the same way that he cared for her, that when she held his hand, her heart beat a little faster, that when she looked up and smiled at him, she was looking at a wizard with whom she was in love. Albus put a stop those wild thoughts, and when the two began to return to the castle, he vowed that he would behave as a gentleman toward Minerva, that he would not allow his fantasies to overwhelm his good sense, and that he would give Minerva no cause to be uncomfortable with his gestures of affection. And he had achieved that. He had bid her a good-afternoon just as he should, and with no indication of his ludicrous romantic feelings or his unseemly desires. Yes, Albus was pleased with himself. But he also felt bleakly empty and alone, and that was the stronger sense, overriding any satisfaction he felt at behaving with propriety.

Albus reminded himself of his blessings, including Minerva’s presence at Hogwarts and her friendship, then called to mind the happiest moments of the past few days, all of which involved Minerva, and gradually his heart eased and his mind calmed without him having to perform any Occlumency or other mental exercises. He picked up the most recent novel he had borrowed from Minerva, actually something he had read several decades before, and joined three men in a boat, to say nothing of the dog, for an hour or two of amusement before he had to check his Charmed owl box and go through the late afternoon post before dinner.


	109. Holiday from Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva leaves Hogwarts to continue her holiday at the McGonagall Cliffs. She visits Edinburgh, seeing a couple she hadn't anticipated seeing together. The next afternoon, Malcolm comes for dinner. He behaves more startlingly than usual.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey, Murdoch McGonagall, Malcolm McGongall, and Egeria Egidius.

  


**CIX: Holiday from Hogwarts**

Minerva had only been home a day, and she was already growing restless, her thoughts turning continually to Hogwarts and Albus. She had seen Albus at dinner on Tuesday evening, but had scarcely been able to speak to him, as there were still a number of other staff members at the castle after Professor Pretnick’s small memorial, and it seemed that every one of them wanted the Headmaster’s ear. She couldn’t blame them, or him, but it did frustrate her. At least she had been able to confirm to Albus that she would be gone from the castle for the next several days, visiting her parents and spending some time with her niece. She had restrained herself from going to see Albus that evening, not wanting to appear too needy – after all, they had just spent the afternoon walking through the garden, and she was going to be returning to the school within the week.

Now, though, Minerva wished that she had taken proper leave from Albus, if not that evening, then the next morning before she Apparated to the McGonagall house. Perhaps it would be easier to get him out of her mind if she had seen him again before she left. At least this afternoon she would be going to Melina’s and staying for supper, then Malcolm was coming for dinner the next day. She would simply have to keep busy. 

Shortly after she had arrived home the previous morning, Minerva had received a letter from Quin in answer to hers of the day before. He was very sympathetic, but tried to encourage her to view things in a positive light and not to focus only on her doubts. He said that he was returning to London that afternoon, bringing both his children with him, and they would spend the next several days together until the children went to spend a week with their Grandmother Ella. Quin would still be having dinner with them every evening he was in town, though, since Ella’s flat was in London. But Ella had complained that she had not seen enough of the children in the last few months, and since he had some business travel scheduled, he thought this would provide the children an opportunity to spend time with their other grandmother before Alroy had to leave for Hogwarts. Quin said he would be busy over the next few weeks, between family and business, but that if she wanted to come to London for lunch or dinner, or meet him in Hogsmeade or elsewhere, he would find the time for her.

Minerva had written back and thanked Quin, but said that at the moment, she thought she would just do “family things,” as well, hoping that time with her family would provide her some perspective on her situation at Hogwarts. Now, though, sitting the library, a book unopened on her lap, Minerva doubted that her time away from Hogwarts would do anything except make her even more desperate for the slightest gesture of affection from Albus. What would she do during term time, when they were both so much more constrained by their schedules and the presence of so many more people in the castle? Perhaps being that busy would actually be a help . . . 

Minerva set the book aside and decided to Apparate to Edinburgh early. Melina would still be at work for the morning, but Murdoch would be in the apothecary. She could do a little shopping in McTavish Street and keep her brother company in the apothecary if it was slow, perhaps give him a hand with something. Minerva told her parents that she was leaving and would be back sometime that evening.

She Apparated to the park and walked over to the apothecary from there, smiling as she remembered how she and Melina had happened into Albus that warm summer’s day the week before she was to return to Hogwarts to assist with the wards. She had finally managed to gain some control over herself and _It_ , and she had enjoyed having Albus join them as she treated Melina to a bowl of ice cream. Of course, Albus had ended up treating them, but they had a nice time. It was one of the first times when she was still in school that she felt as though she had related to Albus as one adult to another, and not just as a student to her teacher. Of course, he had bristled when she had suggested that he might be suffering from the heat . . . that much hadn’t changed, Minerva thought with a sigh. Sometimes, Albus seemed to welcome her care and concern, and other times, he behaved as though her concern was completely unwanted. 

Minerva stepped into the cool apothecary, and a bell rang in the back of the shop. Looking around, she didn’t see her brother, but his chime must have alerted him that she had entered. She was just examining a barrel of bulk desiccated Flobberworm larvae and wondering what on earth they were used for when Murdoch stuck his head out from the back room.

“Oh, Minerva! Hello! I wasn’t expecting you. I think Melina said she was meeting you here at one and we would have lunch together.”

“I was just bored at home. I thought I would pop around early, give you a hand, if you needed it, or go shopping if you didn’t,” Minerva answered.

“If you would like, you can stay . . . take care of customers for me, unless they have special requests. I’m brewing at the moment and I let Lawrence have the day to visit his sister, since she just had her first baby,” Murdoch said, referring to his single apprentice. “And, um, Poppy’s here – she’s keeping an eye on the potion now, but I should really go check it. It will need to have the Doxie wings added soon.”

Minerva shuddered at that thought. No wonder she hadn’t done particularly well in Potions. The ingredients tended to be disgusting. And Doxie wings weren’t the worst of them.

“Poppy’s here?” Minerva asked with a smiled. “Well, I’ll let you get back to her . . . and your potion.” She just restrained herself from giving Murdoch a cheeky wink, as he no doubt would give her under similar circumstances. But if Murdoch and Poppy were hitting it off, even if just as friends, she didn’t want to do anything that would make him feel uncomfortable about it.

Murdoch grinned. “Right-o. I’ll send her out to keep you company in a few minutes, then. Just give me a shout if you need any help with a customer.”

“No need to send Poppy out, not if she’s helping you with the potion.” This time, Minerva couldn’t keep a rather big grin from crossing her face, but Murdoch just grinned broadly, himself, and disappeared back into the rear of the shop.

Minerva was able to assist three customers, though she had some difficulty at first determining the price for the Runespoor eggshells. It didn’t help that the customer kept up a running complaint about the fact that Murdoch had no Runespoor eggs and he might just have to take his custom elsewhere.

As Minerva handed the customer his package of shells, she smiled pleasantly and said, “If you are able to find a _reputable_ apothecary anywhere in Britain or Europe that sells Runespoor eggs, I would be most surprised. And any disreputable apothecary that would sell such a thing would probably be providing you with fakes and cheating you.”

The customer left, still grumbling about the unreasonable restrictions on necessary potions ingredients.

Finally, Minerva had to fetch Murdoch to help a customer who had questions that she felt best answered by an expert. She walked into the backroom to find her brother and Poppy together, Murdoch sitting on one of his high stools, his back to the potion, and Poppy standing in front of him between his legs, Murdoch’s arms loosely around her waist, her hands on his shoulders, and engaged in a very sensuous kiss. Minerva reddened, but knocked loudly on the door frame. Poppy jumped back and Murdoch almost fell off the stool.

“Oh, Merlin, Minerva! You startled me . . . us,” Murdoch said.

“If the potion doesn’t require your immediate attention,” Minerva said, still blushing, “there is a customer who is asking about a few of the potions, and I don’t know enough about them to answer her.”

“Yes, of course,” Murdoch said. He turned back to Poppy and smiled softly. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Keep an eye on the potion for me?”

Poppy nodded, and a pleased expression crossed her face when Murdoch kissed her cheek gently before leaving.

“Well, I would say that you two are becoming well-acquainted,” Minerva said to her friend, not suppressing her smile.

Poppy blushed and nodded. “I think he likes me, Min.”

“I would say so – I dare say it’s been many a year since he’s canoodled with a witch in the backroom. Have you spent much time together over the last week?”

“We’ve seen each other several times . . . I think that since you brought me for dinner last Monday, the only day we haven’t seen each other at least for an hour or two was Tuesday, when I was at Hogwarts,” the mediwitch answered.

“And why didn’t you say anything to me then?” Minerva asked. “I would have enjoyed hearing some good news on that rather sombre day.”

“I thought about it, but you were busy, then you disappeared. I didn’t stay for dinner because I told Violet I would watch her children while she and Dylan were out that evening. It wasn’t something I could mention in the twenty second conversation that we had before the memorial. I liked your speech, by the way.”

“Thank you . . . yes, it was a busy day,” Minerva agreed. “I am happy to see you and Murdoch getting along so well, so to speak.”

Poppy blushed again. “I suppose it’s too early to say how serious it is, but I really do like him very much, I enjoy spending time with him – and not just doing what we were doing just now, either. He is simply nice, and very funny, too.”

A little bell chimed and Poppy picked up a stirring rod and began to stir the potion in a figure-eight pattern. As she stirred, she said, “I don’t want to push things along too fast, though. He’s been essentially a bachelor for a long time, and living with your daughter and a house-elf is not the same as having a relationship with a witch. I don’t want to spook him.”

“He didn’t look spooked to me,” Minerva observed.

Poppy shrugged. “I also don’t want to get cold feet. I’m enjoying this too much and I like him too well – I don’t want to rush, then get nervous about where it’s going and then do or say something stupid.”

Minerva nodded. “I can understand that . . . does this mean that the quality time you’ve been spending together has been, um, limited in scope, so to speak?”

“I can’t believe you just asked me that, Minerva! This is your brother!” Poppy exclaimed.

“I know that, but I’m just . . . curious. Every day for almost two weeks – all right, with the exception of Tuesday – that’s some very intensive time. And you won’t be able to spend that kind of time with him when school starts in less than a month,” Minerva said.

Poppy visibly slumped. “I know it. I suppose that is why every time he suggests we get together, I agree, and when he doesn’t suggest it, I do. I’m afraid he’ll grow tired of spending time with me . . . but that’s all the more reason not to move too fast. And that should answer your question. What you just saw, that was almost the extent of, um, our activities.”

“It certainly looked promising. I’m surprised either of you can keep from moving beyond that if all of your kisses are like the one I witnessed. It was like your lips were having sex,” Minerva said bluntly.

Poppy giggled. “It felt like that, too. But that’s one reason why we scarcely even touch each other when we’re in the flat, I think. We haven’t discussed it, but . . . I think we are both thinking that it’s best to keep that sort of temptation at bay. At least for the time being.”

“As long as you are both happy. That’s what matters, that you are happy and enjoying yourselves. Murdoch certainly looked very happy,” Minerva said.

“Murdoch _is_ very happy,” a deep voice behind her said. “And I do have a bone to pick with you, Minerva, for not introducing me sooner to this most . . . delightful witch.” Murdoch crossed the room and put his hands at Poppy’s waist, looking over her shoulder at the potion. “Just another few stirs, Poppy, and it will be good for the next hour.”

After Poppy removed the stirring rod and placed it on the slab next to the potion, Murdoch kissed the back of her neck. 

“Well, I’ll be happy to watch the shop for a while longer,” Minerva offered.

“No, that’s all right. Why don’t you and Poppy go shopping, talk about whatever it is that witches talk about when the brother of one of them is smitten with the other,” Murdoch said, not taking his eyes off Poppy, and smiling when Poppy blushed and smiled.

After they were in the street, Minerva said, “I don’t think you have to worry about Murdoch losing interest in you. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Murdoch use the word ‘delightful’ to describe any witch, ever, and the fact that he said, in front of me, that he was smitten . . . I think that means he really is.”

“Really? I thought he was just teasing,” Poppy said.

“He was teasing, but in such a way that I could tell that he also meant it quite seriously. I think that, whether you want him or not, you now have a Potions master, Poppy. Handle with care!” Minerva said with a laugh. “You never know what might happen with the introduction of volatile ingredients, after all!”

Poppy laughed, and the two went through a few shops, not buying anything, just looking and joking, Poppy’s ebullient mood contagious. As they were leaving Enrobed, Robes for Every Day and Every Witch, Minerva looked over at her smiling friend and, for just a moment, she felt a stab of envy. That Poppy could so easily and openly express interest in Murdoch and then take steps to get to know him and explore whether he might reciprocate created a sense of bereavement in Minerva’s heart. 

Poppy looked over at Minerva at just that moment. “Minerva, are you all right?” she asked, a look of concern on her face.

Minerva smiled. “I’m fine. Where to next?” she asked briskly. “Melina won’t be here until one, so we have another half hour. We could just go back to the apothecary and you could help Murdoch with his potion.”

“That one should be done already. He said he wasn’t going to do much brewing today, with Lawrence away. He thought he might even close up shop early. He said that there is a film he wants to see, and we thought that before the show, we’d eat at an Indian restaurant he likes. I’ve only been to the cinema twice, and the last time was quite a while ago, so I thought it would be fun.”

“Yes, it seems that Brennan is Mugglizing the McGonagall clan. Hopefully, it will stop with the Edinburgh McGonagalls. My life is complicated enough without having Dad thinking he needs to buy an autocar or an aeroplane or some such.”

Poppy laughed. “Did you know that Melina is learning to drive?”

“What?” Minerva asked, puzzled.

“An automobile, of course. Brennan is finding the task of teaching a witch the finer points of Muggle traffic laws quite a challenge, I think. We all had dinner together on Sunday, and his stories were quite amusing. He claims to be getting grey hairs from it,” Poppy said with a grin.

“It can’t be any worse than a Side-Along from her,” Minerva said. “Not only is she the loudest Apparater I’ve ever met, I think she’d make anyone sick to their stomach, not just me. Brennan’s probably just trying to avoid having to Side-Along with her any longer!”

The two returned to the apothecary, where Murdoch greeted them with more enthusiasm than necessary since they had seen him only two hours before. When Melina arrived, Murdoch closed up shop and the four of them Apparated to Melina’s new flat, Murdoch bringing Poppy in a Side-Along. Brennan arrived for a lunch of soup, bread, and cheese, but had to leave immediately after to return to his shop, and Murdoch Apparated Poppy someplace, telling her he was going to surprise her. Minerva spent the rest of the day with Melina, looking at the house and how she was furnishing it from the odds and ends from the McGonagall attic. It looked quite good, although it still could do with more furniture, and Melina and Brennan were planning another excursion to the attic on the weekend. Melina pointed out the second-floor room that was going to be especially for Minerva when she came to visit.

“Of course, when you’re not here, we may have other guests stay in it if the other bedrooms are full, but we thought you might like to have somewhere to go that wasn’t the McGonagall place,” Melina explained enthusiastically. “You are always welcome here, Auntie Min. If we have other guests, we’ll just find other accommodation for them. Otherwise, well, it’s fairly private, too, since there’s a bathroom up here, and our room is down on the first floor, and if we have a baby, the nursery will be there, as well. And, of course, you’re welcome to bring a friend. If you need a separate bedroom for him – or her, if it’s somebody like Poppy, of course – there’s the small one across the hall. But I thought I’d do the room in Gryffindor colours and try to make it comfortable for you. Speaking of Gryffindor colours, how is your new set of rooms at Hogwarts?”

Minerva protested their setting aside a bedroom especially for her use, but Melina insisted, reminding her that it was rather impractical for her to have a flat when she spent most of the year at Hogwarts. And sometimes one wanted a place to go, Melina declared, other than the family home, as nice as that was. 

“Besides,” Melina added, “it would be difficult for you to impose on us, since you _are_ at the school most of the time, required to be there, even. And that is all the more reason for you to have somewhere to go when you can get away from the school. Any time, Minerva, really. Whatever is going on here, you’re family, and without you, it would have been so much harder for us. If it hadn’t been for you and Professor Dumbledore, I don’t know whether we would even still be together now, let alone be getting married in two weeks!”

Minerva stayed for dinner, watching as Melina used the Muggle cooker.

“It took some getting used to, but now I’m quite adept, if I do say so myself. I still use a lot of magic, of course, but we had to have Muggle appliances not just for Brennan’s sake, but because when our friends come by, many of them are Muggles, and I can’t have them wondering about our kitchen, or anything else they may see.”

Brennan arrived for dinner, and Minerva learned that, although he had moved over many of his things, he was still living in his flat over the shop. She was somewhat surprised by this, and it must have shown in her face. 

Brennan grinned and said, “Well, we do have to save _something_ for after the wedding, and spending an entire night together in our own place seemed manageable.”

“It is sometimes difficult, though,” Melina added. “It’s hard for me to let him leave some nights, which is why I think we’ll be doing supper at his place from now until we’re married. I can just Apparate away before bedtime . . . it will be so nice not to do that any longer.”

Finally, Minerva said that it was time for her to be going, and she offered to Side-Along Brennan back to his address. She had never been in his flat, but she’d been to the shop. Minerva said it would be no problem to Apparate him to the alley behind it.

“Brennan doesn’t like to Side-Along, Min,” Melina explained as Brennan hesitated. “He’d rather take Muggle transportation, even if it costs him money.”

“Has he ever Apparated with anyone but you? No? Brennan, I think that you might have an easier time of it if I give you a Side-Along – no offense, Melina, but yours are truly dreadful. I think even Dad would have a hard time, and nothing ever seems to bother his stomach.” She turned back to Brennan. “You may still experience a moment or two of vertigo, but it shouldn’t be too bad. And if you are sick, we’ll know not to do it again.”

Brennan reluctantly agreed, and Minerva discreetly stepped into the foyer while he said good-bye to his fiancée. It took them ten minutes, but finally, Brennan emerged.

Minerva said, “You aren’t a wizard, but I still think you might be able to make it easier – at least on yourself – by visualising the alley. So close your eyes, visualise the alley, and breathe regularly, even if you feel nervous. And don’t open your eyes immediately upon arrival – just keep visualising the alley for a moment or two, then open them. It might help with your vertigo a little.”

She had Brennan stand beside her and put one arm around her shoulder while she put one of hers around his waist. After he confirmed that he was visualising the alley, Minerva waved good-bye to her niece and Disapparated. When they arrived in the alley, Minerva waited to make sure that Brennan wasn’t going to faint or fall over, then she let go. 

“How was that?” she asked.

Brennan opened his eyes and blinked a few times before letting go of Minerva.

“All right, actually. I was a little dizzy at first, but there was no nausea at all, and I didn’t feel like the world was spinning around me.” He seemed astonished at that.

“I am going to see if I can have someone help Melina with her Apparating. She’ll likely take some offense, but if I tell her it’s so that she can Apparate with you more easily, I think she’ll do it. She’s never Splinched that I know of, but she is dreadfully noisy, and her Side-Alongs, well, you know about them.”

“Spinched?” Brennan asked, puzzled, as they began to walk to the end of the alley.

“Splinched. It can happen if one doesn’t have enough determination, or if they don’t have their destinations firmly fixed in their mind. You leave a bit of your body behind, so part of you arrives and part of you doesn’t. Come to think of it, until Melina has the extra . . . tutoring, don’t Apparate with her unless it’s an emergency. Splinching is almost never fatal, although if it isn’t repaired immediately, it can cause permanent injury. And I have a very strong feeling that Splinching would not be as easy on a Muggle, and unless you only lost a fingernail or some hair or something of that sort, it could be quite serious. Yes, I will definitely talk to Melina about this. I’ll write her a letter in the morning, in fact.”

Brennan had grown quite pale as Minerva discussed Splinching, and he assured Minerva that he would not be Apparating Side-Along with Melina again until she had received some remedial training.

The next day, Minerva spent the morning with her father working on his latest acquisition, an ancient Pali wizarding text. She wasn’t very much help, since she knew no Pali, but she enjoyed helping her father find the most apposite English translations, although some of them were such circumlocutions, Merwyn said, that the original meaning seemed impossible to capture. Finally, at about eleven o’clock, he suggested a cup of tea and a change of focus.

“After we have our tea, why don’t we take a look at the translation you said you were having difficulty with, Min?” 

Minerva had brought home her copy of _The Book of Taliesin_ , and she was working on a poem that was particularly difficult to translate. She had worked on it shortly after receiving the manuscript, then put it aside and worked instead on some of the less difficult ones. She was only just now returning to it. The poem was one of the ones that appeared in neither the oldest Muggle copy nor in the oldest publicly-known wizarding copy, and Minerva was finding it very frustrating and remembered now why she had abandoned it more than a decade before.

After they had their tea in the kitchen, Minerva fetched the manuscript and they returned to her father’s study. Merwyn examined the Welsh original, then looked at Minerva’s most recent attempt at translation. 

“Hmm, yes, I see where your problem lies. The inflections are unusual, and you have also been trying to translate each word rather than looking at the phrasing – which is also somewhat unusual. This is certainly the oldest text of the ones I’ve looked at in this manuscript, and the least changed by the scribe who copied it. See, here’s your translation:

_“Born to light in darkness I was_  
 _“and falling high and brightly_  
 _“I rose to sun-soaked plains and clouds_  
 _“a life ungiven and last I releasing life_  
 _“grasp to come out again and find once more_  
 _“what unlearned I had long forgotten_  
 _“and so will I climb again_  
 _“up the ravine and down the cairn_  
 _“to birth myself anew_  
 _“and gain through sorrow_  
 _“all undeserving I swallowed whole once_  
 _“and in my quest unaccompanied_  
 _“will I be by silence or roar or crash of sea_  
 _“not that will one await in quiet din_  
 _“and lead final steps of mine_  
 _“to ultimate fire and summit power.”_

Merwyn read out her translation, then he went through the Welsh, phrase by phrase, with Minerva, and when they were finished, they had a new translation:

_In darkness, I was born to light,_  
 _and falling, high and brightly,_  
 _I rose to sun-soaked plains and clouds,_  
 _to a life ungiven._  
 _From life, I release my final grasp_  
 _to reemerge and find again_  
 _what, unlearned, I had long forgotten._  
 _And so will I climb again_  
 _up the ravine and down the cairn_  
 _to birth myself anew_  
 _and earn through sorrow_  
 _what, all undeserving, once I swallowed whole._  
 _In my quest, unaccompanied_  
 _will I be, not by silence, nor by roar or crash of sea;_  
 _instead, one will await me in the din of quiet_  
 _and lead me in my final steps_  
 _to ultimate flame and power’s summit._

“Well, that makes a little more sense, I suppose,” Minerva said. “At least superficially. But I can’t say I really understand it.”

“It is one of the mystical, prophetic poems, so the language is meant metaphorically,” Merwyn explained. “No doubt it meant something to the poet and, perhaps, to the small audience to which it was addressed. The ‘I’ could be the poet himself or it could represent someone or something else entirely. Perhaps once you have translated a few of the other texts unique to this manuscript, its meaning will become clearer. They may be related, and that may be why they appear in this manuscript and none of the other extant copies.”

They perused some of the other translations that Minerva had made over the years, her father offering suggestions for improvements, until Egeria arrived home at one o’clock, and they had lunch. Malcolm had owled his mother the day before and said that he would be arriving some time that afternoon, but had not been any more specific than that. Minerva and her father were in the library playing chess when Malcolm walked in, wearing a kilt, plaid, and sporran rather than either robes or trousers.

“It was a warm day today,” Malcolm explained, “and I had some work for a few wizarding folk and spent some time around Muggles, as well.”

He sat and watched the other two play chess for a while, then got up and wandered off, saying something about finding his mother and asking about gathering some herbs from her garden.

“Wonder what he wants with Mother’s herbs,” Minerva said idly as she moved her rook.

“Probably for some pest-control potion or other,” Merwyn replied. “Or maybe just for seasoning his dinner tomorrow!”

After she had beaten her father for the first time in months, Minerva decided to quit on a high note, and went off to find her brother. She found him in the herb garden with their mother, who was explaining the best method for harvesting the small leaves of a particular plant and admonishing him, probably unnecessarily, to take only a few from each plant.

“I don’t want to come out here tomorrow morning and discover that one of them has been completely denuded, Malcolm!” Egeria said.

Malcolm grinned. “I think I can manage that, Mother. Hello, little sister! Done defeating Dad?”

“Yes, so I thought I would rest on my laurels for a little while, at least, and come find you,” Minerva answered.

“I’m going to go see Fwisky about dinner. You two have fun!” Egeria said, dusting off her green robes.

“So, doing a little cooking, Malcolm? Or brewing?” Minerva asked, curious.

“Wouldn’t cook with these unless I wanted to make myself rather ill,” Malcolm responded. “I’ll gather them before I leave tonight. How is Hogwarts biding?”

“Much the same as usual. We had a memorial service on Tuesday for Professor Pretnick,” Minerva answered.

“Bitten by a werewolf . . . can’t say I’d make the decision he did, but I can understand it,” Malcolm said.

“Please don’t, if you ever are bitten, Malcolm. You may irritate me, but I would miss you!”

“No worries there, little sister. I don’t plan on being bitten, and if ever I am . . . there are remote places one can go, chase a few beasts and encounter no human beings. Suicide is certainly an extreme solution for a problem that only crops up a few days a month,” Malcolm said.

“Have you ever dealt with werewolves?” Minerva asked.

“Mmm. Singly. Werewolves, unlike true wolves, as you most likely are aware, are not pack animals, but solitary hunters, seeking their favourite prey, and, unlike vampires, who often develop an attachment to those they have turned, during the full moon werewolves do not seek out those they have infected, and when they are human, they are unaware of anyone whom they may have bitten. They could pass each other on the street, and although they would likely recognise a fellow sufferer of the curse, they would have no way of knowing whether one of them infected the other,” Malcolm said. “And because of the stigma attached to being a werewolf, even when they recognise each other in their human forms as being fellow sufferers, they do not usually speak of it. In fact, they tend to avoid one another.” He shrugged. “Just as well, I suppose. Folk might become paranoid if werewolves started gathering during their human time. Think they were up to something, despite the fact that the werewolves don’t remember their true selves when they transform, nor when they awaken after the last night of the full moon. There should be better formal support systems for them, but . . . no one in the Ministry would listen to me, in any case.”

“Have you ever had to kill one?” Minerva asked hesitantly.

“Once, about twenty-five years ago,” Malcolm answered softly, quite serious for once. “I have developed a rather nice variation on the Stunner since then, however, which is effective against werewolves, and I find that is quite sufficient. Try an ordinary Stunner, and they don’t even blink.”

“A pity that Robert didn’t know that one . . .” Minerva said softly.

Malcolm nodded soberly. 

The two strolled through the garden in a thoughtful silence for a while, ending up at the gazebo near the ornamental flower garden. They sat, Malcolm stretching his long legs out in front of him and folding his hands behind his head.

“Do be mindful of how you sit when wearing that thing, Malcolm,” Minerva said jokingly. “Don’t want to know too much about my brother, after all!”

Malcolm quirked a sideways grin. “The sporran helps keep the kilt in place, covering everything it should. Now, if I were to put stone or throw a weight, you might like to cover your maidenly eyes! My spinning has been known to have the ladies fainting, and even a few gentlemen. From shock or desire, I haven’t yet determined!”

Minerva laughed, then remembered Quin’s curiosity about Malcolm’s visit. Malcolm’s mention of both ladies and gentlemen raised her own curiosity.

“Quin tells me you two had lunch a while back.”

“Mmm-hmm. Fascinating chap, your friend,” Malcolm answered laconically.

“I think he was a little surprised you found him.”

Malcolm grinned. “Tracking is part of what I do, after all. I’ve even, on occasion when I needed the brass, tracked a few errant husbands in my time. And Quin wasn’t making any effort to hide, so it was quite easy.”

“What brought you to even look for him like that? Why not owl him and set something up? It could be quite unnerving for someone to have you track them down unexpectedly like that,” Minerva pointed out.

“Didn’t seem unnerved. But he seems quite unflappable, though I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side, I’m thinking. He’s fair powerful, though he wastes it, in my opinion. But the chap’s a father, and that does tie him down, I suppose.”

“Yes, he’s a father . . . he was very devoted to his late wife, Aileen. Very devoted,” Minerva emphasised, recalling Quin’s concerns, as unlikely as they were. “The love of his life, from what he says.”

“Yes, he did tend to wax on about her.” Malcolm shrugged. “Don’t fancy being that tied down, myself, but . . . life can bring surprises, I suppose, even to the most wary wizard.”

“So why _did_ you track him down?”

“Wanted to get to know him a bit better, as I mentioned to you last time I saw you. He’s interesting. Not all moulded by Hogwarts and the Ministry. Refreshing . . . besides, a brother might want to know what a wizard’s intentions were toward his sister.”

“His intentions toward . . . me? Oh, really, Malcolm! I don’t think you would have to worry about that!”

“I’m not. Just saying I might, that’s all. But he doesn’t seem interested in anyone in particular, though he did speak rather glowingly of you. If you were interested in him, you could probably just – ” Malcolm made a flicking motion with his little finger “ – tip him right over. If you wanted.”

“Well, neither of us want that; we are quite happy as friends. I do hope you will approach him in a more conventional manner next time, though, Malcolm. Or at least, don’t sneak up on him.”

“No sneaking involved, little sister. Walked right up to him on a public street, face-to-face. But I’ll try not to startle him,” Malcolm said with a laugh.

“Still, I think if you hadn’t been my brother, Quin might have been less likely to go to lunch with you. He has had some bad experiences with the Ministry, and it crossed his mind that your distaste for them might have been an act and you were really with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement or the Department of Mysteries, or something. So you see why he was a little troubled.”

Malcolm sat up and looked at Minerva. “I can understand that quite well. I will apologise to him. That didn’t occur to me,” he said seriously.

“I reassured him – I presume, truthfully – that you would have nothing to do with the Ministry, let alone work for them to trap honest businessmen,” Minerva said. “So you needn’t apologise unless you feel you must.”

“I do. No wonder he seemed not to want to discuss what it was like to work with Muggles . . . I will owl him and ask him to have coffee, or, better yet, to come to my flat for lunch. My croque monsieur is quite tasty, I have recently been informed,” Malcolm said with a grin.

“Um, hmm, I don’t know. Coffee might be sufficient. In Diagon Alley,” Minerva suggested. “He likes Fortescue’s coffee.”

“I think lunch. I could show him some of my finds – he might even know of some good buyers for a few of the rarer objects. Murdoch is already snapping up the last of my Erumpent horn – at a very good price, I might add. The family discount!” Malcolm said.

“Erumpent horn? Isn’t that – ”

“Restricted? Yes, but a friend of mine knows someone in the French Ministry who is old friends with the harridan currently in charge of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and he was able to get me a permit to import it. Should be enough to keep me going for a few years. Not that I have stopped working. You never know when there might be a dry spell. Besides, I bore easily.”

“I have noticed,” Minerva said drily. She thought a moment. “Malcolm, may I be frank with you?”

“Always, little sister,” Malcolm replied, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“Quin was worried . . . once he had dismissed the notion that you were from the Ministry, he wondered whether, well, whether you were interested in him.”

“Of course, I am; he’s not the run-of-the-mill – oh, you mean _interested_ in him!” Malcolm chuckled. “Well, Quin _is_ pretty. Lovely blue eyes and long legs, not to mention his dimples. And yet rugged at the same time. A delicious but uncommon combination in a wizard. Most are one or the other. And he is quite the charmer. Yes, quite an attractive package. But, no, dearest sister-of-mine, pretty as he is, I am not interested him romantically or sexually. So you can both iron out your twisted knickers and relax,” he teased.

“Well, all right, don’t be that way,” Minerva said crossly. “I did try to reassure him on that point, as well, but I wasn’t certain. I mean, you _were_ eying him at the party, and you expressed interest in him, and some of the things that you said, right there in public – you can’t blame me for not being sure, myself.”

“You weren’t certain yourself, but you reassured him that I wasn’t after his, um, masculinity?” Malcolm said, obviously amused. “Is that the act of a true friend?”

“Well, I also thought that even if you were interested in him, you have enough . . . integrity and, um, concern for others’ feelings that you wouldn’t pursue him if he didn’t return your interest,” Minerva said, put out, and increasingly uncomfortable with the topic. “Look, I’m going up to the house now. Come if you want. I don’t care. You may not be an underhanded Slytherin, but sometimes you are worse.” Minerva stood.

“Hold up, there, little sister!” Malcolm interrupted, his mood suddenly shifted. “Underhanded Slytherin? Aside from the implications you are making about my own character, I have to inform you that I have known many an underhanded witch or wizard who was sorted into one of the other three Houses. Just because Slytherins may be a bit more successfully ‘underhanded,’ as you put it, doesn’t make that either their sole province or theirs alone. I have seen good Slytherins wounded and dead, doing the right thing, and believe me, their bodies go cold and their blood flows red just as much as any Gryffindor’s does. So you go on up to the house, Minerva. I expected better from the new Head of Gryffindor, but perhaps that position just ingrains all the old House prejudices.” Malcolm got up and left, striding south, away from the house.

Minerva was speechless. She had rarely seen Malcolm get hot under the collar, and she hadn’t meant anything by her remark, it was just a manner of speaking . . . she had been irritated with him and his teasing. She sat back down. Of course he was right. And perhaps she should avoid that manner of speaking in the future, particularly as Head of Gryffindor. House rivalry was one thing, but she certainly should not be encouraging prejudices. They seemed to spread too easily, as it was, without people in authority appearing to approve of them. Minerva got up and followed her brother down out of the garden. She owed him some thanks. But she wasn’t going to apologise. No, that would be going too far, after his annoying teasing. Malcolm did take being an older brother to new heights – or lows. Murdoch, for all he was a Ravenclaw, restrained his teasing more than Malcolm did. And Morgan, well, he was sweet, but dull. No teasing from that quarter. Malcolm certainly made up for it, though.

By the time the two returned to the house for dinner, Malcolm was relaxed and teasing again, and Minerva was putting up with him in better humour than she had. Dinner was lively, though Minerva found herself increasingly distracted by thoughts of Hogwarts. When her father suggested another chess game after dinner, she declined, reading instead, and looking up occasionally to observe her father and Malcolm go at it. They played fast, at practically breakneck speed, and Malcolm had a tendency to bounce in his seat as he considered his moves, which drove Minerva batty, but Merwyn seemed able to ignore that and everything else. They were playing with the wizarding chess set, and Malcolm’s pieces, regardless whether he played white or black, seemed unnaturally bloodthirsty. The pawns even pounded their chests and clashed their armour with each piece they took out, and his queen licked her dagger when she took a knight. Minerva found it most disturbing, and she finally excused herself and retired for the evening. Egeria took her knitting and left with her.

“Malcolm certainly thinks he can throw your father with his tactics, but I will not be surprised if Malcolm still loses more games than he wins. Your father is not easily perturbed,” Egeria said with a chuckle. “Of course, I have found some methods of distracting him from his game over the years – none of which I could use with you children in the house!” 

“Mother!” Minerva blushed. “I am glad you spare us that!”

“Mmm, but it is a technique you may wish to try with a wizard one day . . . I’ll leave to your imagination precisely what the technique might involve,” Egeria said with a wink.

Minerva laughed. “I am sure I will be able to use my imagination should the occasion ever arise, Mother – but it is an interesting idea, and one I hadn’t considered before.”

“Mmm, best not to use it too frequently, of course. And you have to start off innocently, as though you have no intention whatsoever to distract him, so that by the time he twigs to it, he is so distracted, he doesn’t care. Of course, by that point, you both may completely forget the game.”

“I’ll remember that bit of advice.” Minerva smiled. “Good night, Mother!”

“Good night, sweetness. See you in the morning,” Egeria said, giving her daughter a quick, one-armed hug.


	110. Seduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva returns early to Hogwarts, but doesn't find what she expected at all.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Egeria Egidius, Hagrid, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, Gertrude Gamp, and Malcolm McGonagall.
> 
> Some erotic content this chapter.

**CX: Seduction**

Minerva woke on Saturday and tried to muster enthusiasm for the day. She could go into Edinburgh, but with Melina busy with Brennan, she probably wouldn’t be available. And it sounded as though Murdoch and Poppy were going to be spending every spare hour together. Minerva thought they would be happy enough to have her join them, but in the first flush of love, or whatever their relationship was, it would be out of kindness and generosity, not out of any true desire to have her with them. When Egeria had asked Malcolm about his plans, it sounded as though his schedule was full, as well – some vaguely defined job he had. Visiting Morgan and Fiona would be worse than staying in bed all day. They were just too precious sometimes. Perhaps there should be some law against Hufflepuffs breeding, Minerva thought, quite uncharitably. 

Pulling a pillow over her head, Minerva rolled over and pretended to sleep, but that was no good. She was finally deciding she should get up when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in!”

Her mother opened the door. “Just checking to see if you are feeling well, sweetheart. Feel free to sleep in, of course, if you like. You are on holiday, after all, but it is quite late for you, and I thought I’d look in.”

“I’m fine. Just getting up,” Minerva said with a sigh. “I know how much you wanted to see me, but . . . would you mind if I returned to Hogwarts today? I can come back again before school begins. I can even just pop over for lunch or dinner, but . . .”

“That’s fine! Of course! I understand. It’s a bit dull here after a few days, and being the new Head of Gryffindor, you probably have some settling in to do. Come by for dinner tomorrow, if you like – you don’t have to, of course. Melina and Brennan are coming to look through the attic again and will be here. We can all talk to her about your idea of additional Apparition – she owled me yesterday and mentioned she was rather annoyed with you about that, but I think it’s an excellent idea. It’s one thing when she’s just deafening everyone, but now that she has Brennan, she needs to keep his safety in mind, not to mention his comfort.”

Minerva happily agreed to come for dinner the following evening, then quickly packed and dressed. She ran downstairs, much more cheerful than she had been when she woke up, and ate a quick hard-boiled egg and a slice of toast. Barely taking the time to say good-bye to her parents, Minerva Apparated to the Hogwarts gates, and a sense of relief washed over her. She could see Albus. She would tell him she was back early . . . make plans. Maybe a chess game, or another walk, or they could determine what caused her to have such an extreme reaction to his retrieving the wards from her . . . . Minerva smiled. That could be fun. And she wanted to be introduced to Hogwarts, as he put it, so it would be best to work out whether the process would be harmful to her if they used the mated wands for it.

Minerva went to Gryffindor Tower first, taking the seven flights at a good clip, and dropped her bags in her rooms. Rather than run back down the stairs, she Flooed to her first floor office and walked up one flight. The gargoyle sprang aside when she gave the password, the door opened, and she stepped onto the moving stair. Reaching the top after what seemed an interminably long trip, Minerva took up the heavy knocker and announced her presence. When no one responded, she opened the door. Albus, predictably, was not in the office, and the room felt emptier than usual.

As Minerva began to cross the office to the stairs to Albus’s quarters, she heard one of the portraits hail her. She turned and looked up to see a headmaster’s portrait waving his gold-topped walking stick at her and winking; she hadn’t spoken with this one before and wasn’t sure which one of the many headmasters and headmistresses it was. He had long, wavy black hair, past his shoulders, the ends carefully flipped up, an equally long black moustache, and a short goatee. He wore a very wide-brimmed yellow hat, one side of which was pinned up against the crown, a plumy azure-coloured feather gracing it. His over-robe matched the bright blue feather, and he wore an under-robe of wide yellow and garnet stripes. The large, floppy yellow collar of the under-robe was turned over the blue robe, and an equally large and floppy garnet-coloured scarf was tied in a bow beneath the collar. 

“Good morning, Professor,” the portrait greeted her.

“Good morning, sir,” Minerva answered politely.

The portrait showed perfectly straight white teeth. “Please, just call me Eliphelet. How are you this fine morning?”

“Well, thank you.” Minerva backed toward the stairs. She really didn’t want to hold a conversation with a portrait just then. Well, she rarely wanted to hold a conversation with a portrait, but particularly not when she was anxious to see the real Headmaster. This fop was delaying her.

“I have seen you here before, Professor. Quite . . . talented,” the portrait ventured.

“Thank you.” Minerva stepped onto the first stair.

“If you are seeking Headmaster Dumbledore, you will not find him in his rooms – although that is a pity. He certainly could use a visit from such a pretty young heifer – er, Professor,” Eliphelet said. Another portrait coughed loudly.

“Is he in his library, then, or in the Heart?” Minerva asked, hoping the portrait could be helpful as well as annoying.

“Sweet Minerva – may I call you Minerva? – he is, alas, not present in the Headmaster’s Tower. Nor, I believe, is he in the castle or on its grounds,” Eliphelet said.

“Oh. Do you know where he is?” Minerva asked, thinking that perhaps Albus had gone into Hogsmeade, or perhaps to London. It was a Saturday, so unless there had been an emergency, it was unlikely Ministry business had called him away.

“No, Professor. He did not share that with us.” Eliphelet smiled at her. “But you could stay, nonetheless. It has been rather dull the last few days.” The other portrait coughed again. Eliphelet turned. “You really should have that cough tended to, Phineas. There must be a problem in your paint charms if it continues. Perhaps Dilys could help you with it.”

“The Headmaster is away from the castle, Professor. He left yesterday morning. He did not inform us when he would return, but it will likely be in the next few days, or he would have left some instruction for us.” Phineas’s voice was expressionless, and he certainly didn’t bother with any courtesies, but at least he was informative.

“Thank you,” Minerva said, feeling her stomach sink. Albus not here. She had returned to an empty castle. 

Minerva turned to leave. Her brain seemed incapable of any thought. She had been completely focussed on seeing Albus, hearing his voice, spending even a few minutes in his presence, and now she felt completely aimless.

“Professor, please tell Dilys that I was a gentleman, if you would be so kind?” Eliphelet requested, another gleamingly white smile on his perfectly proportioned face. Phineas snorted, but said nothing.

“If she asks,” Minerva said listlessly. She had no idea what kind of politics went on amongst the portraits and didn’t particularly care. They were only oil, pigment, and canvas, after all, with a few charms giving them the semblance of life and intelligence.

Minerva went back to her rooms, walking the long flights to the seventh floor, her legs feeling heavy, her muscles leaden. She should have asked one of the portraits who held the wards, she thought. It didn’t matter. One of the other Heads. Or Gertrude. That person would know how long Albus would be gone, though, and perhaps where he was. There had been no note for her when she had arrived in her rooms . . . but he hadn’t known she would be returning that day. She had told Albus she would be gone a few days, possibly as long as a week, but she hadn’t been definite about it. He deserved to be able to leave the castle when he could. He had been terribly tied to it that summer. He hadn’t even attended any of the Gamp party, despite it being something of a custom for him.

She reached her rooms and gave her password, and a thought occurred to her.

“Sir Knight, have you seen the Headmaster in the last few days?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“When?”

“Two days ago. He had a book with him.”

“Did he say anything?”

“He gave the password, and when I bowed and opened the door for him, he thanked me in a courteous manner.”

“He didn’t leave a message for me, or anything of that sort?”

“No, my lady. Should I not have allowed him passage until he left you a message?” the Knight asked seriously.

“Of course not. You did well. Thank you,” Minerva said with a sigh.

“I am your servant, my lady. My life is at your disposal.” The Knight bowed.

Minerva smirked. A bit of paint and canvas, and his “life” was at her disposal. 

“I appreciate that,” Minerva said graciously, “but at this time, if you would announce and allow entry to my guests, prohibit entrance to those who are unwelcome or who have no business with me, and take messages when I am away, you will be doing your job sufficiently.”

“Merely sufficient never suffices for your devoted servant, my lady. However, I will take your instructions to heart and obey as I am able.” He bowed again. “I shall ever seek your lady’s favour!”

Minerva stepped into her sitting room. She was at a complete loss for what to do with herself. It simply had never occurred to her that Albus might not be there. He had said nothing to her about having plans to be away. Not that the Headmaster was obligated to report to her his plans and his whereabouts. But she would have thought that as a friend, Albus would have mentioned something. Perhaps it had been a sudden decision. He had found the opportunity to take a holiday, so he took it. Hopefully, it wasn’t a personal emergency that had drawn him away. Lunch was in about an hour. Perhaps someone would mention something about the Headmaster’s whereabouts then.

Minerva called Blampa for a cup of tea, then sat down at her desk and began to review her plans for her first meeting with the Gryffindors. Her mind wandered, however, and soon, realising that she was just staring out the window, she gave up trying to work. The sky was grey and a wind was rising. Minerva continued to look out her window, unseeing. She felt numb. She had wanted to see Albus so desperately that it had felt like an urgent need. And the thought that she was returning early and would see him had so buoyed her, she had felt energised and filled with life, and now, she felt emptier and more exhausted than she had before she had decided to return early. She couldn’t very well go back to her parents’ after having left in such a good humour. What would she say? “Albus wasn’t there, so it wasn’t worth returning”? No. She did have work to do, after all. Not that she could concentrate on it. . . .

A barking came from the sitting room. Minerva rose from her chair, feeling as though it took every bit of her energy. She dismissed Fidelio, then crossed over and pulled open the door, feeling as though she simply didn’t have the energy to open it with her wand. Besides, she didn’t really want a visitor, unless it was Albus, and it might be easier to dismiss one if it didn’t appear she was inviting them in.

“Good morning, Minerva.” It was Gertrude, wearing the pale rust robes she had worn a few weeks before, the day they had visited the Jarvey.

“Good morning, Gertrude.”

“One of the portraits told me that you had returned,” the Arithmancy teacher said.

“One of the headmasters?”

“No, another one. Word travels along the portrait network. You were up in the Headmaster’s office?” At Minerva’s nod, Gertrude continued. “Then you have seen that he has left for a few days.”

Minerva nodded again. Gertrude seemed undeterred by the fact that Minerva was standing in her partially-opened door, not inviting her in.

“I thought I would come by, see you, walk you to lunch. How was your time with your family?”

“Fine. I visited Melina, and Malcolm came to dinner yesterday,” Minerva answered, trying to be polite, but feeling as though it was an effort merely to speak, let alone say anything of substance.

“Good. Speaking of Melina, do you know of anything in particular that she and Brennan would like? I have been invited to the wedding and intend to go, barring any complications, but the other person whom I have asked for advice on an appropriate wedding gift was not helpful,” Gertrude said.

“I don’t know . . . something . . . typical, I suppose. A Charmed punch bowl? But they couldn’t use that if they have Muggles at a party. I really am not sure . . . I will think about it for you,” Minerva said. She wanted to ask Gertrude where Albus was, but couldn’t think of a good excuse to need to know. “Are you at the castle this weekend, then?”

“Yes, for the rest of the week, actually,” Gertrude responded.

“Are you keeping the wards? If you are, and you need to leave for any reason, I plan to be here over the weekend, but will be going out Sunday evening for dinner,” Minerva said. “I would be happy to hold them for you if you need to leave.”

“That’s good of you, Minerva. Yes, I am keeping the wards while the Headmaster is away. I am planning to be here for the next week, and Johannes is going to be coming and going during the next several days. Horace, of course, isn’t returning until the last week of August, and there is no Head of Hufflepuff until Norman James is installed, and that will likely wait until Horace has returned, rather than making him interrupt his holiday again,” Gertrude explained, “so Albus left the wards with me.” She still seemed entirely unperturbed that she was still standing in the hall outside Minerva’s rooms.

“Mmm.” Minerva sighed. “Would you like to come in?”

“Thank you.” Gertrude stepped in. “We can chat while we wait for lunch.”

Minerva invited her persistent guest to sit, then sat herself. “So . . . you are here for the week.”

“Yes. But I still view it as something of a holiday. Of course, I will check the post regularly, but other than that, no Hogwarts business for me. Unless one of the wards is disturbed. But I don’t anticipate that.”

Minerva nodded. “I am trying to do a little work, but . . . it isn’t absorbing. I should treat this time as a holiday, myself.”

Gertrude nodded. “You know, if you have no business at the school, you might want to take advantage of this time to get away – visit Melina, or friends in London, or what-have-you – even if you are staying here rather than at your family home.”

Minerva shrugged.

“I was actually under the impression that you wouldn’t be back at Hogwarts until sometime next week,” Gertrude continued.

“I wasn’t sure what my plans were,” Minerva answered wearily. She thought she might have liked Gertie better when she seemed opaque and distant. “I only decided this morning that I would return today.”

Gertie nodded. “I see.”

Minerva wondered again whether Gertie knew where Albus was and how long he would be gone.

“Had you planned to return to the school now?” Minerva asked. “If not, the Headmaster is fortunate that you did return and he could leave the wards with you.”

“We had talked about it. I generally return sometime at the beginning of August to enable him to leave the school freely, even if there is a Head of House present. I arrived yesterday morning and Albus left almost immediately, bags packed.”

“Oh. Was there an emergency of some sort?”

Gertrude shook her head. “No, he was just taking advantage of my arrival to leave as soon as possible. Lunch is in five minutes. It will take us at least that to get to the staff room.” Gertrude stood, and Minerva followed suit. “You know, I think if Albus had realised you would be returning this early, he would have said something. Or left a message for you. He has enjoyed the time you have spent together this summer.”

“He mentioned it?” Minerva asked, curious, but trying not to appear interested. She opened the door and let Gertrude pass ahead of her.

“He doesn’t always say things directly. As I told you last week, he has developed a habit of not revealing very much of himself, even to his friends, even to those of us who are close to him and care about him. He will do, of course, but . . . usually in his own time and in the manner of his choosing. Often, he is even unaware that he is closing others off by doing this. Albus doesn’t intend to be distant, and, indeed, he is very open and affectionate in his own way. But it seems to me that he believes that his own feelings and his emotional reactions to people and events can sometimes be a burden on others. He would never wish to be a burden to someone, and if he feared becoming a burden to them, he would try to protect them from that.”

It occurred to Minerva that Gertrude hadn’t really answered her question. She assumed that Albus hadn’t actually told Gertrude he had enjoyed spending time with her that summer, but that Gertrude had simply deduced that from her observations. And the business about being a “burden” – it sounded like a variation on Albus’s “old codger” remarks.

“Yes, well, I don’t see that you and I are particularly emotionally effusive, so I don’t believe that either of us can fault Albus for being somewhat reticent, himself,” Minerva said in Albus’s defence, thinking at the same time that she did wish that Albus were more open with her. She had tried to be more approachable and open with her own feelings, after all. Much more so than she was with anyone, even her family, on a certain level. She certainly had made herself vulnerable with him, not that he was to know that, of course.

“No, we are not generally so, and I cannot speak for you, only for myself and of my experience of people in general, but it seems to me that when someone who is naturally reticent with acquaintances and strangers does feel close to someone, a friend or a relative, they are often far more open with them than others who are not as naturally reticent might be. Albus, however . . . his reticence is more acquired and calculated than it is natural. And he can give the appearance of being the supremely confident warlock, which he certainly is, but he is also just a wizard, and despite his great wisdom and his many strengths, he still has his own personal . . . insecurities and foibles.” Gertrude shrugged slightly. “He can be quite open, of course . . . but he occasionally needs some prodding. That’s all I’m saying, I suppose.”

“I see. You two have known each other a long time,” Minerva observed. “You seem very close.”

“We are . . . if we weren’t . . . for one thing, I would not have agreed to continue as his Deputy for another year. I only did so because I believed it was for the best for him, for Hogwarts, and for the next Deputy. As I mentioned to you before, it is not a position I ever would have sought. It was natural for Albus to ask me, of course, and it was, in some ways, a natural outgrowth of our previous working and personal relationships.” Gertrude looked over at Minerva as they neared the second floor. “I would hope that you might consider becoming Deputy after me. I think that after a year as Head of Gryffindor, you will be settled sufficiently in your current positions to not be overtaxed by additional duties. You are a very capable witch, Minerva, and I believe that your talents and abilities would easily be more than equal to the task, and your devotion to the Headmaster is clear. He needs more than an ordinary Deputy – at least, I believe that he does – and I believe you are uniquely suited to serve in that capacity. I also believe it would enrich your professional life here at Hogwarts . . . and your friendship with Albus would also deepen through your shared experiences. I hope that you will think about it.”

“Actually, I have thought about it, just recently. It was something of a novel idea to me, to be honest, but – ” Minerva blushed.

“Yes?”

“It may sound silly, but I was researching something else in _Hogwarts, A History_ , and I wondered if my appointment as Head of Gryffindor was in there yet, and so I looked up my own name. In the section about my becoming Head, there was something suggesting that I might be a candidate for the position of Deputy.”

“Really? So old Stanley actually does listen occasionally,” Gertrude said with a smirk.

“Who is Stanley?” Minerva asked.

“Fellow Slytherin. Stanley Raffles. Had drinks with him a couple weeks ago. It was an excruciating hour and a half. The more he drinks, the more he talks. Most of it nonsense. But he is one of the editors for _Hogwarts, A History_ , and I wanted to be sure that he had more to say about the new Head of Gryffindor than the usual recycled material. So . . . was it otherwise accurate? Or did it sound as though you duelled Madame Feuilly to the death, as the _Prophet_ seemed to imply?”

“That was you?” Minerva asked, not able to get past the fact that it had apparently been Gertrude who was the “authoritative source” the book had cited.

“Not for the absurd statement about the Challenge that the _Prophet_ printed. No idea where they dug that up. But I did speak with Stanley. I hope it was accurate – did the article say something unflattering? Or something you would prefer not appear in a book generally available to Hogwarts students?” Gertrude asked, stopping at the entrance to the staff room. “I should have checked it myself, but . . . my holiday has been a busy one.”

“No, it was fine. At least the bit about the Challenge was, and about my professional qualifications . . . although,” Minerva said more quietly, looking around to see if anyone were nearby, “there was some speculation about what work I did during the war. _Special_ work, not my regular job. It wasn’t particularly detailed or accurate, but I don’t know if it’s the sort of thing that belongs there. Did you tell the editor about that?”

“No, nothing at all. He did say he was interested in your time at the Ministry, but I told him he would have to speak to his sources there. If you like, I can see if he would revise the entry to eliminate the speculation,” Gertrude offered seriously. “On the other hand, if it’s nothing that isn’t already general knowledge, between that and the mention of your successful Challenge, you should be able to easily overcome any scepticism any Gryffindors may have about their new Head.”

Minerva smiled a genuine smile for the first time since she left the Headmaster’s Tower. “Well, then, if it will increase my ‘air of mystery’ and enhance their opinion of me, I suppose we could leave it as is. Perhaps you could peruse it at some point to see if there is anything you believe should be removed. I would ask Albus, but he is always so busy. I would trust your judgment on it.”

Gertrude smiled at her and nodded. “I would be pleased to. Although if you are happy with it, I am sure it is fine.”

The two entered the staff room. Although they were a little late themselves, Wilhelmina and Hagrid hadn’t yet arrived. When they did, it sounded as though they had been arguing. Minerva hoped this wasn’t the beginning of another spate of not talking. It appeared, however, that it was a more ordinary disagreement.

“Gertrude, I will be leaving the castle this afternoon, returning on Friday, or possibly Saturday. I will be easily reached by owl, however, if there is another crisis. I do hope we have passed the last one for the summer,” Wilhelmina said with a sigh.

“So do we all,” Gertrude responded.

“Taking a holiday?” Minerva asked, bringing a forkful of quiche to her mouth.

“Of a sort. I am going to be at my brother’s for the rest of the weekend, then I’ll be going to the dragon preserve to observe a hatching and the mother bonding with her offspring. They will likely hatch on Tuesday, but I’ll arrive Monday in case they begin early. The initial phase of bonding occurs within the first twenty-four hours, but they want to be able to observe the new dragons around-the-clock for the first few days after they hatch, so I volunteered to take a few shifts.”

Minerva noticed that Hagrid looked unhappier as Wilhelmina discussed the dragon-hatching. He no doubt wanted to go with her and it wasn’t practical. Poor Hagrid.

After finishing his lunch, Hagrid rose to leave the room and Wilhelmina placed her hand on his wrist. “I will see you next week,” she said softly.

Hagrid smiled slightly. “Yeah. Have a good time with the baby dragons. I’ll be here when yeh get back.”

As Hagrid headed out the door, Minerva called to him. “Hagrid, may I come down to see you later? Will you be at your cabin?”

“Yeah, there, feedin’ Brutus ’is potion, or t’ paddock. I’m introducin’ the baby Thestrals t’ Forest in the next days. They’re growin’ fine. Yeh should see’em, M’nerva! Flappin’ their little wings, trottin’ abou’, all lively.” He glowed as he spoke of the rather ugly equine beasts.

“All right, then. I’ll come find you later,” Minerva answered with a smile. “I would like to see how Brutus is faring, certainly. And learn about how you introduce the Thestrals to the forest.”

“Ah, they do it themselves, mostly. I jest give the reluctant ones a bi’ of a boost if they need it,” Hagrid replied, pleased. “An’ Perfesser Slughorn’s potion is doin’ wonders fer Brutus – ’e’ll be glad fer yer visit.”

“All right. I have something to take care of now, but I’ll be out to see you this afternoon,” Minerva said as she rose from the table and followed him out the door.

Back in her study, Minerva took out her quill and wrote Quin a quick note asking him if he would be available for lunch the next day. Gertie was right; she should take advantage of this time to get away from the castle. Since Albus was not there and she had no idea when he would return, she had no reason to spend all of her time there. Minerva now regretted not having at least asked Gertrude when Albus would be returning. She could have asked that quite easily. Actually, she could have asked her where he had gone. It was a simple enough inquiry. If _It_ weren’t causing her to second-guess her every word and gesture, trying to hide her feelings for Albus, she would have asked. There was nothing suspicious about it, nothing that would lead Gertrude to assume anything that she didn’t already . . . but no point in confirming anything that sharp-eyed Slytherin may have guessed at. 

And that was one reason Minerva wanted to see Quin, to ask him if he had discussed with Gertrude her relationship with Albus. Or her feelings for him. Minerva didn’t think that Quin would intentionally violate her confidence, but if he had said something innocently and Gertrude had fished about . . . however much Minerva might now appreciate the older witch’s finer qualities and her care for Albus, Gertrude was nonetheless a Slytherin, and even if her motives and goals were fine ones, Minerva wouldn’t put it past her to inveigle information from someone if she thought it would serve her purpose.

In her brief letter, Minerva did mention that she had returned to Hogwarts early and been surprised to discover that Albus was absent from the school. Surprised and disappointed. No purpose in hiding her disappointment from Quin, and he would understand it. After all, why would she have returned to Hogwarts early except to see Albus? It still bothered her that he hadn’t mentioned anything about his holiday plans to her; from what Gertrude had implied, it hadn’t been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Of course, Albus had told her that he hoped to get away at some point during August, and that he was planning on visiting Robert and Thea, too. He was under no obligation to keep her updated about his schedule, and it wasn’t as though they hadn’t had other things that had occupied their attention and their conversation in those days after the wards had been renewed. First, he had told her the story of his youth and his defeat of Grindelwald, then, just when they seemed to be relaxing with each other, they had word about Pretnick’s death, and the following days had been busy ones, and there had been other people about. Although they had had that lovely walk in the garden. 

Minerva smiled, remembering how she had taken his hand, and the thrill that had gone through her when his hand had clasped hers and not moved it back to the crook of his arm. The pulsing of his magic against the palm of her hand had sent physical thrills through her, and as he had pointed out the various plants and their properties, but, more often, extolling their beauty above their utility, his voice had seemed to fill her with both desire and satisfaction. Minerva’s heart beat faster, just as it had that afternoon in the garden, and she closed her eyes, calling to mind the timbre of his voice, the feel of his hand, and the wash of his magic as they strolled among the fragrant blossoms. She imagined that they rounded greenhouse three and, hearing approaching voices, ducked into the little hidden nook. 

They were standing close, face-to-face, and Albus lifted his hand and placed a finger on her lips, quieting any words she might have uttered. Then he gazed into her eyes and realised her feelings for him and her desire. He traced the line of her lips, then grazed her cheek to the shell of her ear. His finger trailed its way down her jaw to her neck, and then to the pulse point of her throat, where it rested, feeling the wild beating of her heart. His lips parted and he bent his head forward, lightly brushing his lips on hers, then drawing back briefly to look into her eyes again before again caressing her lips with his own. Then his kisses grew sensual and seductive; he did not draw away, but pushed her to the wall, and she could feel his growing desire for her pressing into her. Their hands were still joined, and Albus raised her hand above her head, pinning it there, as his other hand moved from her throat downward, now not only caressing, but exploring and groping. She grabbed his shoulder, trying to pull him even closer, but Albus took that hand and raised it above her head, as well, trapping them both together there. 

She felt wonderfully open to him and vulnerable as he held her there, kissing her, exploring her body with his other hand, his erection firm against her as he rolled his hips, stimulating himself against her body. Unlike the dream of several nights before, when he had asked her permission at every step, in this lovely fantasy, Albus had seen her permission in her eyes and accepted it in her kisses, and now he was showing her his own desire and taking all that he wanted, and he wanted her, all of her. His exploring hand had reached beneath her robes and found her breast, and was now fondling it. Without hesitation, Albus pulled the robe from her shoulder, baring her breast to him and to his free explorations, and when the robe inhibited his further adventures, he simply ripped it from her body. He brought his other hand down and tore the robe open on the other side. Only now did he break from his kisses, to look at her breasts as he cupped them in his hands. He kissed her throat, and she moaned. Albus raised his head, smiling, and shook his head slightly, again placing one finger against her lips. She flicked out her tongue and licked the tip of his finger. His smile grew, and he allowed her to draw his finger between her lips. As she did so, he pressed himself against her again, and she felt his immense desire for her. She suckled his finger and wriggled against him. Albus pulled her robe completely from her body, baring her abdomen, then he watched her face as he opened the lower portion of his robes and thrust against her once more, this time, no fabric separating them. He watched her face as she felt him, flesh against flesh; he brought his other hand to her core and found her ready.

They heard the voices nearing them, but Albus paid them no heed, instead, he grasped her thighs with both hands and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him. He kissed her, silencing her moan as he entered her, filling her, ready to satisfy her desire. Sitting there in her study, Minerva restrained herself from enhancing the fantasy with her hand, relying instead only on her imagination to stimulate herself. He would stretch her and fill her and slide in and out, in and out, rubbing and pressing all the right spots, until finally, as he pumped into her, she would come, hard, but not crying out, lest anyone hear that the Headmaster was taking her against the wall behind the greenhouses in the warm, fragrant garden. And then he would come in her, and afterwards hold her close as their breathing slowed and their heartbeats calmed and they waited for the intruders to leave the garden.

Minerva opened her eyes and sighed. Even if he had some hidden romantic feelings for her, Albus had never come close to exhibiting any physical desire for her, never even kissing her properly. It was not at all sensible to engage in such fantasies. She just couldn’t seem to stop herself any longer. At least there was no chance that she would run into Albus any time in the next few hours. She would feel quite embarrassed, even though there was no way that he could know what she had been daydreaming about. Not without exercising Legilimency, anyway, and she knew that he didn’t do that sort of thing lightly. And he certainly wouldn’t perform it on her without her permission.

She finished her letter to Quin, feeling quite disconnected from her original reason for writing it. Sealing it with her emerald wax, Minerva decided to owl it immediately, then go find Hagrid. He might have already given Brutus the potion and be with the Thestrals, but she imagined he would wait to bring them into the forest until she arrived, and she could see Brutus afterward.

The trip to the Owlery took very little time, and Minerva decided to take the south stair, rather than backtracking to the main stairway that was nearer her quarters. She took them lightly and quickly, but paused at the third floor landing, thinking she heard something. Deciding that she was mistaken, or that it had simply been one of the peculiar unexplainable noises the castle occasionally made, Minerva continued down the next flight, but then she stopped on the landing between the third and second floors. She looked down to her right, her gaze drawn by the source of the renewed sounds.

Minerva blinked. Then she swallowed. Who on earth . . . it was Gertrude. It had to be Gertrude, but . . . it was Gertrude doing something that Minerva would never have dreamed she would see her doing, not under any circumstances, and certainly not in a public corridor at Hogwarts, for all that the castle was deserted. But who was she with? It couldn’t be Albus, he was away, Minerva reassured herself. But the wizard _was_ tall – Minerva couldn’t see him very well, as Gertrude had him pressed to the wall and was kissing him quite passionately. She didn’t think his hair was sandy, though, so it couldn’t be Johannes. Poor Johannes. . . .

Now the wizard had bent his head and was doing something to the side of Gertrude’s neck. Dark hair, tied back, though they were in the shadows and Minerva couldn’t say whether it was brown or black. Then the wizard’s hand crept down to the witch’s rounded buttocks, working her long robes up in bunches until he had completely bared her thigh and could reach up under them. Gertrude moaned, and then it looked to Minerva as though she bit the wizard’s shoulder. The wizard didn’t protest, but merely moved his other hand from her shoulders down to reach up under her skirts with that one, as well. Minerva stood frozen as she watched Gertrude raise her right leg, bending it at the knee and bracing it against the wall. Gertrude’s left hand, which had been kneading and grasping the wizard’s shoulders and hair, disappeared just as the wizard moved his head to the other side of Gertrude’s neck. The light glinted off his hair. Dark wavy hair, but reddish. Auburn. Minerva’s eyes widened as comprehension began to dawn on her, and then the wizard’s voice gasped, “That’s not my sporran, Trude!”

Gertrude, in a voice Minerva scarcely recognised, said, “I am quite aware of that . . . mmm . . . I hoped to make it past the sporran easily, and I am very glad I did. Very nice, indeed.” 

Minerva was rooted to the spot as the movement of Gertrude’s arm made the activity of her hand quite evident.

“We were going to your rooms. You were going to show me your rooms today,” the wizard protested weakly, in a voice that Minerva recognised as her brother’s. “There might be people about.”

“I told you, no one’s here. Minerva’s in the Forest with Hagrid. You’re the adventuresome type, I thought. You seem quite happy here, anyway,” Gertrude whispered. “Your hands seem happy, and your, um, not-sporran most certainly is very happy.” One of his hands was busy somewhere at her centre, and the other was kneading her backside.

“You could make any wizard’s cock happy doing what you’re doing now. Oh, gods, Trudie . . . do that, and I won’t last,” he moaned as Gertrude began to add a movement of her hips to whatever her hand was doing beneath his kilt. The wizard didn’t stop what he was doing, either, but turned his mouth to her ear, and Minerva could now see her brother’s face as he began to tease Gertrude’s ear with his tongue.

“I’m not precisely bored myself,” Gertrude responded with a gasp. “Yes, keep that . . . yes . . .”

Minerva backed up slightly, but was afraid to move very much, lest she be heard. She certainly couldn’t go down the stairs. That would take her right past them, but if she went back up, they might hear her and know that the only way she could have gone up is if she had first come down and seen what she had seen. At the moment, the two were so engrossed in their own activities, they wouldn’t see her unless they looked up at just the right angle. 

Minerva had never wanted to see Gertrude in any kind of passionate embrace, though she had feared finding her in one with Albus. That clearly wasn’t going to happen, judging from this scene. But Minerva had wanted even less to see one of her brothers in this kind of situation. Murdoch and Poppy had been kissing quite sensually, but it was nothing compared with this passionate groping, moaning, and gasping. What surprised Minerva most, though, was that this was _Malcolm_. He had always seemed, not _asexual_ precisely, but uninterested in witches and sex. She may have speculated to Quin that Malcolm may have had a lover in every city he’d ever visited, but she hadn’t been serious; Minerva certainly believed that, whether Malcolm took lovers or not, he would never develop a relationship with one, female or male. It didn’t fit his nature. He was not the sort to want the kind of responsibility and ties that came with such a relationship. And she would have been less surprised to find him in a clinch with a wizard after the way he had described Quin the day before. As for Gertrude . . . if Minerva had ever stopped to consider Gertrude’s nature in these things, she would have considered her a one-wizard-witch, loyal and expecting the same loyalty in return. Minerva certainly would never have thought Gertrude would be one to have a fling, let alone with someone such as Malcolm. Not that Malcolm was a bad person . . . .

Suddenly, Malcolm flipped positions with Gertrude, and her back was to the wall. It was clear what Malcolm’s hand was doing, but to Minerva’s great relief, just as it seemed that he was going to try to satisfy the witch right there in front of her, he removed his hand and hoisted Gertrude up off the floor, and her arms went around his neck.

“To your rooms, _now_ ,” he said urgently.

Gertrude indicated the direction with her chin, then rested her head on his shoulder and let him carry her off. After they disappeared down the side corridor, Minerva let out a breath. Goodness, what else would she happen upon in the Hogwarts castle? She had never seen people engaging in sexual activity during all her years at the Ministry, and within the course of a month, she had witnessed Hagrid and Wilhelmina going at it in his garden, and now this. In the future, she would never assume that she was unseen if she were anywhere in a potentially public spot in the castle or on the grounds. If she weren’t actually in private, she would not assume that she had any privacy. Not that she would ever have any occasion to be engaged in similar activities, Minerva thought with a sigh. Her fantasy about the nook behind greenhouse three would remain a fantasy for more reasons than the lack of privacy. . . .

She had been so stunned by what she had witnessed, Minerva almost forgot why she had been going down the stairs to begin with. But now, she came to herself and continued on down to the ground floor and out the main doors to find Hagrid and spend some time with him and his creatures.

Later that afternoon, after having spent a few hours with Hagrid, Minerva was working her way through her correspondence, answering Quin’s response to her letter and agreeing to dinner on Monday evening rather than Sunday lunch, when the familiar sounds of Fidelio and the Knight came from her sitting room, announcing the presence of a visitor. As usual, the Knight did not reveal the guest’s identity, and Minerva waved the door open, hoping it wasn’t Gertrude. She didn’t know if she could look the witch in the eye so soon after what she had witnessed. Somewhat to her surprise, however, it was Malcolm himself.

“Greetings, little sister! I thought I would stop by and see your new palatial quarters,” he said with a grin, stepping in and looking around him. “Very nice.”

“Thank you. I didn’t know you would be coming to Hogwarts,” Minerva said.

Malcolm flopped onto the couch and put his feet up on her coffee table. Minerva cringed, but didn’t say anything.

“I thought you would be staying at the house longer. When I learned you had returned to the school, I decided to drop in on you,” he explained.

Minerva sat. “I see . . . would you like some tea?”

“No. Thanks, though. Just had some,” Malcolm replied.

“Are you staying for dinner? That is, would you like to?” Minerva asked.

He grinned. “That would be lovely!”

“There aren’t many people here today . . . just me, Hagrid, and Gertrude.”

Malcolm nodded.

“So, how did you learn I was here?” Minerva asked.

Malcolm looked momentarily uncomfortable, then he said, “You weren’t at home.”

Minerva suppressed a wicked grin. “I hope you don’t mind dining with just the three of us tonight. Hagrid, of course, can provide you with some interesting conversation. He always has some new fact about some creature or other that he likes to share. You’ll enjoy speaking with him. But otherwise, it’s just the two staid witches. I do hope that Gertrude and I don’t bore you. You’re used to me, of course . . . but I hope you will be cordial to Gertrude, for all that she’s just a staid Hogwarts teacher.”

“You know I said she wasn’t that. I will be happy to be cordial to her,” Malcolm said.

“Mmm. You two seemed to get on quite well at the tea party. I was somewhat surprised, given your usual attitude. Gertrude hasn’t mentioned you since, but she didn’t seem to find your company objectionable. She did say at the time, however, that you were an interesting wizard. But likely just because she was speaking with your sister and didn’t want to be rude.”

“Yes, well, we did have an interesting afternoon. I thought we got on well,” Malcolm answered.

“So . . . you have a new-found appreciation for Arithmancy? And Arithmancers?” Minerva asked.

Malcolm shrugged. “Gertrude is fine.”

“Did you know her husband?”

“No. I was acquainted with her brother, though,” Malcolm responded.

“Yes, you mentioned that at the party. You are aware of how Gertrude’s husband died, though?” Minerva asked.

“I know he was killed by Grindelwald shortly before he moved to his stronghold. Crouch was a voice crying in the wilderness. No one paid him any heed until he was dead and it was too late to do anything.”

“Do you know how he died? What Grindelwald did to him?”

Malcolm shook his head. “I assumed it was a Killing Curse, but from your question, I deduce my assumption was incorrect.”

Minerva averted her eyes. “You don’t want to ask her about it . . . that is, it would be best not to, for her sake.” Minerva looked back up at her brother. “I’ll tell you now, so you know.”

As she told Malcolm what had been done to Reginald Crouch and how long it had taken the suffering wizard to die, Malcolm sat up straighter and removed his feet from the coffee table. 

“I am glad you told me,” he said softly. “I am surprised I hadn’t heard about that before now . . . but I am glad you told me. I may have inadvertently said something or asked a question . . .”

Minerva nodded. “So you do like Gertrude, then?”

“Of course. And even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t want to bring up something like that in my usual ham-handed way. I know I am not always the master of manners, but I have no desire to inflict pain on anyone.”

“Gertrude has been through a lot, Malcolm. She was happy with her husband. When he was murdered, she almost lost Robert, her son, who was a teenager at the time. The boy went off looking for Grindelwald, hoping to exact revenge. Fortunately, Albus found him before he and his friends were captured or killed. Then her brother was killed during the war. She is not an effusively warm witch, but I have come to see that she has a great deal of loyalty, fierce loyalty, toward those whom she counts as friends. I don’t believe the loyalty is given easily, nor are her affections. We may not be close, but in a sense, I think of her as a friend, and I wouldn’t want to see her hurt.”

“I would never speak to her about her husband’s death, Minerva, unless she wished to discuss it. I have no desire to open up old wounds with her,” Malcolm answered.

“I am not speaking of old wounds. I am speaking of new injuries. Think before you speak or act, Malcolm.”

“I hardly require a lecture in etiquette from my little sister,” Malcolm said, his mild annoyance apparent.

Minerva looked at him a moment. “How did you know I was at Hogwarts? You never really said – did Gertrude tell you?”

“Gertrude?” Malcolm seemed confused.

“Yes . . . when you spoke with her.”

“Well, I did see her earlier. She said you were here and told me which portrait guarded your rooms, in case I had any trouble finding it.”

“Did you two have a nice afternoon together, then?”

“What – ”

“I spent a few hours with Hagrid, so you two had the castle to yourself this afternoon – once I had left,” Minerva said. 

“Once you had left . . .”

“Yes. After lunch, I wrote a letter, then I posted it from the Owlery before I went out to find Hagrid.”

“You saw me arrive?” Malcolm asked.

“I saw you after you arrived. You received a very warm welcome,” Minerva said, one eyebrow raised.

Malcolm shrugged. “All right. I _have_ been here for the afternoon. I didn’t know you would be here until Gertrude told me you were. She said you were out with Hagrid for the afternoon, though. I did come to see Gertrude.”

“I presume, from the warm welcome you received, that you were an invited guest.”

Malcolm nodded. “Of course. Gertrude told me she would be at the castle this week, but that almost no one else would be here, even the Headmaster would be gone for a few days . . . so yesterday morning, I spent an hour or so with her here, wandering about the grounds, and she invited me to come back this afternoon for a longer visit.”

“I see. And you didn’t mention this to me either yesterday or even today because it just slipped your mind . . . and when I told Gertrude that you had come to dinner at the house yesterday, she didn’t say anything because she was more preoccupied with the question of a wedding gift for Melina and Brennan.”

“No. You know that. I can’t speak for Gertrude, but I simply didn’t want to call unnecessary attention to it. At some point, I would have mentioned something to you since I will be visiting again over the next few days and I don’t fancy sneaking about. But I hadn’t decided yet exactly what to say,” Malcolm replied.

“Well, what _do_ you have to say?” Minerva asked.

Malcolm shrugged. “I like her. We get on. She seems to like me, as well.”

Minerva snorted in laughter. “You ‘get on,’ do you? It looked to me as though you were both a bit beyond that stage.”

“What do you mean?” Realisation dawned on his face. “You really did see us together, didn’t you – and not when she met me down on the grounds. Here in the castle.”

“Yes, on the second floor. Before you two finally went off to her rooms,” Minerva clarified.

“Wonderful,” Malcolm said drily. “I kept having the sense we were being watched, but I assumed it was the portraits or something. Gertrude had assured me you were out with Hagrid.”

“I was surprised. Very surprised,” Minerva said. “Surprised, first, to see Gertrude, well, like that, and surprised, second, to see that it was you she was with.”

Malcolm stretched. “Gertrude is a very passionate witch under that somewhat brittle exterior. She intrigued me from the moment I met her . . . she seemed different. And I had a sense that there was so much more to know of her, and not just in the obvious way, what you saw earlier. At first, she seemed a challenge to me, someone to try to draw out and discover what lay beneath her everyday persona. And then . . .”

“And then? You do remember what I just told you about her, don’t you, Malcolm? I don’t want to see her hurt. I will be perfectly blunt. You are not known for your ability to stay in one place nor for your deep and abiding ties to friends. In fact, I don’t even _know_ any of your friends, although I assume you have made some. Gertrude is not some one-day job that you can enjoy as a challenge and then move on from without any consequences, you know.”

Malcolm was quiet for a moment, then he said, “I do see why you say what you do, little sister. And it is true that I am somewhat of a ne’er-do-well, at least by most people’s standards. But I do have a few close friends. Unfortunately, none are British, and none of them even live in the same city. As for other relationships . . .” Malcolm rose and began to walk about the room, aimlessly touching things as he considered his words. “The longest relationship I have had of the romantic sort was one of about two months, on Malta. She became more enamoured of me than I of her, and I left. I was quite a bit younger at the time, and I didn’t handle it well, either the relationship or the way I ended it. Generally, if someone is attractive and finds me attractive, I explore the attraction for a while, then move on. I make it clear from the beginning I am not seeking anything more. And, to answer the curiosity you left unexpressed yesterday, that did occasionally include the attractive wizard, but not in well more than twenty-five years. It would be titillating and somewhat intoxicating for me to see what kind of effect I could have on a wizard, but that became a bore, and my true attraction is for the feminine form and the feminine character, and . . . I do love women.” 

Malcolm sighed. “As I admitted, at first Gertrude was intriguing, and a challenge. I do not know entirely what my aim was, but I did want to seduce her. All of her, have her open herself up to me, and then to finally have her in my bed. Metaphorically speaking, of course. I wouldn’t have cared where I first took her, er, made love to her. But as I began my slow seduction, believing myself entirely in control of the situation, and seeing her as a repressed witch who had spent too many years with books and children and rules, I found that it was I who was being seduced. I did not even realise it immediately, but I wanted her. I wanted her in a way that I hadn’t believed I did or could. I had believed that I merely wanted her to want me and to make herself open to me . . . I do not think I would have hurt her, as you suggest, little sister, but that is moot. She was seducing me, and using my own seduction to do it. Gods, that witch!” Malcolm let out a long breath. “And one reason I imagine that she has not said anything to you is that we had discussed how open we wish to be with our relationship. I do not want to keep it a complete secret, but she is a respectable witch, with a respectable position here at Hogwarts. It wouldn’t do for it to appear that she is carrying on with some wizard in a casual affair. And I, I am not precisely disreputable, but I am not known for my sense of responsibility or, as you put it, for my ability to stay in one place for long. If it doesn’t last, we both agreed that it would be best that the fewer who knew about it, the better. I planned to tell you that I would be seeing her, coming by the castle, and so forth, just so that I didn’t feel as though I was sneaking about, but I certainly didn’t plan to say anything explicit about the fact that we’re lovers. But now that you know, there’s no point in trying to hide it.”

Minerva nodded. “All right, you are both adults, and I certainly wouldn’t presume to tell either of you how to live your lives. I was merely concerned that you were leading her on. It even crossed my mind that you might have . . . encouraged her affections, shall we say, with a little artificial stimulation.” When Malcolm looked at her blankly, Minerva said, “Those herbs you picked. I thought you might have brewed some kind of aphrodisiac.”

Malcolm laughed, unoffended. “Oh, no, they were for a pest-repellent. That’s what I was doing this morning. It felt odd, actually. I usually work on my own, but for the last several jobs, I have brought Gertrude with me and came to enjoy her company.”

“I must admit, though, Malcolm, to still being puzzled by Gertrude’s behaviour. It simply doesn’t seem in character for her to be so, um, attached to you. She is normally so reserved. You’ve known her, what? Two weeks?” Minerva asked.

“We have spent most of those two weeks together. She had a job for me that Monday, right after your little party. We went out to Cornwall and she helped me to eradicate an infestation of Cornish pixies. Well, we didn’t eradicate it. We removed them to a little island where they can happily wreak their havoc with no one around. They were on her neighbour’s land, and the Gamps were concerned that they would begin to encroach on theirs soon if they weren’t dealt with. That’s when I hunted up Quin; I wanted to ask about her, make sure that the two of them weren’t involved. After that, I invited her along with me, and we spent the next few days hopping about Britain, doing this and that, everything from Doxies to Boggarts to uncharming cursed objects. I could tell she was getting tired, but she would never admit it.” Malcolm quirked a grin. “I thought it was all the better for me, you see. I thought that she would be so tired that she would be more open to my charms. I was somewhat mistaken in that. And then, when finally I found the most beautiful spot in which to pursue my seduction . . . I found that she had seduced me.” 

Malcolm walked over to the window and looked out across the grounds, his back to Minerva. He said quietly, “I haven’t told her this, and I won’t, not yet, but . . . little sister, your brother is in dire danger. I don’t want to be rid of her, and I don’t want to lose her. I even fear that she may become bored with me. I think I may possibly be falling in love. Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“No, not ridiculous,” Minerva answered softly. “Difficult for you, but not ridiculous.”

“She is truly amazing . . . Tru, Trude, Trudie,” Malcolm said in a soft, sing-song voice. 

He had first called her “Trudie” on a cold, misty dawn on the Isle of Man when she was helping him find the lair of a buggane that had begun bothering the local Muggles as much as it was the wizarding folk. It was causing no end of trouble for everyone, and Obliviators had even been called in a few times when Muggles caught sight of the ugly, smelly creature. He had given Gertrude a direction, asking her to go around to the west of the thicket where he suspected the buggane had dug its lair. He had already stopped calling her “Gertie”; to Malcolm, the name didn’t fit the witch he was with, the witch he glimpsed beneath the reserved persona. When he said “Trudie,” she had hesitated, then nodded and did as he had asked.

Later, after they had successfully dealt with the buggane, they stopped for coffee and a bite to eat in a Muggle pub, he used the name again, “Trudie,” and Gertrude paused in midbite before swallowing her food and answering his question.

“Do people call you ‘Trudie’? Does it bother you when I do?” he asked her then.

“I haven’t been called that in many years. But if you wish to, you may,” she answered, then took a sip of her coffee. 

“I do; it suits you, Trudie.” He smiled at her and was pleased when she returned his smile.

A few days later, they were climbing about some old Cistercian ruins, she in her trousers, he in his kilt, just the spot for a bit of seduction, he thought . . . a little bit of a kiss, a single sweet caress, shyly offered, but making the witch feel desired and desirable. A little staring into her eyes . . . she did have wonderful eyes. . . . That had been his plan. And as he offered her his hand to step up on a broken stone beside him, beneath a still-beautiful stone arch, he thought he had found his opportunity. He brought her to stand closer to him than was strictly necessary, and he turned to look down into her eyes, but he found that she was looking off into the distance.

He caressed a wind-blown strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. He wondered what she had looked like when she was young, and found that he didn’t care. She was perfection as he looked at her, strong profile, clear, grey eyes, and an honest step upon the earth. He found himself staring at her, and his hand went back to her face, grazing her cheek. He wanted her attention, he wanted her to know him, to find him . . . more than just attractive. He wanted her to _find_ him. His hand lingered warmly by her face, but he hesitated to touch her again.

Without knowing what he was saying, he whispered, “I have been lost and did not know it until I met you, Tru.”

She turned toward him, raising her hand to where his hovered still, then she placed a soft kiss in the centre of his palm. She looked up at him, grey eyes meeting his, and she said simply, “That was not what you planned to say, was it?”

He shook his head and she held his hand to her cheek briefly before letting it go. 

“That was much better than anything you could have planned, I am sure,” she said, raising her other hand to touch his face lightly.

He found himself unable to move as she traced the line of his beard on his cheek. He watched as her eyes followed the path her fingers took, and when her fingertips gently grazed his lips, she parted her own. 

“Were you going to kiss me today?” she asked softly. He nodded mutely. She raised her eyes to meet his again, and said, “I think this might be a good moment.”

Barely able to breathe and unable to think, he allowed her to guide his head, with just the gentlest touch to his jaw, and his lips met hers. It was no brief kiss, calculated to seem shy and tentative, though tentative it was, at first. Only their lips were touching, but for her fingertips on his face, and yet as they kissed, Malcolm felt that there was more intimacy in that moment with her than he had ever had with anyone in his life.

His heart racing, as much in fear as in excitement, he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed. 

“What are you doing to me, Trudie?” he whispered.

“I thought I was being seduced, but it has been a while . . . I may have been wrong,” Gertrude answered, her breath warm upon his face. 

“I thought that is what I was doing. I was wrong,” he said. “And I thought . . . I believed . . . perhaps I wanted it to be something else . . . not this.”

He sensed more than saw that she was smiling. “Was that not pleasant?” she asked.

“Oh, it was more than pleasant, and you know it. It is hard to believe that it has ‘been a while,’ as you put it. Do you always do this to wizards?”

“You know the answer to that, I believe, Malcolm.”

“I wanted a challenge, you know, Trudie . . . not to say that was all I wanted, or that . . . I am not saying this right.” He swallowed. “Now all I want is to kiss you again.”

“I am here,” she said softly.

This time, he put his arms around her as he kissed her, and more than their lips were touching. Then he held her there, a long, long time, it seemed, just holding her in his arms and savouring her presence. They walked a bit more, and she kissed him again. He cast warming charms and spread his light cloak on the ground, and he knelt before her, looking up at her. 

“Kiss me again?” Malcolm asked, smiling. 

She ran her fingers through his hair, then joined him on the cloak, kneeling, and she did as he wished, kissing him and kissing him again. He murmured her name and lowered her to the ground, holding her close. He caressed her and kissed her cheeks, then just lay there, holding her tightly, unsure what to do, what she wanted, or even what he wanted.

“I have had only two lovers in my life, Malcolm,” the witch whispered against his chest. “I knew each of them for years before we were ever lovers. Both were fine wizards. One I lost to death, the other, I let go. Now I think . . . I may like another lover, if that lover were you. I think, if you would like, we could see what we might have together.”

“I feel I should warn you, Trudie, I am not known for being particularly reliable, personally. I rarely stay in one place more than a few months. I have already been in Aberdeen longer than is usual for me. I was beginning to feel some wanderlust again. And I have had far more than two lovers. But now . . . I, too, would like to see what we might have together. I don’t have any idea what that might be. And I may still decide next week, or next month, or the month after that, that I need to leave, to go and do and find and be something different. I don’t want you to have any expectations.”

“Will you say good-bye before you leave?” Gertrude asked.

“Yes. I would say good-bye. I would . . . if I were to leave. But right now, this minute,” he said, kissing the top of her head, “I have no desire to go anywhere, but only to stay here with you. And if you were to leave, I know I would want to follow you. But that is this moment.”

Gertrude nodded against him. “And, for the moment, that is all that matters to me. If that changes for me, I will tell you.”

She raised her head and looked at him again. 

“I want you, Trudie. I thought to wait, to take some time to . . . seduce you, as you say. But now, I want you and I don’t want to wait. But I will never push you beyond what you are comfortable with.”

“Make love to me, Malcolm. Now.”

And he did.

Malcolm shook himself and turned away from Minerva’s window. He looked at his sister and grinned. “So, when’s dinner around here?”


	111. Headmaster's Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Gertrude take a walk. Albus is on holiday.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Gertrude Gamp, Malcolm McGonagall, and Fawkes.

**CXI: Headmaster’s Holiday**

Minerva found she was enjoying herself during dinner, far more than she had anticipated, certainly. Hagrid and Malcolm did get along, and Malcolm was interested in meeting Brutus, seeing the Jarvey, and visiting the Thestral paddock. Gertrude seemed quite at ease, and although Minerva could not say that the other witch was smiling, her expression was relaxed, and she seemed happy. Of course, after the activities Minerva presumed that Malcolm and Gertrude had been engaged in that afternoon, she supposed the witch would be relaxed and at least somewhat content. Still, other than the fact that Malcolm would occasionally catch Gertrude’s eye and give her a smile, Minerva wouldn’t have guessed from their demeanour with each other at dinner that they were anything more than friends, or even casual acquaintances. 

Hagrid invited Malcolm out to his cabin after dinner, and Malcolm agreed, saying to no one in particular as he left that he would be back up to the castle later. 

“Fancy a walk, Gertrude?” Minerva asked. 

They headed, by mutual but unspoken agreement, away from the castle and down toward the gates, in the opposite direction from that taken by Malcolm and Hagrid.

“Malcolm told me that you two have been seeing quite a bit of each other,” Minerva said.

Gertie nodded. “Yes, we have.”

“It was somewhat unexpected for me to learn of your, um, friendship, and its extent,” Minerva said.

Gertie hesitated only slightly. “It was unexpected for me, as well. And, I think, for your brother. But unexpected does not mean it was unwelcome,” she added.

The two walked on in silence for a while.

“Do you mind? Does it bother you?” Gertie asked. “That it is I whom Malcolm is seeing? Or that it is Malcolm whom I am seeing?”

“Even if it were my place to mind, no, I don’t,” Minerva replied. “I have concerns, but they are not mine to deal with.”

“Concerns about?”

Minerva shook her head. “Just general ones. I probably know and understand Malcolm the least of my three brothers, but I do know that he is peripatetic and not prone to developing romantic attachments. I suppose that is one reason I don’t really know him well; he was rarely around when I was a child, and when I was growing up, he always seemed larger-than-life, almost a mythical character, to me. I outgrew that picture of him, of course, but the one I replaced it with was incomplete. Still, that is the source of one of my concerns. He is very independent.”

“That adventurous spirit is part of what I liked in him when we first met that day. I wouldn’t try to change it,” Gertrude said.

“But if he just up and leaves?”

“Then he leaves.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Minerva asked, wondering now whether Gertrude saw her brother as a safe fling, someone with whom she could have a semi-clandestine affair but who would develop no ties to her. Perhaps she was attracted by the very fact that her brother would not stick around and become a nuisance to her well-ordered life.

“Then he stays . . . and we shall see.” Gertrude looked over at Minerva. “I do think your brother and I understand one another on that point for now, Minerva.”

Minerva nodded. Whenever one loved, there was the danger of being hurt. As long as they were both aware of that particular possibility for difficulty between them, it certainly wasn’t up to her to lecture either of them. 

“You haven’t known one another long, obviously,” Minerva said. “I hope you don’t mind my being frank and, as I said, it isn’t any of my business, but you are generally reserved, from what I have seen. And so I suppose that is another reason I find it unexpected.”

“Your observation is accurate. But Malcolm, for all that you may not believe you know him well, is not very difficult to get to know. And, not to delve into particulars, I did find him attractive when I first met him. Certainly you can understand that an initial attraction can encourage someone to want to get to know someone else better.” Gertie added more softly, “And he can make me laugh. He is new and fresh, and I can forget myself with him . . . or remember who I was . . . and I like to think that I have something to offer him, as well.”

“He does like you, very much,” Minerva said, wanting to reassure the older witch, but not wanting to betray Malcolm’s confidence, either. 

“I would say that he reminds me of Reginald, but that would be unfair to them both. Still, some of Malcolm’s characteristics are ones I find myself repeatedly attracted to, whether I am a fourteen-year-old girl with a crush on her brother’s best mate or a sixty-year-old witch who has seen too much of life and is suddenly taken with the rather unusual brother of a colleague.”

Sixty. So only ten years older than Malcolm. Minerva had taken Gertrude to be older than that, but it was partly because she had had grey hair for as long as she had known her. Albus had said it had been a beautiful chestnut brown and had gone grey soon after her husband’s death. Albus had spoken of Gertrude lovingly that night; he always did, really.

“And Albus?” Minerva asked.

Gertrude looked over at Minerva, a peculiar expression on her face. “What of Albus?”

“I just wondered . . . Malcolm said you weren’t keen on having many people know, either of you. I was wondering whether you had mentioned anything to Albus, or if you would. I wouldn’t want to say the wrong thing to him, not realising . . .”

“I haven’t spoken with him about it, not specifically, no. But I don’t know as it will come as a surprise. He seemed to have some notion that I . . . that Malcolm . . . that his visit yesterday was something other than casual,” Gertrude responded hesitantly. “He saw us just before he left. He didn’t say anything, but . . . I don’t think it would be a complete surprise for him to learn of it, but I didn’t tell him anything other than that a friend was visiting me, and he saw that the friend was Malcolm.”

“I won’t say anything to him, then, although if he asks me, I would feel uncomfortable lying to him.”

“I would never expect you to lie to Albus, Minerva. I also doubt it would occur to him to ask you about us,” Gertrude said. 

“Malcolm is my brother,” Minerva pointed out.

“Yes, he is.” Gertrude stopped and looked over at Minerva again. “That makes you uncomfortable.”

“No. Not really. I think I am still too surprised to feel uncomfortable.”

“You find it difficult to believe that Malcolm . . . that he could find me . . . attractive?” Gertrude asked.

“No. More the other way around, to be honest, even after you explained that he has certain characteristics you appreciate,” Minerva said.

They had reached the gates some time earlier and had turned and walked along the perimeter of the grounds, just inside the wall; now, having reached the edge of the Forest, the two turned and headed slowly back toward the castle, walking in silence. 

“He sang to me,” Gertrude finally said softly. “That evening on the cliffs, the ocean crashing in the distance. And I think . . . I have never heard anything more beautiful. I thought I heard his soul in his songs.” She looked over quickly at Minerva, opened her mouth, then closed it again, as if embarrassed by what she had just admitted.

Minerva nodded. “I see. You know I won’t say anything to him, Gertie. It’s all right.” Minerva smiled and said briskly, “Come, let’s go find Malcolm and Hagrid.”

* * *

Albus sat at the small, rough-finished wooden table and ate his bread, apples, and cheese, washing it down with cool, fresh water. He hadn’t much appetite, and the food seemed to stick in his throat as he swallowed. He normally appreciated this time in his little cottage on its rocky island, but this year was different. Part of it, Albus acknowledged, was Robert Pretnick’s untimely fate. But a greater part of it was his internal struggle with his feelings for Minerva. It seemed that no matter what he did, how he approached it, he was failing somehow.

His visit with Robert and Thea had been good. He had spent all of Friday and most of Saturday with them, and he had been very pleased to see that Thea was growing satisfyingly round with her child, and to learn that even the local Healers now believed that she would carry the baby to term. Thea was religious about performing the magical exercises that Egeria had prescribed, and Robert himself brewed the special potions the recipes of which had likewise been provided by Egeria. He would have to remember to extend his special thanks to that fine witch, who still refused payment for her visits and her care, insisting that the Portkeys were sufficient recompense.

It was no wonder that Minerva had such a generous nature, given the parents she had. Oh, Minerva . . . what was he to do? Several times, Albus had fought and defeated the urge to pick up a quill and write her a letter. He could tell her of his visit to Robert and Thea, of course, but what he really longed to do was to tell her that he missed her, that he yearned to hear her voice and to see her face, that his heart would be heavy until he did. 

She hadn’t come to see him before she left this time. Tuesday evening had been difficult, of course; there had still been staff present. She had likely thought him too busy to see her, if she thought of it at all. He knew that Minerva enjoyed his company – it would actually be easier on him if she didn’t – but it would be foolish of him to think that he entered her thoughts as persistently as she did his. Wednesday morning, he had even risen early, thinking she might come by before she left. He considered going down to the grounds to take a walk so that he would see her before she walked down to the gate. But he hadn’t. And she hadn’t come up to his Tower. He had seen her depart, however, standing in Hogwarts Heart, the grounds revealed to him through its walls. Hidden in the Heart, he watched her walk down from the castle to the gates. She seemed to pause once and look back. He imagined Minerva was looking up at him where he stood looking out at her, but she could not see him there in the stone tower, and it was vanity to believe that she was doing anything more than glancing back at the castle in general.

And so he had been glad when Gertrude had returned and he could take his holiday. If Minerva had been there, he would have found it difficult to leave, and he surely would have returned directly to the castle after his visit to the Crouches had she not also been on holiday. But as she was away . . . and then there was Gertrude herself. It seemed to him that there had been something different about Gertrude the last few times he had seen her. She seemed lighter and somehow more like the witch he had come to know so many years before. He had at first ascribed it to her recovery from the anniversary of Reginald’s death. Now, though, he thought it might have another cause.

When Gertrude returned to the castle and came up to his rooms early Friday morning, she was dressed in sea green robes with silver embroidery. Not dress robes, not on any other witch, but certainly not her usual school attire. They spoke briefly about the school and his absence, then she said that she was expecting a visitor, a friend, and he would be arriving at the gates soon. Albus told her to go meet her friend. He would pass the wards to her before he left, whether he saw her again or not. A few minutes later, he glanced out his window to see Gertie hastening down the path to the gates. He wondered who her guest was. She rarely had any, and kept her family and personal life away from the school. When he looked out his window again, he saw her walking back up the drive, a tall wizard at her side. 

Albus went to the window and watched them together. She hadn’t even taken the wizard’s arm, and the two were not touching, but there was something easy in the way they walked together. As they drew nearer, Albus recognised the wizard. Young Malcolm McGonagall. That was . . . interesting. Minerva had mentioned that they had met at her tea a week or two before. Albus had been quite sure that, for all Gertrude may have found the wizard amusing, she would not be in danger of believing she had found a new friend. She formed friendships slowly and warily, after all, and from the little he knew of Malcolm, she would not have the time and opportunity to develop a friendship with him. Yet, there they were, together.

Albus recalled what Gertrude had said to him a few nights before when he had told her that she was still fetching in trousers. “So I have been told.” He had taken it as a general statement, but . . . could it be that it had been this young wizard who had told her that? He was a brash Gryffindor, and Gertrude did seem to have a fondness for Gryffindor wizards, after all. He hoped that she was not putting herself in a position to be hurt or disappointed. 

Albus sighed and banished the remains of his bread and cheese. Gertrude could look after herself, he was certain. If young McGonagall did anything to hurt her, though, did anything intentionally . . . if he learned of it, he would certainly see to it that McGonagall would not be in such a position to hurt her again, at the very least. But he did think that Malcolm was honourable, if flighty. Still, it drove home to him once more that he was an old, obsolete wizard. Gertrude deserved happiness, and if she could find any with young Malcolm, even if only for a short time, then he was pleased. Yet Albus did feel a stab of jealousy toward the young wizard, which he acknowledged and dismissed. He had had his youth, and he had no claim on Gertrude, just as he had once said in anger that she had no claim on him, when she had tried to warn him against Valerianna. He had done Gertrude an injustice then, believing that despite not wanting him herself, she did want to keep him from being with any other witch. It had been a grave error on his part, and not simply because of its consequences for him and his dogged refusal to see Valerianna for the witch she was. He had hurt Gertrude . . . and yet she had still come to his aid and saved him from what could have become a public embarrassment.

Albus closed his eyes. Dear Gertrude. He did love her . . . not with the love that he held for Minerva, but still, he loved her. She had always been an important part of his life from the time he had met her. He hoped he had never completely taken her for granted, but he was certain that there were times when he hadn’t appreciated her as he should have, and times when he hadn’t given her the care and respect she deserved. He believed Gertrude knew he loved her, but he did not know if he had ever even told her that. She loved him, and he knew it from both her word and her deed.

Gertrude had been so good to him over the years, and after her husband died and then she joined him at Hogwarts, they became even closer. Albus had always found her a desirable witch, in an abstract way, even before her husband’s death. After Reginald’s death, being attracted to her seemed worse than it had, because he never would have acted on his attraction before, and was quite happy to have Gertrude and Reginald both as very close friends, but now . . . Gertrude’s grief was palpable, and it felt unseemly to him to feel such growing attraction to the widow of a wizard who had suffered such a dreadful death at the hands of Grindelwald. 

Nonetheless, their friendship deepened and their understanding of one another grew as they worked together at Hogwarts, and Gertrude became his only true confidante. Then one night after a particularly difficult and tiring mission, he returned to his rooms exhausted. It was too late to call on anyone, though he would have appreciated some company, and he settled for a cup of chamomile tea with the prospect of some calming mental exercises before retiring for the night. But then there was a light tapping at his door, and he opened it to find Gertrude, a teaching robe tossed on over a nightgown. She had seen him coming up from the gates, she’d said, and she thought he might like some company.

And he did want company. They sat together and drank tea, Gertrude’s silent presence such a comfort to him. Then he rose and said something in gratitude, thanking her and bidding her good-night, and she had stood, putting one hand in his and laying a finger on his lips, quieting him in the midst of his words of thanks. Albus put his arms around her, holding her, and she embraced him in return. When she drew back slightly, he looked into her eyes, trying to see what she felt at that moment. Still unsure, he simply traced the line of her face from her temple to her chin with one finger, and she put just the slightest pressure on the back of his neck, encouraging him to lower his head, then they kissed. At first, it was tentative, but it grew more passionate, and before Albus had time to reflect on what he was doing, he had pushed Gertrude’s teaching robe from her shoulders, and his hands were exploring her body; he lowered her to the couch and was pushing her nightgown up with one hand as he continued to kiss her and unfastened the buttons at the top of the gown with the other hand. He kissed her and touched her, and finally finding her bare breasts, he kissed them, and then he lay his head down upon her and began to weep in exhaustion, grief, and present sorrow. Gertrude stroked his hair and his back, holding him, never saying a word. She had not let him apologise; he had done nothing wrong, she told him, and she held him there for a long time. When he woke hours later, she was gone, but she had covered him with a blanket before she left.

It was a few days before they had an opportunity to speak in private. Again, Albus tried to apologise, but Gertrude would hear nothing of it. They were certainly close enough, she said, that such a thing was nothing to apologise for. She had not objected to his touch, after all, though, Gertrude did admit, she had felt a peculiar sense of guilt, as though she were betraying Reginald, despite the fact that he had been dead more than six years. But, she said, that was no reason for Albus to be sorry. 

Then her brother was killed, just before Christmas that year, and after the funeral, she returned to Hogwarts and came to him. She said that it was selfish of her, but she could bear her grief better, she thought, if she were not at home just then, where everyone else was so full of grief and everyone wanted to rely on her to be the strong one. She didn’t want to be the strong one that day, Gertrude said, looking up at Albus, eyes full of tears, and he told that she didn’t need to be. He held her in his arms and she wept softly at first, finally sobbing into his chest, and her tears wrenched his heart. Albus led her to the sofa, and continued to hold her as she cried herself out. Gertrude fell asleep against him, and he stroked her hair, remembering when it had been long and chestnut brown, before Grindelwald had taken Reginald from her. Albus moved slightly, and her eyes opened sleepily before closing again as she let out a long sigh. He lifted her, one arm under her knees, the other around her shoulders, and carried her to his bedroom, where a nonverbal spell moved the covers aside. He laid the drowsy witch on the bed and removed her shoes and her outer robe with a whisper, then pulled the covers up over her and bent and placed a soft kiss on her cheek before turning to leave.

“Don’t go. Please.” Her hand was outstretched to him. 

He nodded and removed his own robes, leaving on the thin sleeveless tunic he wore under everything during the cold winter, and he climbed into bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her, cradling her as she fell back to sleep. In the morning, Albus left the bed as soon as he awoke and dressed quickly. He went to the sitting room and called for Wilspy, asking for breakfast for two, and when it arrived, he prepared Gertrude a tray and brought it into her, Levitating it behind him. He reached down to touch her, and she opened her eyes. 

“I wondered where you had gone,” she said. “I woke and you weren’t here.”

“I am here, and so is your breakfast,” he said gently, though he felt somewhat awkward.

She shook her head. “I’ll eat out there with you, unless you would prefer to join me.”

Albus brought in his own breakfast and sat down on the other side of the bed on top of the covers. They spoke little. When they finished eating, she said that she thought she ought to return home. Her parents needed her, as did her niece, she was sure. Gertrude left that morning and when she returned after the holiday, they did not speak of it, but when, one evening late in February, he came to her rooms, closed the door behind him, and kissed her, she led him to her bedroom, and this time, without apology, he undressed her and slowly made love to her. It was warm and loving, but tinged with sadness and a need that went beyond the physical, and Albus worried that he was using her. That would be good for neither of them, and Gertrude sensed his unease as he lay beside her.

She ran a hand down his beard to his sternum, then under his beard back up his chest. She moved her hand over to his shoulder and rolled closer to him. “What is it that bothers you?” she asked simply.

“I feel I shouldn’t be here, that I am using you and losing myself,” Albus replied frankly.

She shook her head. “I would not allow myself to be used in that way, you should know that, Albus. And losing yourself . . . only you can answer that. But I hope that it means more than just a little escape for you.” She raised up on one elbow and looked into his eyes. “It may not be . . . wise or comfortable for us to be here now like this. And we may be finding solace with each other. But I don’t think that is necessarily a bad thing. It isn’t as though we were . . . mere acquaintances, after all. This could never be solely about escape or solace, at least not speaking for myself.”

Albus smiled slightly. “And which of us is the Gryffindor today, my forthright Slytherin?”

After that, they made love at times over the next several months, but then one late summer’s evening she was visiting him, and he reached for her, and she held onto his hand.

“I have been thinking that perhaps we shouldn’t do this anymore,” Gertrude said. “I find myself . . . not regretting it, never that, but feeling as though it isn’t the right time for this. That we are not developing our relationship . . . it is as it was before. And that is fine, please do not misunderstand me, Albus. But I remember what I had with Reginald, and as much as I enjoy our intimacy, it is only added onto the friendship we already had, but without being integrated with it. Part of it, of course, is being at school. Our duties, particularly yours, don’t make it easy to develop more of a relationship, even if we did not have this war on, too. But it is also because our friendship . . . that is what you value, Albus, and you do not want anything beyond that. I am not saying that I do, either. In fact, I don’t believe that I do want anything more – it may have been a while since Reginald’s death, but I don’t think I am ready yet to consider remarrying, or even simply being in a romantic relationship with anyone yet.”

“I can’t do that, Gertrude, make any promises or commitments,” Albus replied, a pained look on his face. “And I never said anything about marriage, although not out of any disrespect for you nor lack of affection. But with the war – ”

“I know. You needn’t say anything more. I know that you genuinely care about me, and I love you. It may sound paradoxical to you, but I cannot continue like this both because it _isn’t_ more, and because, at the moment, anyway, I don’t want it to _become_ more. And there is the possibility that it might do just that, I suppose, without either of us intending it, and one or the other of us might be hurt. But I needed to tell you and be completely honest and forthright about it.”

“You are becoming more Gryffindor with each passing day, Gertrude,” Albus teased with a smile. “Perhaps you have been spending too much time with me.”

Gertrude smiled at that. “No, not too much time. Never too much time. But the kind of physical intimacy that we have shared, I will miss it, but I think it’s best if we were to avoid it. At least until the war is over and things are more normal. But I will be here for you in every other way, just as I always have been. Don’t avoid me, please. I would miss you.”

“I am afraid I have brought nothing into your life, Gertrude, but more burdens and sadness. Even your work here is for my benefit, you came here because I asked you to. And now I have taken what was not mine to take, and never even asked what you wanted from it. I am very, very sorry.”

“Do not be! Do you have so little regard for me that you think I would simply . . . prostitute myself for you? For, as it is very clear that you did not take me against my will, that is the only other option, the way you have described our relationship.” Seeing his crestfallen face, Gertrude sighed. “I am sorry. I know that is not what you meant. But you surely could tell that I was quite a willing participant, even enthusiastic. It has been very good, Albus, and you are a marvellous lover – not that I have much basis for comparison, but I certainly think I would know if you were not. And I still do want you, but it simply isn’t a good idea for either of us right now.”

“It hasn’t been terribly frequent, though. And I have tried not to be demanding . . . although I am quite aware that I am the one coming to you.” Albus swallowed. “I can’t help but feel that I have importuned upon you, and that you have given far more than I.”

Gertrude shook her head, then leaned toward him and kissed his mouth lightly. “I would have gone to you many a night, but for the fact that I have felt torn about what it is we have and what it is I might want. And that is why it is best if we just cherish what we have now and the memories of those more intimate moments, and go forward from here.”

Albus had agreed, and if there were a few times when their embraces were more lingering or their kisses more tender than those between mere friends, they still refrained from any intimacies beyond those. Until the time he Apparated to the Gamp Estate a few years later, the summer before Grindelwald’s fall, and sought her out on the moor and found her sitting on a fallen stone by the hill fort. She was dressed in brown trousers and a pale blue blouse, he remembered, and she looked extremely attractive as she stood and greeted him. He was tired and he was uncharacteristically lonely. He had spent the past three days in the constant company of others, and their mission had been successful. On returning to the Ministry, he had been debriefed by Sprangle and his assistant. When he left the Ministry building, he knew that he did not want to be alone, nor in the company of strangers. He had actually stopped by the Department of International Magical Cooperation to see if Minerva might be free for lunch, but he was told that she was already out. And so he had Apparated to the Gamps and been informed by a fuzzy-eared house-elf that Madam Gertrude was out on the moor “for a clamber.”

Knowing that she and Reginald usually used to make the hill fort their destination when they were out for a “clamber,” Albus Apparated directly there. Gertrude was unstartled, but smiled and stood to greet him. 

“I was thinking about you,” she said softly, “wondering how the mission went and if you were all right, if you were safe or . . . hurt somewhere.”

Albus kissed her cheek. “Quite safe. It went well. And I’m quite alive, as you can see,” he said with an affectionate squeeze to her arm. “I am just tired . . . and tired.” He smiled. “I wanted to see you.”

Gertrude put her arms around him and placed her head on his shoulder. “I try not to worry. It does no good. But sometimes . . . sometimes when it’s been days and I’ve heard nothing . . . I woke up last night from a nightmare. He’d done the same thing to you,” she whispered, “and no one was there to help you.” She closed her eyes and a few tears squeezed out.

Albus rubbed her back, wanting to reassure her. “I am quite safe. And I think he would have quite a time trying to do such a thing to me. I do know a few tricks, still, that he does not, and I am more aware of the potential dangers than Reginald was all those years ago. He could not take me completely unawares.”

He felt her sigh and relax against him. Albus continued to rub her back, noting that on that very warm day, it seemed she was only wearing the blouse with nothing beneath it. Her arms went around him a bit more tightly and she turned her head, resting her forehead on his shoulder, her breath a light breeze on his beard. Albus closed his eyes and relaxed, not fighting his physical reaction to her closeness. Surely she must be aware of the effect she was having on him; she was completely within his embrace. When she made no move to step away, Albus brought his hand lower. He had never held her when she was wearing trousers before, and as his hand rounded the curve of her buttocks and his fingers discovered where her leg began, he paused and his reaction grew. Gertrude pressed herself against him for a moment before turning her head and looking up at him. 

“Gertrude,” he whispered.

“Shh . . .” She closed her eyes and he kissed her, his fingers exploring the trousers where the legs joined, and when she did not protest, he continued touching her there. With his other hand, he rubbed her back and began to pull her blouse out from the waistband. Gertrude’s breathing quickened, then she broke the kiss, and he stilled his movements.

“Very interesting things, these trousers,” Albus said hoarsely.

Gertrude nodded, then stepped back, still holding on to him, and led him back around a wall to a spot that was smooth, dry, and level. Albus removed the grey tunic he wore over his dusty blue robes and spread it on the rock, then cast a spell that Transfigured it into a large cushion. She sat down and he joined her, kissing her, touching her, embracing her. He began to unbutton her blouse and he felt her Support Charm release her breasts. Her trousers gave him more trouble, and she laughed as he finally resorted to a spell to finish removing them. 

She smiled up at him. “I was about to tell you that we should remove my boots first. It makes it much easier. Indeed, it makes it possible.”

Albus chuckled and looked at her. “I don’t know. There’s something . . . intriguing about a witch in nothing but boots and knickers.”

“I’d like to see you in nothing but your boots, then,” she answered with a laugh.

He stood and quickly removed his robe and stood naked but for his boots. He lifted an eyebrow. “Well?”

Gertrude shook her head, hiding a smile. “Off with the boots for us both, I would say.”

They made love there in the sun, then lay together afterward, covered by Albus’s robes, and she watched him as he fell asleep. It was the most fun they had ever had being intimate, and it was the last time that they were. They returned to their previous loving relationship, but never to make love again.

Several years later, the war over, some peace in their lives, Albus began to think again of finding a witch, romancing her, loving her, perhaps eventually marrying her. And his thoughts naturally turned to Gertrude. He certainly cared for her, and he knew that she cared for him. They had been intimate at one time. She seemed the perfect candidate to him. He decided to woo her, to court her in a way that he hadn’t before. It wouldn’t have been appropriate then, but now . . . he wanted her to understand his intentions.

But when she did understand his intentions – and it was only when he stepped into her rooms one late summer’s evening to kiss her good-night, and his lips touched hers, that she finally realised that he was attempting to court her – she had been surprised. He had been encouraged by her initial reaction to his kiss. She had obviously enjoyed it, but she pushed him away and turned from him.

“Gertrude?” he said, confused by her reaction. He reached out and touched her sleeve. 

Her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be trying to gain control of her breathing. “Albus . . . those days . . . those days are long past. I don’t believe we can return to them. I don’t want to return to them.”

“This is different, Gertie. It is. For me, at least. I want to court you. It wouldn’t be as it was before. I want there to be a future for us.”

Gertrude shook her head. “No. No, you don’t, Albus.”

He was stunned by her words, and he didn’t know how to respond. 

“You mean that you do not,” he finally said.

Gertrude sighed and turned back to him. “If this were even just a few years ago, perhaps I would . . . or perhaps I would, even now, if I believed what you say. But what you want, what you really want, it isn’t me. I know that.” She tried to smile. “It’s all right, though. And I know that you mean well. I just know that your happiness lies elsewhere, and you should have the opportunity to find that happiness, to try, at least, and not discard it before its time and settle for me.”

“Gertie! I don’t see how you can say that – you are the most wonderful friend, a beautiful and talented witch. I certainly do not see how being with you, courting you, would be ‘settling,’ as you put it.”

Gertrude’s smile was sad, and Albus thought he detected tears in her eyes, but she said, “You do not see that now, but it is the truth. And you will realise it one day. I will always, always love you, Albus. And I will always be there for you, in whatever way you need me but that one.”

“If it’s the physical side of things . . . I know that I may have been somewhat . . . urgent before. We can refrain from that, if you wish.”

“No, that is not it, Albus. If that were the only consideration – ” Gertie took a breath. “Believe me, that is not it at all. You are still very attractive to me, and if I could turn off my brain and just allow myself to react, you would be in my bed right now, after that kiss. But, no, you have my friendship. And as your friend, as someone who loves you . . . I have to say good-night now. And thank you for your offer. To say that it is flattering would be an understatement.”

He had tried over the next few weeks to change her mind – bringing her flowers, presenting her with a cloisonne Slytherin snake brooch, finding her to walk her to breakfast in the morning, bringing her late night snacks – but as he did, he could feel her impatience with him growing. Finally, he decided to try one last romantic gesture. He remembered the day very clearly. He had just received a letter from Minerva. She had arrived in Heidelberg and was beginning her apprenticeship with old Sachs. She thanked him for his help in obtaining the more suitable placement. She was so excited about it . . . he had been happy and had shared the good news with Gertrude. She was pleased for their former student, as well, he could tell. And then he had asked her to go to dinner with him. They could both leave the castle that night, there were no duties keeping them. He would pass the wards to Dippet. Gertrude had agreed, but then, after he had Apparated them to London and she saw where he was taking her, she baulked. 

“Delancie’s? Albus . . . that is a bit much. It’s not as though there’s an occasion to celebrate. If it were my birthday . . . perhaps then, but let’s just go around to the Leaky Cauldron. Or you could Transfigure our clothes and we could go into Muggle London for Italian. Or a curry.”

“But, Gertrude, you deserve so much more. I want to treat you well, my dear.”

Gertrude shook her head. “I have told you, Albus, that we are friends, and that is the way it will remain. Are you truly so blind? Or are you set on making us both unhappy?”

Albus felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. “It makes you unhappy. I make you unhappy. Even the thought of being with me . . .” He couldn’t look at her. He had been a fool to continue to try to court her when she had made it clear that she wasn’t interested. But he had thought if he showed he was sincere, that he didn’t want just a clandestine sexual affair but that he wanted to bring her out in public, on his arm, that she would agree. He had believed she simply hadn’t understood his intentions. But she had, and she did not want him.

Gertrude touched his arm. “Not the way that you are thinking, Albus. Please . . . I only want you to be happy. I cannot allow myself to keep you from that opportunity.”

“As though there were some other opportunity . . .” Albus sighed, despondent. “I appreciate that you are trying to ease this for me. But I see now, finally. I am sorry. I should not press my attentions upon you the way I have.”

“You know, Albus . . . why don’t we have dinner at Delancie’s, anyway? Hmm? We do have something to celebrate today, after all.” When Albus looked at her questioningly, she smiled and said, “Minerva’s apprenticeship. First her successful Challenge last spring, and now the start of her new apprenticeship.”

Albus smiled. “All right, then. Thank you. You are very kind.”

“No, not kind. Just your friend. And a Slytherin. You sometimes forget that, Albus. Always a Slytherin.”

“Yes, and I suppose you will want to order the most expensive items on the menu and drink the best wine, my sweet Slytherin,” he teased as they walked toward the restaurant.

“Only the best wine to toast a Gryffindor!” Gertie answered with a grin.

He had ceased trying to court Gertrude and was content with her friendship. Yet there was still a part of him, a small, unreasonable, and selfish part of him, that still stung from her refusal even a few years later, when he had begun to see Valerianna. And so he had rejected Gertrude’s advice about the witch. It had been unworthy of him and of her and of their friendship. He certainly knew her better than that, to believe that she merely wanted to keep him to herself despite not really wanting him. 

When he had walked into the cottage that late Friday afternoon a few years ago, anticipating a romantic weekend with Valerianna, he noticed that things were not as he had left them, then as he walked toward the back of the cottage, toward the largest of the bedrooms, his bedroom, he began to hear unmistakable sounds. Despite the roiling in the pit of his stomach, he was drawn to the open door of the bedroom, and there he had seen them, on his bed. Their clothes were strewn about the room, and Valerianna was on top of the wizard, straddling him, both of them so fully engaged in their activity that they did not notice him immediately. 

Albus controlled himself and his anger as the young wizard had scrambled for his clothes, telling him quietly to leave. The worst of it was, he recognised the wizard as a boy whom he had taught. And now he was fornicating in his bedroom, and with the witch who had declared her devotion to him. Up until that day, Albus had not seen Valerianna naked. He had respected her avowed desire to move slowly. She had made it sound as though once they were betrothed, he could offer her further physical intimacies. But she would shrink from him, and when he wished to bring her pleasure just with his touch but not requesting or expecting that she return the gesture, she had seemed shy. Shy. She who had scarcely tolerated his touch of her covered breasts, or a caress of her lower abdomen, or a light touch to her knee or thigh, she was rutting with a wizard half her age in his own bedroom. 

First, Valerianna had pleaded with him, but in his hurt and his anger, he was implacable. He told her to dress and leave. She begged, but her begging soon turned to taunts. And however much spite and venom was in her taunts, Albus heard the truth of them, as well. If he had ever known how to satisfy a witch, he had forgotten, and his touch turned her cold. She would have borne it, though, if he only had some ambition. She would have allowed him the pleasure of her body on occasion if he had married her; she could have taken younger lovers to satisfy her desires, and he would have satisfied her other needs, and she would have helped him to achieve great things. She had needed a young man, a wizard whose dried up touch didn’t disgust her. She was no different from any other witch, Valerianna told him, how could he expect her to want him to touch her? He was old, he was pathetic in his attempts at love-making, it was bad enough that she had to tolerate his withered lips on her face or her mouth, but the thought of them touching her elsewhere made her ill, as did his beard and his long grey hair. And if he believed that she or any other witch would ever want his ancient penis in her when they could have a young wizard, then he was completely deluded. Albus could still hear her voice railing at him.

Valerianna may have been shallow and vain, and she may have desired his courtship for all of the wrong reasons, but it was undeniable that he was old. And, despite the brief profligate period in his youth, his experience with witches _was_ limited. At first, by choice, and then by circumstance. Had he ever been able to please a witch, his long periods of abstinence had clearly taken their toll on that ability.

He hadn’t loved Valerianna. He had had a hard time warming up to her, in fact, but she had a certain attractiveness about her, and he had tried to treat her with respect and to please her with his courtship. And he had wished to bring her some physical pleasure. He could still remember how lovely it had once been to know that he, with a loving touch, could bring a witch pleasure. And now he could no longer inspire anything more than disgust or, at best, tolerance.

After Maria, there had been almost no one until Gertrude. That was a very long time. A lifetime. And Gertrude, she was his friend, but she had been lonely, too. She had put an end to the physical side of their friendship all those years ago. And he had understood her reasoning at the time, and had even agreed with it. But then later, when he had offered her courtship, she had refused him. She had said it was so that he could pursue the opportunity to be happy with the right witch, and she wasn’t that witch. Yet now he wondered whether it wasn’t more that he wasn’t the right wizard, the wizard to make her happy. 

He now knew that it was just as well that Gertie had refused him; he had never loved Gertrude as he loved Minerva, despite their much longer friendship and all their shared intimacy. What he desired and what he felt when he thought of Minerva, he had never even dreamed of desiring or feeling with Gertrude or with anyone else. Of course, he had not known that when he had attempted to court Gertrude, even though his feelings toward Minerva had already begun to grow and change. He hadn’t understood the kind of longing he would come to have for Minerva. If he had, he never would have approached Gertrude, for her sake more than his. She did deserve better than what he had offered her; he simply hadn’t realised that at the time.

Would it be easier on him now if Gertrude had accepted him then, if they were together now? He would not be struggling with his feelings for Minerva. Or would it be worse? Worse because he would never betray Gertrude if he were with her, but, knowing how he felt about Minerva now, if he were with Gertrude and still felt this way about Minerva . . . it could only come between them, even if he avoided Minerva, even if he were completely faithful to Gertrude, even in his thoughts and dreams. He couldn’t imagine trying to be devoted to Gertrude while having these feelings for Minerva. No, he would have been even more conflicted than he was now. And Gertrude deserved a wizard who wasn’t completely in love with some other witch. That went without saying. But if Gertrude had allowed him to court her, then to marry her, perhaps his feelings for Minerva never would have developed as they did. He might have had some peace. He might have been able to appreciate Minerva as he should, and have been content in his relationship with Gertrude. 

Somehow, though, Albus could not imagine knowing Minerva and not loving her as he did now. But it had taken time for it to develop to the stage it had reached. It didn’t suddenly spring into being. It may have begun years ago, but he could have nipped it in the bud. And he almost did. But Gertrude had refused him. 

Then there had been Valerianna . . . she had been a dreadful mistake, and nothing would have worked out with her. Gertrude had tried to warn him, and told him that Valerianna was just a pale imitation of the real thing, and that she was not interested in him for who he was but for what she thought she could get out of him. When he told Gertrude that who he saw socially was none of her affair, she no longer mentioned it, and he knew that he had hurt her. It had bothered him that he had hurt her, but there was some rebellious part of him that had wanted to give Valerianna a chance. If Gertie had tried to tell him that Valerianna was seeing other wizards, he would have discounted it. He certainly wouldn’t have believed that “seeing other wizards” included having sex with them. But he couldn’t deny the evidence of his own eyes, and Valerianna may have made a fool of him under his own roof, but he was not enough of a fool to be taken in by her pleas or her excuses. Nonetheless, Valerianna’s final rant remained with him for days afterwards, perhaps because it hit the mark, and even now, he could hear her words.

And now he understood even better what it was that Gertrude had not told him when she refused his courtship, and that she had denied to him even the other evening in his office: he was old. He was old and past the point of being an eligible wizard. If he hadn’t understood that after the debacle with Valerianna, he could see it staring him in the face in the person of young Malcolm McGonagall when he had walked down and met him and Gertrude by the lake before leaving for Amsterdam. He would not dishonour Gertie by pretending that it was only Malcolm’s youth that attracted her to him – she was no Valerianna Yaxley – but certainly the wizard was not well over one hundred, nearing one hundred-twenty. Malcolm was even younger than Gertie, Albus believed. And Minerva deserved a vital, young wizard, too. But that didn’t stop him from wanting Minerva, wanting her with increasing desperation. If he believed that Minerva would welcome him to romance her, oh, how he would court her! He would love her, if she would welcome that. He would be happy if she would simply accept him as a chaste suitor if he could only be with her, hold her, cherish her, have her heart and give her his. 

But Minerva deserved a young, vital wizard. She was a healthy young witch. She would not want a chaste romance. Albus grew warm at the thought of Minerva’s desire . . . but his touch would surely cause her disgust, not pleasure. Even if he were younger, it would likely not change that. She knew of his period of dissipation, what he had done, and he was sure that she knew of his attempt to court Valerianna and how the witch had made a fool of him. No, there was little chance Minerva would ever welcome his romantic attentions, and as for his physical attentions . . . he would never touch her. He would control his emotions around her, and he would certainly control his actions. He would give her no cause to fear his intentions or to be offended by his touch. Even if that required him to keep a physical distance between them and maintain the usual formalities between a headmaster and one of his teachers.

Albus slowly climbed the stairs to the single upper room that served as his cosy bedroom. He readied himself for bed, though it was still early. He would spend another day here at the cottage, then if he was still restless, he would return to Hogwarts a day early. At least he might find some distractions there, even if he still missed Minerva. Perhaps he could owl her, though, and invite her to lunch. She would be busy with her family, but she might still be able to find the time to have lunch with him. She had invited him to lunch the last time she had been away from the school, after all. He would see Minerva soon. Minerva. He smiled. The prospect of seeing Minerva lightened his mood.

Yes, he would spend Sunday at the cottage, refresh his wards, take care of some of the paths that had washed out since the last time he had been there, and finish a few other care-taking tasks, then he could return to the school on Monday. Wilspy wouldn’t be back at the castle until at least Tuesday, but he could tend to himself quite well, and he knew that Aberforth had had a list of things he had needed the house-elf’s help with, and so Albus didn’t want to ask him to have her return early just so that he could have his cup of tea in the morning. Besides, Wilspy enjoyed her little jaunts to Aberforth’s and liked to fuss over him. Aberforth always complained about her fussing, but Albus believed he secretly appreciated it.

Albus went to bed with a book, and fell asleep before he had read three pages. His sleep was undisturbed by the arrival of Fawkes, who sang softly to the slumbering wizard before falling asleep himself at the foot of the bed, head tucked beneath his wing.


	112. Unexpected Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are a few unexpected arrivals at Hogwarts.
> 
>  
> 
> **Beginning of Part Seventeen.**
> 
>  
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Rubeus Hagrid, Gertrude Gamp, Malcolm McGonagall, Johannes Birnbaum, and Spoonie (house-elf).

**PART SEVENTEEN  
**  
CXII: Unexpected Arrivals

Minerva woke early Monday morning and stretched in bed. She really didn’t want to get up yet, but she had agreed to meet Gertrude and Malcolm in Gertrude’s rooms for breakfast. She had never been in the older witch’s rooms, and wondered what they were like. She had been at the school a long time. Presumably, she was well-settled in and had well-appointed rooms.

When they had walked back to the castle Saturday evening, they had found Hagrid out in front of the castle, looking up into the sky. The two witches looked up reflexively and saw a Thestral, high above them, Malcolm just visible on its back.

“Never been able to get tha’ one t’ accept a rider afore,” Hagrid said. “Can’t use ’im t’ draw carriages, neither. Wilhelmina could do aught t’ convince ’im. Tha’ brother o’ yours, though, M’nerva, inside o’ two minutes, ’e was on ’is back, leadin’ ’im through ’is paces. They been up there fer a while, though, an’ I’m awonderin’ if Thestral’s gone and changed ’is mind abou’ bein’ friendly.”

Gertrude seemed to blanch at Hagrid’s words, and she drew her wand. Minerva hoped that Hagrid was wrong. A fall from that height, even a wizard wouldn’t survive it. Hagrid couldn’t do anything to stop it, either. Minerva drew her wand, as well, ready to cast arresting and cushioning charms, if need be. But the Thestral began to fly lower, circling, until he glided to the earth a few yards from where they stood. Malcolm patted the ugly creature’s neck and dismounted, his cheeks pink from the wind and the cool air at the high altitude.

He grinned. “Good deal of fun, that. Ta, Hagrid. He’ll be good for you now. Just give him an extra treat or two after, so he feels special.” He turned back to the Thestral and made clicking sound, then patted its rump. The Thestral trotted off in the direction of the Forest.

Hagrid invited the three out to his cabin for a drink, but they all declined. Malcolm shook his hand, and Hagrid went back to his little home as the other three went into the castle.

“Whatever were you thinking, Malcolm? Do you have a death wish?” Minerva asked.

Malcolm laughed good-naturedly. “No such thing, little sister. Once we’d reached an understanding, he was quite cooperative. Easier than mounting a dragon, for certain.”

“You’ve ridden a dragon?” Gertrude asked.

“A few times. Not the same one. They don’t like it much, usually. The first time, though, was of necessity. I’d made a few people rather angry, and I needed to make a quick departure. Unfortunately, my wand was broken and I was rather, um, under the weather, so the dragon seemed the safest and fastest way to leave,” Malcolm replied.

Minerva caught the look that passed over Gertrude’s face. Whereas Minerva felt somewhat annoyed and even a bit disbelieving of her brother’s tale, Gertrude was plainly impressed. 

“You’ll have to tell me more about that,” Gertrude said.

Malcolm quirked a grin. “My pleasure. Although perhaps . . . it’s getting late. I suppose I should be getting home.”

When Gertrude hesitated, Minerva said, “You needn’t. There’s no one around. Why don’t you stay? There are several guest rooms available. I am sure that as Deputy, Gertrude would be able to find one for you.”

Malcolm looked over at Gertrude. “I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“We can talk about it. No need for you to decide this moment,” Gertrude said. “But you would be welcome to stay, if you like.”

Minerva excused herself, and when she reached the first landing and looked back down, the two were still standing there in the front hall, simply looking at each other, their gazes unwavering. She hastened up the stairs, back to her rooms. 

It still struck her as odd that Gertrude and Malcolm seemed to have dived headlong into their relationship. It didn’t appear in character for either of them. Murdoch and Poppy had probably spent more time together, and were generally much more open and expressive than either of the other two, and yet they still hadn’t gone beyond a little kissing in Murdoch’s backroom. Once she had thought about it, it hadn’t surprised her that Murdoch and Poppy would get along. They seemed in some ways a natural pair. But Gertrude and Malcolm . . . Minerva actually didn’t see either of them as naturally paired with anyone. And Gertrude seemed to have thrown her normal reserve overboard, and Malcolm, by his own admission, was not normally prone to developing romantic attachments. Now, he believed he was falling in love. 

As Minerva readied herself for bed that night, she wondered whether she was the only person destined for unrequited love. It wouldn’t be so bad, she thought, to see these other couples around her, if she herself weren’t completely in love with a wizard whose affection for her was platonic and unlikely to change. She might be lonely, of course, but the contrast with her own situation might not have provoked such envy in her. 

She sat on the edge of her bed and looked at the little photo of Albus. She remembered with clarity the evening when he had bought the rose from Gypsy and put it in her hair. Such a lovely gesture. And the nazar and the twinned stones, they were also from that same evening. It had been so like a date that she had wanted to pretend it was one, and that hadn’t been difficult. But then . . . they hadn’t had another day like that one. It had been wonderful from start to finish. Minerva picked up the evil eye. A “naturally occurring nazar,” Albus had called it, and he had seemed superstitious about her keeping it on for the evening. 

She rubbed her finger across the smooth, warm surface of stone, and then she wiped its small mirrored setting with the edge of her dressing gown. It no longer had the same disconcerting effect on her that it had had when she had first seen it, but there was something vaguely mesmerising about it. She had worn it when she had gone to bed after Albus had told her of his youth and his defeat of Grindelwald. Worn it, held it, and fantasised of young Albus making love to Maria. Minerva flushed, thinking of her fantasy, and how she had pretended that she had been that young woman, giving Albus comfort and love and pleasure after his ordeals. Odd, how she had moved from envy of the woman, jealousy, even, to taking her own pleasure in the thought of Albus with her. 

Minerva wondered again whether Albus and Gertrude had ever been lovers. Strangely, the thought seemed purely abstract at that moment, as though she was wondering whether he had taken a NEWT in Charms, or something equally mundane. Minerva remembered the expression that had crossed Gertrude’s face when she had asked her whether she had told Albus about the relationship with Malcolm. Without knowing precisely what had been going through the witch’s mind, Minerva surmised that Gertrude did not want to hide it from the Headmaster, but was still reluctant, for some reason, to come right out and tell him. Perhaps for as simple a reason as embarrassment about having an affair with a man she’d only just met, or because she didn’t know how long the relationship would last, but Minerva thought there was more to it than that. But it was none of her business. Just as it was none of her business whether Malcolm had stayed the night, and if so, where. During term time, it would be different, of course. It wouldn’t do to have the students seeing a wizard spending the night with the Deputy Headmistress. It simply wasn’t done. By then, though, perhaps Malcolm would have grown bored, or Gertrude disenchanted, and the question would be moot. If not . . . Minerva hoped that they could find some way of being together that wouldn’t involve too much sneaking about, as Malcolm had put it. As she thought about the two, Minerva’s envy had melted away and been replaced by the hope that the two would still be happy together when school began, and beyond.

The next morning, Minerva had gone out for her walk and had come across the two, also out for a morning stroll, but they had apparently become distracted. By each other. They weren’t in the sort of embrace that Minerva had seen them in before, thankfully, but this one seemed almost as intimate. They were standing beside the lake, the mist rising up behind them, Malcolm in his kilt, Gertrude in a set of pale blue and silver robes; Malcolm was holding her pressed closely to him, and her hands rested on his upper arms as she leaned back and looked into his face. Minerva didn’t believe they were speaking, just looking at one another. They hadn’t noticed her, and Malcolm leaned forward and kissed Gertrude lightly on the forehead, and Gertrude relaxed against him. Then Malcolm turned his head slightly, caught sight of his sister, and said something. The two broke their embrace, Gertrude stepping back away from him, Malcolm lifting a hand as if to reach for her before dropping it and turning to greet his sister with a smile.

Malcolm spent most of the day at Hogwarts, but wasn’t present that evening when Minerva left for dinner at her parents’, though Gertrude said that he was returning later, and they would like it if she joined them for breakfast in the morning. And so now she was getting ready to have breakfast with the two. She presumed that Malcolm had spent the night in Gertrude’s rooms, though she wouldn’t dream of asking such a thing. 

Before leaving, Minerva went into her study and fetched the sheaf of parchments that she had prepared for Albus. He had asked that she have them on the twelfth, and it was the twelfth. Gertrude had mentioned the day before that she was expecting Albus back either late Tuesday or early Wednesday, but simply because the Headmaster wasn’t here didn’t excuse her from having them done, she thought. 

She trotted down the five flights of stairs to the second floor, annoyed when she had to wait for one of the staircases to swing around to her at the fifth floor landing, then headed for the gargoyle. Again, she knocked when she reached the top of the spiral stairs, and again, there was no response. The portraits all appeared to be sleeping, and Minerva crossed the room and deposited her work on the Headmaster’s desk without any awkward conversations with them. When she left, she slipped into her tabby form to trot down the moving stairs, then returned to her ordinary form when she reached the bottom. Now to Gertrude’s room.

When she arrived, the portrait at Gertrude’s door greeted her and said that she would let the Deputy Headmistress know that she was there. A moment after the portrait had disappeared, the door opened and Gertrude greeted her with a smile.

“Good morning, Minerva! Please, come in.”

Minerva stepped in. She hadn’t known precisely what she had expected from the Arithmancer’s sitting room, but it hadn’t been this. It wasn’t cluttered, precisely, and it seemed neat and well-organized, but it was very full. Every shelf was filled with books, and the shelves lined the walls, covering every available space. Various curios and framed photographs sat on many of the shelves in front of the rows of books. The sofa was over-stuffed and comfortable-looking, though the upholstery was somewhat worn and shiny in places. There were two armchairs in fabric that complemented the sofa, and a plain square table near the window had been set for three for breakfast. The floor was covered by oriental carpets of various sizes and styles, contributing to the warmth of the room. At the moment, daylight streamed in through the large leaded-glass windows, but a modest chandelier hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room, and there were two floor lamps on either side of the couch. Other than two sconces on either side of the fireplace, there were no wall lamps or candles – there was little place for them – and rather than a portrait above the fireplace, there was a large mirror in an arched, dark wooden frame. Minerva wondered for a moment where the portrait had gone when she had announced her, but as she crossed the room and Gertrude closed the door behind her, she saw that there was a painting on the reverse side of the door. There was something else that struck Minerva about the room, but she couldn’t quite place her finger on it.

“Thank you for inviting me for breakfast, Gertie,” Minerva said, wondering where her brother was.

“I should have done so long ago, Minerva. Please, have a seat. Malcolm had an early morning errand, but he will be along soon. Would you care for some tea or coffee while we wait?”

“Yes, tea, please,” Minerva responded as she sat in one of the two armchairs.

“Spoonie!” Gertrude called.

A very tiny bluish elf popped into the sitting room.

“Good morning, Spoonie. Our guest would like tea, and if you would also bring my coffee, I would appreciate it.”

“Yes, Professor Gamp.” The house-elf turned to Minerva. “Would the professor prefer English breakfast tea or a pure Assam?” she asked politely.

“Breakfast tea, please,” Minerva said.

The house-elf performed what appeared to be a curtsey then Disapparated.

“She’s the smallest house-elf I’ve ever seen,” Minerva observed.

“Yes . . . she was something of a rescue case. We prevailed upon her previous family to release her to Hogwarts,” Gertrude said. “She’s been with me for almost ten years, and she has blossomed. You wouldn’t have recognised her from the wreck she had become when she first joined the Hogwarts house-elves.”

“Prevailed upon the family to release her to Hogwarts?” Minerva asked, puzzled.

“Transferred her bondage to Hogwarts,” Gertrude explained.

“I understand that . . . but I’ve never heard of a pureblood family ever simply releasing a house-elf to another family – or in this instance, to Hogwarts – for no reason. It’s usually to discharge a debt or as a dowry gift or something of that sort. If a house-elf is unsatisfactory, they normally simply free them and the house-elves disappear.”

“Mmm. Perhaps I should have said that we exerted some pressure upon them,” Gertrude said with a smirk.

“Who is ‘we’?” Minerva assumed that she was speaking of her and the Headmaster.

“My mother and I. The Gamps need no more house-elves, and we certainly didn’t want the ties that might be assumed if we were to have her bondage transferred to the Gamp family. Having the poor child become a Hogwarts house-elf seemed the ideal solution. Albus dealt with it on this end, got Dippet to go along with it.”

Minerva thought of the Gamp house-elves. While some of them seemed to be overly obsequious compared with the house-elves she had grown up with, they had all seemed well-fed, well-covered, and, from what she could tell, happy. And Gluffy was certainly a fat and happy house-elf if ever she had seen one – and he had said that he had been admonished, not punished, for having sent her letter without being asked.

A minute later, a pot of tea and one of coffee arrived on the small, low table in front of them, and they fixed their cups.

Minerva was at a loss for what to say, finally resorting to, “Nice room.”

“Thank you. I find it comfortable.”

Minerva looked around the room again, and then realised that she had subconsciously expected them to be decorated in Slytherin shades, and this room appeared Gryffindor, if anything, though the reds were deep burgundies and not the brighter scarlet normally associated with that House.

The two sipped their tea and coffee, and Minerva tried to find something else to say.

“So, Malcolm will be returning soon?”

“Yes. He left about an hour ago. He didn’t believe it would take long. He had made arrangements yesterday,” Gertrude said cryptically.

“I see,” Minerva responded, although she didn’t. “Do you have plans for the day?”

“Malcolm is going to stay and keep me company, since I cannot leave until Albus returns.”

“I could take the wards for you, if you would like to leave during the day. I am going to be out of the castle for dinner again this evening, but I won’t need to leave until after five o’clock,” Minerva offered.

“Thank you, but I think we’ll just stay here. I will keep that in mind, though!” Gertrude smiled.

Minerva wanted to ask about the older witch’s relationship with Malcolm, but couldn’t think of anything to ask that didn’t sound either rude or impertinent. Finally, she gave up, and simply said, “You and Malcolm are still getting along well, then. What I mean is, you are enjoying each other’s company – I mean – ”

Gertrude chuckled. “We are getting along quite well, yes. We haven’t yet woken up and wondered what on earth we were doing with each other. Or if he has, he hasn’t said. And to the extent that I do wonder, I wonder more about it generally. It does occur to me that he might decide that today is the day he will leave, and he will say good-bye and I won’t see him again. But . . . I am willing to take that risk and I think it is worth it.”

“For what it’s worth, I doubt he’ll be leaving any time soon,” Minerva said. “I think you happened to catch him at a good time, before he’d yet decided he had to leave, and now you have given him reason to stay.”

“I hope so,” Gertrude said softly. “I will never try to hold on to him if he wishes to leave, but . . . I find that I do not look forward to that day, let alone envision ever wishing him to leave, myself.”

Minerva felt awkward, but she said, “It will be difficult when school begins, I would think. And that might pose a problem.”

Gertrude nodded. “I know . . . and he might grow impatient with the demands on my time and the more limited access he would have to the school.”

Before Minerva could respond – thankfully, since she didn’t know how she could reassure Gertrude about those worries – the door opened and Malcolm stepped in, looking bright-eyed and energetic, and holding . . . a puppy?

Yes, in Malcolm’s arms was a squirming little brindle-coloured puppy. He put him down on the floor and crossed over to Gertrude.

“Good morning, Minerva! And good morning to you, again, Tru,” he said, reaching out and brushing her cheek briefly.

The puppy was scampering about, sniffing everything, seeming to fall over his own legs every now and then.

“A puppy, Malcolm?” Minerva asked.

“Mmhm . . . for Hagrid. A present. I know a chap who breeds Great Danes, and by some luck, he had a litter he was just preparing to sell. This little fellow isn’t quite up to snuff for breeders to want, according to him, but I think he is fine, and very ‘lively,’ as Hagrid would say. I thought the puppy might bring Brutus a little companionship, and when Brutus does finally pass on to chew his bones in the farther realms, it might be a bit easier on Hagrid if he has this little nipper to keep him company. And better to get him now, not only for Brutus, but because when Brutus is gone, Hagrid will likely not want to consider getting another dog for a while, but if this fellow is already there, well, he’ll be glad to have him.”

Minerva smiled and reached down to scratch the dog’s head as he sniffed her shoes. “That was very thoughtful, Malcolm. And an excellent idea.” She looked over at Gertrude, and if she had had any doubt before that Gertrude was smitten with her oldest brother, the look the witch was giving him at that moment would have erased it.

After breakfast, Minerva went down to Hagrid’s with Gertrude, Malcolm, and “the little nipper,” as Malcolm called the puppy. Hagrid was immediately taken with the puppy, naming him “Caesar.” Brutus took an interest, too, and Minerva asked jokingly whether it was unlucky to name the puppy “Caesar” when his other dog’s name was “Brutus,” but Hagrid just laughed and said he’d be sure to watch them on the ides of March. Minerva stayed and watched the puppy trying to play with old Brutus, nipping his ears and charging at him, then coming to a skidding halt and falling over. Brutus took it all in good humour, though, and Minerva thought that the puppy might have given the old dog a bit more life to his final days.

Suddenly, Gertrude raised her head as though listening to something. 

“Hmm . . . the Headmaster has returned,” she said. 

Minerva tried to appear uninterested, but her heart leapt in her chest. “He’s back early?”

“It appears so,” the Arithmancy teacher said. “Perhaps you might go see him, let him know we’re all out here. It might appear that the place is deserted otherwise.”

That sounded unlikely, but Minerva agreed and walked quickly around the castle, seeing Albus just entering its front doors. She picked up her pace and followed him in. She was somewhat winded when she entered, but Albus had just begun to climb the stairs as the door closed behind her.

“Albus!” she called as he turned to see who had come in behind him.

“Minerva! My dear! I hadn’t expected to see you today.” A delighted smile lit his face. “Is everything well?”

“Quite well, thank you, Albus. But I did have Hogwarts business to attend to . . . I could have owled the applications to you, but I thought perhaps you might want to discuss them. And, um, I had other preparations to make. The first of September will be here before we know it,” Minerva said, hoping that her excuses for her early return sounded plausible.

“The applications, of course . . . yes, you could have owled them. But it was diligent of you to return to the school. I hope that you are enjoying your holiday, though,” Albus answered as Minerva stepped up the stairs to join him.

“Quite. Thank you. And you? Professor Gamp had said that you would be returning late tomorrow or early the following day.”

“It was nice, thank you,” he said, continuing up the stairs, Minerva at his side. “I spent most of Friday and Saturday with Robert and Thea. She is looking quite well, and your mother has done wonders with her. The local Healers, even the most sceptical, now believe she will have a healthy baby.”

Minerva smiled happily. “That is wonderful news, Albus. And I am sure that Gertrude will be happy to hear that, though she may have already. I don’t know, she hasn’t mentioned it. And yesterday?”

“Hmm?” Albus raised his eyebrows.

“You said you spent Friday and Saturday with the Crouches. What about yesterday? Did you have a good day?”

Albus nodded. “Very satisfactory, my dear. And how has your holiday been? When did you return?”

“I came back on Saturday morning,” Minerva said as they approached the gargoyle. “But it wasn’t bad. Very interesting, in some ways. I spent some time with Melina, and other members of my family, of course.” Minerva couldn’t keep a smile from her face, thinking of Malcolm and his new attachment to a particular Slytherin. “I’ve seen more of Malcolm. In fact, I’ve just come from him. He brought a new puppy for Hagrid, and he and Gertrude are down with him now.”

“Did he? Well, that was very thoughtful of him. Was it Gertrude’s idea? Had she asked him to procure it?” Albus asked.

“I don’t know whose idea it was. It seemed it was his own. He and Hagrid have hit it off quite well. And you know Hagrid, he loves anyone who appreciates his creatures,” Minerva said, trying to avoid mentioning Gertrude. She was afraid that if she said something, she was bound to give something away, and it was Gertrude’s place to discuss her relationship with Malcolm. But Albus’s interest seemed satisfied.

“Why don’t you bring the applications by a little later today, and we can discuss them,” he suggested. “Perhaps after lunch.”

Minerva tried to hide her disappointment that he hadn’t suggested meeting immediately, but he had just returned and likely had things he needed to take care of. 

“I left them on your desk this morning,” she said. “But we can discuss them – now, if you like.”

Albus hesitated. “Not at the moment, my dear. I think perhaps I will read them over and look at your recommendations. If I have any questions, I will let you know when I see you at lunch.”

“Oh. All right, then . . . well, I’ll let you go. Professor Gamp simply thought you might like to know where we were, since we’re the only ones in the castle and we were all out at Hagrid’s.”

Albus smiled and thanked her again for her work on the applications, then the gargoyle opened the stairs to him, and he disappeared. Minerva turned and went back down the corridor, but rather than taking the stairs back down and rejoining the others at Hagrid’s cabin, she climbed up the five flights to her rooms. The Silent Knight bowed to her and opened the door as she uttered the password. He was becoming very efficient, Minerva thought distractedly.

Albus had initially seemed so pleased to see her. She would have said that he looked positively delighted, but then he had reverted to a reserved manner and scarcely told her anything of his holiday, nor of why he had returned early. Of course, her own excuse had been hardly any different from his, but still . . . 

She sighed. If she were completely honest with herself, her disappointment stemmed entirely from the fact that he hadn’t leapt at the opportunity to discuss the applications with her. And that was entirely unreasonable. There really wasn’t very much to discuss, after all. Kettleburn and Hornby were clearly the best candidates for the position, and he would see that easily. And how utterly pathetic of her to be so desirous of his company that she would be that disappointed not to meet him to discuss some rather dull Hogwarts business. Perhaps she should have been more straightforward and simply suggested that they meet socially, simply to spend time together. But she wished that he had suggested it, himself.

She found a book and curled up on the couch, trying to read, but unable to focus very well even on the light novel she had selected. Minerva finally put the book down, her glasses with it, and Summoned her afghan from her bedroom. Lunch would be in about an hour . . . a nap until then seemed a good idea. She cast a cooling charm on the room, then put her afghan around her and said “Warm me.”

She closed her eyes as the gentle warmth of Albus’s charms surrounded her, and she drifted off to sleep.

Minerva woke abruptly to a barking coming from the landscape over her fireplace. She sighed. The cooling charm had dissipated as she’d slept, and she was too warm now. Pushing aside the afghan, she told Fidelio to rejoin his master, then, yawning, she sat up and opened the door. 

“Malcolm.” She blinked at him and he grinned at her as he entered the room.

“Ah, you needn’t pretend you aren’t thrilled to see me, little sister!” He closed the door behind him and made himself at home, settling into one of her armchairs.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were spending the day with Gertrude.”

“I am, but Johannes has returned, unlooked for, to the castle, and Gertrude wanted to discuss something with him. She said she’d see me at lunch.”

Minerva woke up at that. “Did she say what she was meeting with him about?”

Malcolm shook his head. “Assume it’s something about the school.” He looked at her closely. “Why? Is there something – are they involved? I mean, were they? I thought . . . that is . . . I hadn’t considered him.”

Minerva shrugged. “I don’t think they were ever involved. And if it weren’t for your current situation, I would never say anything to you or to anyone else. And if you repeat this to anyone, even to Gertrude, I will be quite displeased.”

“I’d rather not have you telling me things about her or her colleagues that I cannot share with her,” Malcolm said, more seriously than Minerva was used to seeing him treat such things.

“Well, you decide what you want to say or not say, then,” Minerva said with a sigh. “But I understand that Johannes has carried a bit of a torch for Gertrude for some time. I think he’s given up, more or less, but it could be she wants to forewarn him that you and she are, um, friends, at least. I don’t even know if Gertrude has ever even acknowledged Johannes’s feelings for her, and they remain good friends. Somehow, he has dealt with it. What did you mean that you hadn’t considered him?” Minerva asked curiously.

“Just that . . . in the years since her husband died, I doubt she has not had an opportunity for romance, that’s all. Not that I know. It’s not exactly pillow talk. At least, I don’t think it is, not at this point. I’ve never had a relationship like this before, though, so I’m not sure. But she hasn’t asked me about my past, although I have been honest with her that she is very far from being the first woman I have been with, though she is the first one who has mattered. So I haven’t asked about her past. And I think it would be far more personal for her to tell me about it than vice versa.”

“Mmm.” Minerva now wondered again whether Gertrude and Albus had ever been involved. And again, the thought caused her not a single pang of envy. She couldn’t understand why, unless it had to do with the fact that Gertrude was very obviously not involved with Albus now. Albus must have decided she wasn’t the right witch for him . . . perhaps that’s when he became involved with Valerianna, and why he wouldn’t listen to Gertrude. He believed that Gertrude wanted him back. That was not very charitable of him, after all the loyalty that Gertrude had shown him over the years, Minerva thought, particularly given the fact that Valerianna was so clearly inferior to Gertrude.

“So, up for a quick game of chess?” Malcolm offered, changing the subject.

“No, there’s not enough time before lunch – even the way you play,” Minerva said.

“We missed you when you didn’t come back. We thought perhaps you were still with Dumbledore. I took a chance that you were here, though, rather than going back to Gertrude’s rooms. It didn’t seem quite . . . polite to hang about her rooms when she’s not there.”

“She seems very comfortable with you. She gave you her password, obviously. I doubt she would mind if you spent time there, as long as you didn’t go through her wardrobe or her drawers or whatever,” Minerva said with a smirk, imagining her brother up to his elbows in Gertrude’s knickers.

Malcolm chuckled himself. “So, why did old Dumbledore come back to the school early? Some emergency he couldn’t trust to anyone else?”

“No, I don’t think so. I don’t know why he returned early. It was none of my affair, and he didn’t mention it,” Minerva said stiffly.

“None of your affair?” Malcolm asked. “Peculiar way to put it. You’ve been friends for years. I’d think you’d just ask. I doubt it was anything nefarious he couldn’t share with you,” he said with a laugh. “And if it was, he could just make something up!”

“Really, Malcolm! His holiday was at an end. For all I know, he’ll be leaving again soon. He left the wards with Gertrude. If he intends to resume his holiday, he’ll tell her his plans, and you can ask her about them, if you are so curious.”

“Not particularly.” He shifted in his chair, then stretched. “So why are you back early? You never did say. I’d had the impression you were spending at least till some time next week at home.”

“I just became restless. It was nice to see Mother and Dad, but I thought that I could still pop back and forth and see them without having to stay there. I want to get ready for the new school year. I have new responsibilities. I want to be prepared.”

Malcolm nodded. “You seem to enjoy teaching.”

“I do.” Minerva smiled. “I really do. It’s an odd pleasure to see a student suddenly grasp a new concept or have their first success with a spell, and I enjoy that.”

“But being tied to the school . . . doesn’t that become wearing? I would think that over the summer, you would want to spend most of your time away while you are able.”

“I have only been teaching one term, so it hasn’t become wearing yet, as you put it. And I am taking advantage of the break to do other things. I’m going into London to have dinner with a friend, in fact. Quin, actually.”

Malcolm laughed at the mention of Quin’s name. “Well, you can reassure him that it was not he whom I was interested in.”

“I will. But I won’t mention Gertrude.”

Malcolm shrugged. “I imagine that he would deduce my interest in her fairly easily now that he knows I wasn’t interested in him.” He smiled again, amused at the thought of Quin’s discomfort. “He is a good sort. Remained polite the whole time he was afraid I was going to make a move on him.”

“As I said, I think that if you weren’t my brother, he wouldn’t have suffered your presence. He may have been polite to you, but he can be . . . not dangerous, but protective, I suppose.”

“That _is_ dangerous, little sister, or have you never seen a mother protecting her young? And I always saw him as a wizard I wouldn’t want to cross. Not that I do think he would stand a chance against me, not unless we were reduced to fisticuffs, but nonetheless, it might be unpleasant.”

“Well, don’t cross him, Malcolm. He’s a good friend, and I don’t happen to want to worry about which of you might be in worse straits if you did.”

Malcolm replied quite seriously, “If there is one thing I try to do in my life, it is to avoid causing suffering in others, man or beast. There is enough suffering in the world without my adding to it if I can help it. But that said, I will not hesitate to hit back if I have to, or even to kill. I am very unhappy if I am driven to that point, but . . . the life I have chosen also presents me with those consequences at times, and those choices. I doubt very much, however, that I will ever have any serious disagreement with your friend Quin. Unless, of course, he does something to you or to another of my own. I would not tolerate that well. From anyone.”

“You have nothing to worry about, then,” Minerva said lightly, not completely comfortable with the fierce look that had briefly entered her brother’s eyes. “Come, we have seven flights to go down to lunch. We don’t want to be late.”

Lunch was a peculiar affair, Minerva thought, but she wondered whether she was the only one who found it so. Johannes chatted with everyone and seemed to be trying to be especially entertaining. She was pleased, though, to be sitting beside Albus. Malcolm and Gertrude were sitting at different ends of the table, and it seemed to Minerva that they were trying too hard to avoid looking at each other, and so every glance they did exchange seemed filled with tension. Albus was fairly quiet, as was usual at mealtime, but Malcolm managed to engage him in conversation about familial curses and whether they actually existed or were more like self-fulfilling prophecies than actual curses. Minerva was interested when Albus said that he had received a few applications for the Defence Against the Dark Arts job, but so far there had been no satisfactory applicants. 

“What about the candidates from the previous search, Professor?” Minerva asked. “Professor Pretnick was only in the position for a year, after all. Perhaps one of them might still be interested. Have you considered contacting any of them?”

Albus’s brow furrowed as he recollected the previous applicants. “A few of the current applicants had actually applied for the position the last time and were unsuitable for one reason or another. Of the others . . . no,” Albus shook his head. “I believe there are none whom I would care to contact.”

“What of Professor Hardwick, or even Professor Merrythought? I saw him in Diagon Alley a few weeks ago, and he looked quite hale and hearty,” suggested Johannes. “Perhaps one of them would consider returning for the year, or even just for as long as it takes to find someone else.”

“Professor Hardwick is ailing, so I do not believe he would be available, or well enough to teach, for that matter. And as for Merrythought . . . I suppose I could approach him with the idea. But he hasn’t taught for over a decade. I believe he is enjoying his retirement.”

Johannes grinned. “I would say so. He had a pretty young witch on his arm when I saw him. And it was not his granddaughter!” he said with a chuckle. “Yes, you might find him difficult to persuade, at that.”

Gertrude said, “He did? Well, good for him. I used to try to encourage him to socialise some, but he was in such a cocoon here at the school, he’d become too comfortable to realise that there was any other life or any greater joy to be had other than instilling knowledge in young minds.”

Malcolm laughed at that. “He was a fine teacher. One of my favourites, actually. He was a bit set in his ways with his teaching methods, but he was scrupulously dedicated. And not afraid to let us get banged up a bit – not badly, of course,” Malcolm hastened to add. “But that is what Defence is about – learning _not_ to get banged up. Still, it never would have occurred to me to picture him with a witch, young, old, or otherwise. He seemed a bit . . . ascetic, I suppose. Genial enough, of course, but not capable of any strong emotions. But good for him, as you say, Gertrude!”

Minerva carefully controlled her expression, but she was very interested in that bit of news. Merrythought had to be close to Albus’s age, possibly older. He had seemed old when he had taught her. He wasn’t as robust-looking as Albus, nor as generally attractive – in fact, the thought of him being involved with a young witch seemed somewhat incongruous. Nonetheless, he was with a witch young enough to be mistaken for his granddaughter, although apparently Johannes could recognise the nature of their relationship immediately. Of course, in that case, “young” could simply mean that she was half his age and twice Minerva’s. Minerva sighed deeply and played with her custard.

Albus turned to her. “Are you all right, my dear?” he asked quietly.

Minerva turned to look at him, trying to smile, but when her eyes met his, she dropped her spoon and her breath caught. The warmth in his eyes literally took her breath away. Her brother _Accio’d_ the spoon and cleaned it for her, but she scarcely noticed that.

Minerva swallowed. “I am fine.”

“Would you like something other than custard?” he asked. “I am sure that the house-elves could be prevailed upon to bring you a plate of ginger newts.” Albus smiled at her, eyes twinkling.

“No,” Minerva answered, returning his infectious smile. “I’m fine. Just not in the mood for dessert, I suppose.”

Albus widened his eyes in mock horror. “Not in the mood for dessert? How dreadful! I can’t remember ever being so afflicted,” he teased. 

Minerva chuckled. “You would have dessert at every meal, I am sure, if you could.”

“I do try to avoid over-indulging, however. I have recently been told that my consumption of fruits and vegetables is insufficient, and I have been trying to rectify that fault,” he said, a little teasing grin playing on his face.

Minerva laughed again. “I cannot imagine who the brave soul was who would dare suggest such a thing!”

“Someone rather special to me, actually, or I would have paid the advice no heed, I am sure.”

Minerva grinned. “I know! It must have been Poppy! I will have to inform her that you are following her advice.”

Albus smiled and shook his head slightly. “Did she advise me of that? I scarcely remember.”

Johannes spoke up at that moment. “Were you coming, Albus?”

Albus looked up. “Hmm?”

“You said you would like to see Hagrid’s new boarhound pup. We’re going down now. Gertrude and Malcolm are coming, as well.”

“Oh, yes, yes, of course,” Albus answered. As he stood, he turned back to Minerva, “I will see you later today, perhaps?”

Minerva nodded. She considered inviting herself along to see the puppy again, but she really didn’t want to see Albus amidst all those people. She wanted him to herself. Besides, she was not particularly keen on seeing whether the interactions amongst Gertrude, Malcolm, and Johannes became more or less awkward once they had left the more structured setting of the dining table.

“I will be in my room this afternoon, although I do have some research I want to do in the library. I will be in one or the other place,” Minerva answered.

Gertrude, who was standing in the doorway, waiting for Johannes and Albus, said, “You should get outside on such a beautiful day, Minerva. Come with us down to Hagrid’s.”

Minerva smiled at the older witch. “Thank you, Gertrude, but I had my walk this morning, and I thought I would do some work this afternoon. I may take a book outdoors later, though – but I won’t be far, Albus.”

“Do not plan your afternoon around me, my dear! I am sure that I will be able to find you should I need you.”

Minerva went back up to her rooms feeling much better than she had. The conversation with Albus, as silly and inconsequential as it had been, had lifted her spirits. And every now and then, the way he would look at her or something he would say would go straight to her heart, and she would have hope again that he might be developing a greater affection for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In canon, Professor Merrythought is a witch. I've made Merrythought a wizard and slightly altered the retirement date. Professor Hardwick, Merrythought's sickly successor, is not a canon character.


	113. Seeking Counsel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva dines with Quin.

**CXIII: Seeking Counsel**

Rather than go to the library, or even bring her book outdoors with her, Minerva settled for opening all her windows and using the books she had available to her in her study. She could visit the library some other time. She wanted to be in when Albus called. The afternoon passed and Minerva began to anticipate Albus’s arrival. But eventually, two-thirty had passed, then three, then three-thirty, and he still hadn’t come by to see her. Had he said that he definitely would see her? She tried to remember. Perhaps she had only wanted to see him so much that she had assumed that a suggested possibility was a promised event. Minerva sighed. He probably became caught up in something. Albus did sometimes lose track of time.

Finally, as four-thirty approached, she rose and went into her bedroom to change for dinner. She had said that she would arrive at Quin’s at six o’clock. Since she had to walk down to Hogsmeade to Floo through to his house in London, she thought she should leave by five-thirty at the latest, and she wanted a shower first. 

Minerva undressed and hoped that Albus didn’t arrive when she was in the shower. The thought of Albus arriving while she was in the shower gave her conflicted feelings. In actuality, it would be a pity, because she didn’t want to miss his visit, but in her imagination . . . Minerva stepped into the shower, playing with the various water jets and the showerhead above her, and a frisson passed through her as she imagined Albus admitting himself with her password, perhaps to leave her a note to say that he was sorry he had missed her, but then he would hear the water running in the bathroom . . . the door to her bedroom was open, and the door to the bathroom. He would step into her bedroom, thinking perhaps to close the bathroom door for her, but as he came toward the door, he would see her there in the shower. He would watch her for a moment, and would just be backing away when she would turn and see him. She would reflexively try to cover herself, but then she would drop her hands before putting some soap on her fingertips and, as she watched him watching her, she would bring her hands back up to her breasts and slowly wash her them, her fingers circling her nipples. Then she would spread the soapy bubbles over her chest and stomach, then down to her dark thatch of hair before taking the handheld shower and rinsing, again moving slowly, passing the shower wand back and forth, then bringing it lower. 

As she imagined it, Minerva took the handheld shower and rinsed herself, then brought it down and aimed it lower. She closed her eyes as she moved the shower wand with one hand and caressed her breasts with the other. She imagined that Albus, watching her, would take a step toward her, then pause, and when she beckoned to him, he would remove his shoes and then his robes. She could imagine how he would look standing there, his penis fully erect, filled with desire for her, and how he would enter the bathroom, open the shower door and join her there, looking at her with the same expression in his eyes as he’d had at lunch . . . that intense and warmly affectionate gaze. He would take the shower wand from her hand and direct its jet of water first to her crux and then to his penis before dropping it. He would run his hands over her wet body and she would take his erection in her hand and begin pulling and stroking it, her other hand finding his balls and teasing them, then drawing one finger from the base of his spine, between his legs, then stroking upward over his sac and meeting her other hand. Albus’s eyes would be half-closed, and his breath would quicken as she played with him. He would bring his hand to her centre and begin to rub her there, pressing and massaging. As she imagined that, Minerva changed the shower jet to pulse against her. She moaned and envisioned Albus leaning forward and gently kissing her lips, then licking them before drawing her lower lip between his own and sucking it. As he did that, his finger would enter her, and she would be warm and wet and ready for him. She would raise one leg and encircle him with it as he put his arms around her and lifted her slightly, then he would enter her. They would stay like that as he kissed her and held her tightly, then he would lift her completely off the floor, step from the shower, and carry her into her bedroom. He would lay her gently across the bed, still holding her close to him, and he would withdraw and reenter, withdraw and reenter, then he would pump harder and harder. . . . Minerva came with a cry and sagged against the wall of the shower. 

She relaxed a moment, then turned off the water, beginning with the overhead shower, then the water jets along the walls, and finally, the shower wand that now hung loosely from her hand. She hadn’t even washed her hair properly, Minerva thought with a sigh. She really had to start being more sensible. It was one thing to bring herself a little pleasure, and quite another to torment herself with thoughts of Albus making love to her.

Minerva dressed in robes of sapphire blue, simple, but a bit nicer than her everyday robes. She put her hair up in a French twist, then added a pair of Charmed silver earrings in the shape of jonquils, and the silver necklace that went with it. They had been a gift from Rudolf. She rarely wore them because they reminded her of him, and she would always feel a twinge of guilt and a wish that things could have been different. But they hadn’t been. He had been a wonderful lover and a warm and affectionate friend, both one of the most serious men she had ever known and one of the most joyous, but when he asked her to marry him, she had frozen. The very first thing that had crossed her mind was a single thought, not even a thought, but a vision, the image of Albus’s face, and her heart had clenched with the thought that if she married Rudolf, she would be so far from Albus and might never see him again. And in that moment, she knew that she could not marry Rudolf, she could not even stay with him there in Germany and see how things proceeded. That would have been even worse for Rudolf. She knew she would never change her mind, as much as she cared for Rudolf, loved him, even, and as much happiness as he had brought into her life over the year that she had spent at her apprenticeship. She had even moved in with him a few months before, though she kept her own rooms for the sake of appearances. After he had asked her to marry him and she had declined, she moved back to those rooms, knowing that if she stayed with him, he would keep hoping that he could change her mind in the two weeks before she was scheduled to leave her apprenticeship. 

The evening before she left, Rudolf had had her over for dinner. He was clearly sad that she was leaving, and still could not understand why, and he tried to get her to articulate her reasons to him. But she was completely unable to. What would she say? That she had harboured a crush on Albus Dumbledore since she was seventeen years old and she was in love with him still? So she simply told him that her life lay in Britain, not in Germany, and that she was sorry that she had led him to believe that they might have a future together. She told him quite truthfully that when they had started seeing each other, the possibility that they might become more serious about each other hadn’t occurred to her, and that even when she had moved in with him, she had not given a thought to the future, but only to the fact that she loved him and wanted to spend her time with him while she was there. She stayed that night, one last night together with him, and when she left him in the morning, Rudolf kissed her, but then turned away and would not say good-bye.

Minerva fingered the silver jonquil that dangled from the necklace and considered wearing something different, but then there was a barking from the sitting room, and she heard the Silent Knight enter the landscape. She hastened into the room to see who it was.

“The master of the castle is without and begs admission to your lady’s chambers,” the Knight announced.

“You may admit him,” Minerva said, wishing that the Knight would see fit to announce her visitors all of the time.

The door opened and Albus stepped in. “Good afternoon, my dear ”

“Hello, Albus.” She wanted to ask him why he was coming by so late after she had waited for him for hours, but she restrained herself. “Did you have a good time with the puppy?”

“Yes, quite a cute little fellow. He’ll grow fast. That was an excellent idea of Malcolm’s. Your brother is quite the wizard.”

Minerva nodded, feeling somewhat impatient and not wanting to discuss her brother. “Did you look at the applications and read my recommendation?”

“Yes, I did, and I agreed with you. I have owled them both and asked them to come in for interviews. Wilhelmina will, I hope, have returned to the school by then and can talk to them and let me know what she thinks of each one.”

Minerva nodded. “Was there anything else, then?” She really had to finish getting ready.

“I was wondering if you would care to dine with me this evening. Wilspy is not at the castle, but we could go into Hogsmeade, or if you would prefer to stay in, Hwouly could serve us, or we could eat in your rooms and Blampa would have another opportunity to provide us a meal.”

“Oh, Albus.” Minerva’s shoulders slumped. “Did you just think of this now?”

“No, it crossed my mind earlier, during lunch, but then . . . we went to see the dogs,” he said hesitantly. He seemed to notice for the first time that she was dressed differently than she had been at noon. “You look very nice, my dear.”

“Thank you. I wish you had said something earlier.” Minerva was so disappointed, she thought she could cry. But she didn’t. She sighed and said, “I made arrangements with Quin for dinner tonight, and the plans were made on Saturday. I still could have changed them, though, if I had known earlier, but I can’t very well beg off now.”

“And I would not expect you to, nor would I have wished you to change your plans. I hope you have a good evening. I will find Johannes then, and tell him that I will be here after all,” Albus said.

“I’m sorry, Albus. I would have liked to. I missed you the last few days.”

“It was just a thought, since Gertrude is taking advantage of my return to leave the grounds, and Hagrid has taken Caesar into Hogsmeade to show him off, apparently. With Johannes here, I thought . . . I thought it would be convenient to leave the wards with him. But it was just a whim. Do not concern yourself. Enjoy your time with Quin this evening. Johannes wanted to play another game of Go, anyway, and they usually take us a few hours. We will spend quite an absorbing evening together, I am sure.” He began to back toward the door.

Minerva glanced at the clock on her mantle. Only ten past five. They did have a little time. She could just shove her feet in her shoes, grab her shawl, and go. No need for anything else.

“You can stay a little while. I don’t have to leave just yet. I have some time now,” she offered.

Albus hesitated. “I would not want you to be late for your date.”

“It isn’t a date. But I won’t be late. I was going to Floo, but I could just as easily Apparate there,” Minerva said.

“Ah . . .” Albus made no move, either toward the door or further into the room.

“Come, sit with me a while.” She gestured toward the couch. “I have missed you. It was a wonderful surprise to see you this morning.” She went over and sat down herself.

“Well, just a moment, I suppose,” Albus said, coming over and sitting in one of the armchairs. 

“I was glad to see you here, of course, but surprised, as well,” Minerva said. “I hope there was no emergency that called you back early.”

“No, no emergency.” Albus smiled slightly. “I suppose I am just so unused to taking a holiday that I don’t know what to do with myself on one anymore.”

“So, what did you do when you left Robert and Thea’s?” Minerva asked.

“I had thought to spend some time at my cottage. Indeed, I Apparated there, but after I took care of a few of the maintenance tasks I needed to . . .” Albus shrugged.

“I see. What sorts of maintenance?” Minerva asked, both for something to ask and out of genuine curiosity.

“Oh, this and that. Refreshed my wards. Cleaned things up.”

Minerva nodded. “We don’t really have any wards at the house, at my parents’, except for the Anti-Apparition ward on the house itself, of course. Every now and then, Malcolm talks to Dad about putting some in place, but they never do. Of course, the main one they would have considered is a Muggle-repelling ward, and now that Melina’s marrying a Muggle, it hardly seems appropriate to do that ” Minerva said with a chuckle. 

“No, no, that would not be very convenient, would it?” Albus smiled.

“Do you spend much time at your cottage?” Minerva asked, trying to draw him out.

“Occasionally. But as you know, I spend most of the year here, and since becoming Headmaster, I haven’t had much opportunity to get away. The last time I was there was . . . late last summer, I believe.”

Minerva nodded. “Well, as I said before, the first is right around the corner. You should try to get away from the castle before the students return.” She wanted to suggest that they go on outings together, but couldn’t think of how to phrase it.

“I am quite happy here,” Albus said. “I fill my days sufficiently without having to leave the school to find other things or people to occupy my time, and when I do, it is on business, as you are aware.”

Minerva was taken aback by the stiffness in his tone. This was hardly the wizard who had been encouraging her to enjoy herself this summer, to get away, maintain her friendships outside the school. And it certainly wasn’t the warm wizard who had joked with her that noon about eating his fruit and veg and who had told her that she was special to him.

“Yes, well, I am trying to take the advice I was given to get away during the summer months,” Minerva replied.

“And you need to be leaving soon, I am sure, even if you are Apparating to Quin’s flat, it takes some time to walk down to the gates,” Albus said, standing. “I hope you have a good evening, Minerva. Please give my greetings to Quin.” He nodded to her and with a gesture, opened the door.

“Good night, Albus. I . . .” She wanted to say that she wished she were staying in and having dinner with him, but his manner had been so off-putting, she could not say it with very much enthusiasm. “You know, Albus, we have been friends for a long time.”

Albus paused and turned. “Yes, we have been,” he said softly.

“I thought . . . I thought after that evening, that night when you told me so much about yourself and your past, I thought we were becoming even closer friends. But I am realising that you still say little of yourself today, what you are presently feeling or doing or looking forward to. I would like us to be closer, but it is difficult when I have the sense that I am the only one who wants that,” she said. She swallowed and continued as Albus listened, his expression unchanging. “I would have loved to have had dinner with you. I would have changed my plans without a qualm. I have missed you. But it was a whim, as you say . . . just . . . nothing better to do.” Minerva averted her gaze, afraid of betraying too much feeling. “And that’s fine, I suppose. But if you were disappointed, I would have liked to have known it, and not feel . . . as though you are merely irritated with me for some reason I cannot fathom.”

“Irritated? I am not irritated with you, not at all. And it is good for you to get away. My ideas are not always very good ones or very well timed. I do have a bit of school business I wish to discuss with you, though, if you wouldn’t mind coming around at some point.”

Minerva nodded. “Of course.” School business. Well, now it was clear why he had wanted to have dinner with her. And she had been foolish enough to repeat that she had missed him.

After Albus had left, Minerva went back into her bedroom found her favourite shoes, and without much thought, charmed them to match her dress. She should find her matching shawl, but she couldn’t be bothered. It wasn’t cool yet, and when she came back later, a warming charm would be sufficient to keep her warm on the walk up from the gates. She had no appetite whatsoever for dinner now, but she was still looking forward to seeing Quin, even more now than before. Albus’s behaviour not only puzzled her, but it troubled her, and she didn’t know whether it was only because of her feelings for him. Perhaps she was being unreasonable, seeing things that weren’t there, both positive and otherwise.

Minerva arrived on Quin’s doorstep at ten minutes before six. A little early, but hopefully not too early for him. There were two ways of being not on time, Grandmother Siofre used to say, being too late and being too early. She lifted the heavy brass knocker and rapped on the door. A moment later, Quin appeared, shirt sleeves rolled up, collar undone, his loosened tie tucked into the front of his shirt, and a short flowered apron covering his trousers.

Minerva smiled, as much at the little flowered pinny as in greeting, and said, “I am too early. I am sorry, Quin.”

“Not at all, although I had expected you t’ come by Floo. Please, come in ”

Minerva stepped in. Mmm. The aromas were wonderful, and her appetite began to return. 

“Something smells very good,” she said.

Quin smiled. “I’m glad – I hope it tastes good, as well. Please, um, come into the sittin’ room with me while I close the Floo. I had just left it open for you.”

Minerva watched as he reset the Floo to allow admission only to members of the family.

“Are your children still with Ella?” she asked.

“Until sometime next week, they are,” he answered. “I took them all t’ lunch today, since I knew we would be having dinner this evenin’. Mrs Manning had the day off, so I’m cooking for us, and I got home later than I had wanted, so I’m still at it. Like to keep me company while I cook?”

“Of course And I would be happy to help, really, Quin.”

“If you like, you can put the salad together. But the rest is a one-wizard job.”

Minerva thought that was just as well, since her cooking skills weren’t particularly advanced, but she could chop and stir, and so forth, manually or magically. Rudolf used to cook for her often. She loved a wizard who could cook. She wondered whether Albus could cook. It wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t, of course . . . not that it mattered anyway. She would hardly have any opportunity to find out, and being at Hogwarts, there was no need for anyone to cook.

When they finally sat down to eat, Quin insisted on eating in the dining room, which had windows looking out on both the street and, on the other side, the courtyard garden. It had a large table, but he set just one end for them and opened the French doors out to the courtyard.

“We could eat out there, but I find this a nice compromise,” he said after opening the doors. 

“It is, and quite comfortable.”

They spoke a bit of Quin’s day and the business that had kept him in the City longer than he had anticipated that afternoon, then Minerva mentioned that she had spoken with Malcolm.

“You needn’t have done that, Minerva,” Quin said.

“Yes, well, I was concerned, myself, and curious, to be honest. Sometimes I’m too curious for my own good,” she replied.

Quin grinned. “Must be the cat in you, to be sure ”

“No doubt But, anyway, on Friday, when I was still at my parents’ place, he came by for dinner, and we talked a bit.” Seeing the slightly apprehensive look on Quin’s face, Minerva decided to tease him just a little. “I mentioned his visit to you, and he said, let me see if I can quote him exactly, he said that you were quite pretty, with lovely blue eyes and long legs, but rugged at the same time. He said that it was a delicious but uncommon combination in a wizard, and you were quite a charmer and a generally attractive package. Oh, and he mentioned your dimples.” 

Minerva watched Quin’s face as she recounted Malcolm’s description of him. He spilled his wine as he set his glass back down on the table, looking quite pale.

“So he, um, that is – ”

“And he also said that he was not interested in you that way in the slightest,” Minerva said with a laugh.

“What?” Quin was clearly confused.

“He really did say all those things, but since I had to suffer through it, I thought you should have to, as well. He suggested that he might have been on a quest to determine your intentions toward me, but then said that hadn’t been it, either.”

“Oh, well, that’s good, then, I suppose – you really had me there for a moment, you know, Minerva. I was afraid I was goin’ to have t’ find a way to let the bloke down gently, and I have a hard enough time of that with the witches, I didn’t fancy having to do it with him. Not that it would be the first time, but the others were quick and easy – I mean, explaining the facts and me lack of interest. Malcolm, on the other hand, he’s your brother. And, well, that would make it more awkward, that’s all.”

Minerva grinned. “Well, you have no worries on that score. In fact, I think the world at large might be safe from Malcolm’s attentions for a while.”

“Really? He’s after takin’ off for some remote corner of the earth again?”

“No, not so remote. Although I suppose some would consider the Highlands remote.” Minerva took a sip of wine. “You know that I returned to the school on Saturday, well, I have seen quite a bit of brother Malcolm since then. I even had breakfast with him this morning.”

“Breakfast – you mean – is he possibly there visitin’ another witch of our mutual acquaintance?” When Minerva nodded, Quin said, “Well, I’ll be . . . . and how is Gertrude?”

“She’s fine. She seems more relaxed each time I see her.” Minerva giggled, slightly giddy after the wine and the good meal. “But given what she and my brother seem to spend a lot of time doing, I suppose that shouldn’t be a surprise.”

“I have to admit, though, that I am surprised by their sudden attachment – particularly with your last suggestion,” Quin said. “Are you sure they’re, you know . . .”

“Sleeping together, as they say?” Minerva asked, surprised by Quin’s discomfort with the topic. “Quite sure. And I’m sure that it is much too vigorous to be called ‘sleeping,’ either ”

“Minerva! What a thing to speculate about – this is Gertie, me aunt, well, me wife’s aunt, and your _brother_ ”

“I’m not speculating, Quin. I’m talking about eye-witness evidence here ” Minerva laughed again at the expression on Quin’s face. “Honestly, Quin, I had no idea that you were so reserved ”

“I’m not, not really, but . . . what do you mean, eye-witness? ’Tisn’t that you saw them together, is it?”

Minerva nodded. “They had no idea I was there, of course. But Gertie was practically attacking Malcolm right there in the middle of Hogwarts. Not that he resisted. And they were definitely well beyond the first kiss. _Very_ well beyond it.”

“But they only just met ” Quin protested.

Minerva shrugged. “I gather that Malcolm usually moves fast – both into and out of relationships – but he has no wish at the moment to move out of this one. As for Gertrude, I did speak to her about it, just a little. Apparently, she was attracted to him immediately, and when he made overtures to get to know her better, she took him up on them. And they bounced about the country doing who-knows-what with various creatures and curses, and got to know one another better in the process. From what Malcolm told me, before he knew it, he cared more for her than he had expected to.”

“Gertrude went out with him on his jobs?” Quin asked. When Minerva nodded, he said, puzzled, “But she’s never been interested in doin’ that sort o’ thing, and I would never say anythin’ to her, but I have always thought her lack of interest in exercisin’ her magic t’ be peculiar, at the very least. Lives in her head, and in her books, from what I’ve seen. O’ course, she always has liked t’ get out and hike, but that’s a bit different from what I understand Malcolm does.”

“Apparently his stories appealed to her – well, you could see that for yourself that Sunday. She hung onto his every word. And when he invited her along on his jobs, she went.”

Quin narrowed his eyes. “D’you think he’s done somethin’ to her? Somethin’ to encourage her along, then? Because if so, if he’s done anythin’ to her, I’m not after carin’ how many Nundus he’s survived, I’ll not be havin’ him hurtin’ our Gertie!”

“Calm down, Quin! Honestly! You wizards!” Minerva said, rolling her eyes. “First of all, I do believe that Gertrude can take quite good care of herself, secondly, I am certain that Malcolm did nothing but be his usual self, which appears to be just what Gertrude fancies, and thirdly, if Malcolm did anything to hurt Gertie, you wouldn’t have to do anything, because I’ll have done something first. He is my brother, after all. But he hasn’t done anything untoward to gain her affections.”

“All right, then . . . and if that’s the case,” he said, a sudden smile brightening his face, “I’m happy for her. She needs somethin’ more in her life than the school and Dumbledore. Robert’s a fine son, o’ course, but she doesn’t see him often, an’ he has a life o’ his own. Good for her, then ”

Minerva laughed. “That was some turn around, from wanting to kill my brother to wishing Gertrude happiness with him ”

Quin shrugged. “I liked your brother. And I want Gertie to be happy. ’Tis a simple thing.”

“Yes . . . a simple thing.” Minerva sighed. “A simple thing, you say, but you know that love can also bring pain. And they still might end up hurt, one or the other or both of them, even with neither of intending it.”

“But that’s no reason not to love,” Quin said. “Not to try for it. And with all the pain I had, and still have, at losin’ Aileen, I would never wish I hadn’t found her and loved her and had her love.”

Minerva nodded, but she was silent, and her mood had shifted. Wouldn’t it be better for her not to love Albus? Or not to love him as she did? She could take no joy in it, and little hope of any.

Quin waved a hand and cleared the table of the dishes, but leaving the wine and glasses. He looked at Minerva seriously. “You wanted to see me and talk, and I’ve dominated the conversation. . . . You’re feelin’ less hopeful again?”

Minerva nodded. “You know that when I wrote to you, I had returned to Hogwarts only to discover that Albus had left on holiday.” She sighed. “You know . . . I don’t begrudge him his holiday, not in the slightest, and I know, rationally, that it is unreasonable of me to expect that he would tell me anything of his plans, but still . . . I had returned early, so looking forward to seeing Albus, and then he was not there. And he had left no word, nothing, and I didn’t know where he was or when he would be back, and I was just so very disappointed, I am embarrassed to say how disappointed I was. Gertrude told me yesterday that she expected him back either Tuesday night or Wednesday morning, but he returned early. I met him shortly after he arrived . . . I was very pleased to see him, and for a moment, I thought he was equally happy to see me, but then he seemed completely uninterested in spending time with me, even to discuss Hogwarts business. Again, it was unreasonable of me, but – ”

“Not unreasonable, Minerva. Not at all. But did you actually tell him that you wanted to spend time with him, that you were happy that he returned early?”

“Not exactly. I did offer to stay and talk with him about the applicants for the Care of Magical Creatures position, though. And I asked him about his holiday, but he didn’t say very much.”

“So you only asked him to spend time with you discussing Hogwarts business?” At Minerva’s nod, Quin asked, “And yourself? What did you say of your holiday and early return to Hogwarts?”

“That it was good, that I had seen family . . . and that I returned to begin preparing for the term,” Minerva replied.

Quin said, “Did it occur to you that he may have been disappointed, as well? That p’rhaps he wanted to see you for some reason other than Hogwarts business, but didn’t feel comfortable bringin’ it up, since your focus was on work?”

“No, no, that didn’t occur to me,” Minerva said slowly. “But that would be silly – why wouldn’t he then at least want to see me to discuss the applications? And it’s not as though we have only had a professional relationship – we have known each other for years, after all.”

Quin shrugged. “And why did you not simply ask him to join you in your rooms later – for tea and a chat? You could have done, just as you say he could have. If he is wishin’ he could have somethin’ more with you, but is unsure of himself, he might think your focus on work was off-puttin’, though you don’t mean it that way.”

“Yes, that could be, except then at lunch . . . oh, Quin, I was so happy after lunch. I am becoming pathetic, I truly am. He gives me one smile, and I grasp at it like a lifeline. He was sweet at lunch, and he joked with me . . . but it was only joking. He said something about my being special to him – not in so many words – and I took it to heart. Then before he went off to visit Hagrid’s new puppy – something Malcolm got for him – he suggested he would come and see me this afternoon. At least, I thought he had. But it was more vague than I had interpreted it. I waited all afternoon for him, thinking he would be by at any time. I even stayed in my rooms, waiting, instead of going to the library as I had planned. But he didn’t come. Then he finally appeared at my door just as I was getting ready to leave for dinner. And he asked me to have dinner with him, to go out to Hogsmeade or to dine in, whichever I preferred. It was already after five by that point, though. I couldn’t just change my plans at the last minute like that.”

“O’ course you could have, Minerva I would have understood. You could have just sent word to me,” Quin said.

Minerva shook her head. “And owl would have arrived too late. I couldn’t leave you wondering where I was or if something had happened to me. Especially not after you had changed your own plans to have dinner with me – and cooked, too. And even if that were not a consideration, it does seem that Albus . . . when I want to spend time with him, he often puts me off, whether explicitly or not, but then if he gets an idea in his head that we might have dinner or what-have-you, he simply expects me to have no other plans. I don’t understand it at all.”

Quin thought for a moment. “It could be that he’s hopin’ that if you have nothin’ t’ do, you’ll not be able to say ‘no’ when he asks, but if you do . . . you’re sayin’ ‘no’ for a reason other than not wantin’ t’ spend time with him. An’ if he asks you in advance and you decline . . . it means that you don’t want t’ see him. I’m not sayin’ that he thinks this, he may not know he’s doin’ it, even. Or it could be that he’s tryin’ t’ be casual about it, not wantin’ t’ make it seem anythin’ o’ grand importance to him, not wantin’ you t’ think he puts too much store in your answer.”

“Possibly. Or it could be that he has nothing better to do for the evening, and an idea pops into his head, a whim, as he put it.” Minerva smiled wryly. “And then, to top it off, when we were talking, he dismissed my suggestion that he try to enjoy these last weeks before the students return. He said that he had quite enough to fill his time without leaving the castle to find anything else. This from the man who has been encouraging me to get out and enjoy myself this summer. What was worst, though, I tried to express my disappointment that he hadn’t asked me to dinner earlier in the day, that I would have enjoyed spending time with him because I had missed him, that I would have changed my plans. And do you know what he said? He said that he would not expect me to change my plans, and that he has school business to discuss with me, so could I come by and see him about that. That hardly sounds like a man who is simply shy about asking me to dinner and risking me turning him down, Quin.”

“P’rhaps not.” Quin shook his head. “I am sorry, love. But it hasn’t been long since you’ve been tryin’ to sway his view of you. Give it more time, give him more time. If you love him, and I know you do, there is a wizard there whom you love, and you need to be patient with that wizard, give him a chance to express himself. Or is this the way he has always been?” he asked.

“I don’t know . . . we haven’t had this kind of contact with each other before, not since I was a student. And that, obviously, was quite different. I still see the wizard I fell in love with, and not just when he is with others, but when he is with me . . . perhaps if he was always this way, either with me or in general, I would think that the person I fell in love with doesn’t really exist, that he had been a construct of my youthful imagination and the strong physical attraction I have to him. But I do still see that wizard, and feel him, it’s just as though he disappears sometimes and becomes this near-stranger.”

“I think you just need to be persistent, Minerva. And honest with him, although perhaps you might not want to admonish him for his desire to spend time with you – I know you didn’t mean it that way, but if he’s unsure of himself, he could interpret it so.” Quin hesitated for a moment. “You know, Minerva, you’ve never said, and if you don’t want to say, that’s fine . . . but you have been in love with him a long time. When did you first realise?”

Minerva sighed. “You’ll think me an irrational, romantic fool. I have loved him practically since I first met him when I was a child, and then one day, I realised I was in love with him and that I needed him desperately but that I could never have him. I was barely seventeen,” she said softly, “and here he was, this very powerful, brilliant, accomplished wizard, my teacher, and I was in love with him. For a long time, I hoped it was just a crush, or the result of a magical accident that I had had, or some combination of the two. Being a teenager, I was very strongly affected by it. And it did come on very suddenly, this realisation . . . but the feelings themselves had been growing before that. I think it was inevitable. I tried to fight it. I tried to ‘cure’ myself of my physical attraction for him, and that didn’t work at all. And I tried to focus my feelings on someone else, thinking that if I were in a normal relationship, one that was appropriate for a witch of my age, my feelings for him would fade and change, but they did not. In fact, it was Carson that I began to see, but when he kissed me – this is terrible, Quin – it literally made me physically ill the first time, and it didn’t get much better, and so I broke it off with him while we were still in school. Then later, when we were both in London and I so rarely saw Albus, I tried with Carson again. He was a dear, sweet boy, and I cared for him, and I wanted a normal relationship. But that time, he broke it off. We were still friends, and we still went about together, but . . . he said that I was destined for someone in particular, and that he wasn’t the one.” Minerva’s eyes filled with tears. “I felt terrible about that, and worse after he was killed.”

Quin took her hand. “He had some of the MacAirt gift. ’Twasn’t strong in the lad, but your feelin’s for Dumbledore . . . they are powerful. He no doubt sensed that. I am sure that he valued your friendship. You needn’t feel bad about it.” Minerva nodded, and Quin said, “Let’s go into the living room. We can have coffee and dessert, if you like.”

They settled with their dessert, and Quin said, “You mentioned a magical accident. Would you like to tell me about that?”

Minerva recounted the incident and its aftermath, including her extremely heightened awareness of Albus and how she could barely concentrate when she was in his presence.

When she was through, Quin said, “Sounds t’ me as though, even if the accident didn’t cause the feelin’s, it brought them to the fore, and more strongly than if they’d bided their time to emerge, and despite what your mother and all the books say, I do believe that the way that he staunched your drain had an effect, as well. I’m not sayin’ he caused anythin’ in particular. But you two, if your magic is particularly complementary, it could have caused you to be more sensitive to his magic after that. If ’twere anyone else who did it, nothin’ would have happened between you, but because ’twas Dumbledore, it helped his magic call to yours and yours to his. He’s so powerful, though, it might not affect him the same way – he likely is much more aware o’ the magic residin’ in others, anyway, and was already aware of yours before this accident. If you are . . . soul mates, though I dislike that term,” Quin said with a grimace, “your awareness of his magic would have grown over time, anyway, and your love and physical attraction to him certainly would have.”

“Soul mates? That’s a rather old-fashioned and romantic term. And foolishness, in my opinion,” Minerva said.

“Is it really?” Quin asked with a smile. “Much as I dislike the term, there is some truth to it. If the two meet, that is. And if other circumstances don’t separate them. People can usually live quite happily without their so-called soul mate, and do. Even if they meet, there’s no sayin’ that they won’t meet an’ marry some other person. But the match would never be the same, not as deep, not as enrichin’, not as satisfyin’. . . . I think you and your Albus are like that, but even more so than most, at least on your end. Could be a lot of factors that contribute to that, but your relative youth when you discovered your feelin’s for him probably played a role, and the intensity of them when they first arose. But if I’m right, and I’m not sayin’ I am, this is all conjecture, then Albus has his side o’ the feelin’s, too. Y’aren’t soul mates if the love is unrequited.” At Minerva’s expression, Quin said, “But that’s also good news, as it means conversely that you might still meet someone else, not a soul mate, p’rhaps, but a great love, who loves you and whom you can love.”

“But you said . . . in the divination, you said my joy would die, and my love . . . I don’t understand,” Minerva said.

“I was just sayin’ that you have t’ give it a chance, love,” Quin explained. “You can’t move on until you do. And with any luck, you won’t have t’ move on, and he’ll love you just as you love him, and you’ll both find your joy. But you’ve given your heart to him, and until you reclaim it, either by givin’ it to him openly and havin’ him accept it, or by offerin’ it and, well, havin’ to take it back, so t’ speak, you’ll always be pinin’ for him. Essentially, Minerva, you have t’ stop pinin’, one way or t’other.”

“I don’t know . . . I have tried. I have tried to be more open with him about my feelings for him. And I thought . . . last week, he told me some things about himself, about his past, very private, personal things, and I thought it had some significance for our relationship, but now . . . I just don’t know.”

“I think that is good. You need to be patient with him and yet persistent, is my thinkin’,” Quin answered. “Would you like another glass of wine? Or somethin’ else? I have some nice Gillywater a business associate gave me. From Sweden. S’posed to be somethin’ special.”

Minerva shrugged. She did like Gillywater. “All right, the Gillywater sounds nice.”

After he had poured the clear alcoholic drink for them into two small glasses, he said, “You mentioned that you’ve tried to be more open with your feelin’s. I know you don’t think it went well on his birthday, from what you said, but, have you given it another chance?”

Minerva sighed. “I’ve told him twice that I love him, Quin. Used those precise words. The first time was on his birthday, when, as I told you, he said he was ‘fond’ of me. The second time . . . it was after a long and difficult day. We had found out that Pretnick had died, and how, and Albus was feeling badly about it, naturally, as was I. I was trying to offer him some comfort, and when I hugged him, I said it again, that I loved him. At least this time, he didn’t tell me that he was fond of me, too, but he didn’t say anything at all.”

“But he didn’t push you away,” Quin said. At Minerva’s nod, he said, “He accepts it, then, I would say, though I wasn’t there, and I do have a hard time readin’ him. I figure that it’s all that Occlumency and other self-control he practices. I’ve heard he used to have quite the temper when he was young, killed a man in a fit of rage, so he’s likely grown quite adept at his self-control.”

Minerva frowned. “If it is the story I am thinking it is, he didn’t kill him outright, and the man was raping the fiancée of a friend of his. But you are right, he did have a temper. Or he thinks he did, anyway. And he has learned to control his emotions, I suppose.”

“Well, whatever it was, I find him a difficult read. Hafrena might have a better sense of him, but she never offers an opinion that isn’t asked for.”

“You mean . . . she was my Divination teacher . . . I wasn’t taking Divination when I had my magical accident, but still . . . is it possible that she knows how I feel, that she has always known?” Quin nodded, and Minerva buried her head in her hands. “Oh, gods, how embarrassing.”

“Don’t be embarrassed, love. She is very sensitive, and your feelin’s are just one set amongst many. As I said, she doesn’t say anythin’ unless asked, and then only of the person who is doin’ the askin’. And she can turn it off, to an extent, so ’tisn’t as if every time you’re in the same room with her, she’s pullin’ your feelin’s off you. She most certainly hasn’t told anyone else,” Quin reassured her.

“Well, that’s a relief, at least.” Something occurred to Minerva. “That reminds me, Quin, have you said anything to Gertrude about me, about my feelings toward Albus? Even unintentionally?”

“What? No, I wouldn’t do that – is this because of what I said about Johannes? That was indiscreet of me, and I shouldn’t have, but really, I haven’t said anything to Gertrude. I haven’t even had occasion to. Other than seeing her at your tea, when I scarcely had an opportunity to speak to her since she was off cavorting with your brother and apparently falling in love, herself, I haven’t spoken with her since the Gamp party. And our correspondence has been on other topics altogether. Although . . .”

“Although?” Minerva asked.

“Well, she did remind me again in a letter last week that . . . that she hoped I was not growing overly attached to you. I didn’t even respond to that, though.” Quin looked uncomfortable.

“She thinks that _you_ are growing too attached to _me_?” Minerva asked. When Quin nodded, she laughed. “You really should disabuse her of that notion, Quin. Although, preferably without mentioning my own feelings toward the Headmaster.”

Quin shrugged one shoulder, then poured more Gillywater for them both. “I can take care o’ me self,” he said. “So, how are things at the school, elsewise?”

Minerva told him more about the puppy that Malcolm had procured for Hagrid, and about Johannes’s unexpected return to the school, and of both occasions that Malcolm had shown up unannounced at her door. As she sipped her Gillywater and told Quin of Malcolm’s attempts to pretend that he and Gertrude were nothing but friends until she had revealed that she had seen the two in the corridor, Minerva’s mood lightened. Soon, Quin was telling her of the time that Ella had walked in on him and Aileen when they had thought they were alone. Unfortunately, they couldn’t pretend that nothing was going on, and Ella had looked him up and down and said, “Yes, well, I do understand now, Mr MacAirt, what my daughter sees in you. But I would prefer to see much less of it in the future.” Then she had waited in the kitchen for them to dress, and when they came in and he apologised to her, she had simply wanted to know if they were setting a wedding date.

“And so I asked Aileen t’ marry me, right there in her mother’s kitchen. ’Twasn’t the romantic settin’ I’d planned on, but I’d already found an engagement ring, and could Summon it from me coat pocket, so there was that, at least, and they both knew it wasn’t just because I’d been put on the spot.”

The way Quin told the story, even imitating Ella’s accent, had Minerva laughing, but she said, “I laugh, but that must have been very uncomfortable.”

“For all three of us, I assure you. I don’t know who was more embarrassed ”

Minerva held out her glass, and Quin refilled it, then topped off his own.

They talked more, Quin telling stories about his courtship of Aileen and about his children, and then Minerva told about teaching Hagrid to fly a broom and their games of Swivenhodge the summer she spent at Hogwarts.

“You spent a summer at Hogwarts when you were a student? Isn’t that unusual?” Quin asked.

Minerva nodded. “It was for a special project, and it was the summer after I had discovered ‘It,’ as I called my feelings for Professor Dumbledore, so there were times when it was difficult. But it was fun, too, and I felt very grown up. Well, I was, I suppose, as I was of age, but being a student . . . this was different. I was working with Albus and Gertrude on a special project, and although they obviously were in charge of it – Albus was, anyway – they still treated me more like a colleague than a student.” She took a sip of her Gillywater. “I appreciated that from Gertrude, but it didn’t stop my raging jealousy of her.”

“Jealousy?” Quin asked.

“Mmm. Of her relationship with Albus. They may have treated me as an adult on the project, but I was still a child, really, and they had known each other so long. I never wanted to contemplate it, but I was convinced that there was something between them. One time I found them together – not like you and Aileen, or Malcolm and Gertie, or anything like that, thank goodness – but still, they seemed so close, and when Gertrude moved away from him . . . somehow, that was what did it for me. That she had so deliberately let him go and moved away.” Minerva sighed. “Not that I would expect her to do anything else, of course, looking back on it from an adult perspective. But it seemed so fraught with meaning to me . . . and the way he speaks of her, even today, they are obviously very close.”

Quin nodded. “I can see how as a teenager, you would be jealous of her. She could have a kind of access to him that you, as a student, couldn’t have, and they had a long-term friendship. But I doubt they were anything but friends.”

Minerva frowned slightly. “I don’t know, obviously, but . . . I don’t think they are involved now – I know they aren’t now that I’ve seen her and Malcolm together – but I think they may actually have had something in the past. But it’s confusing. I don’t understand it.”

“What don’t you understand?” Quin asked.

“How they could have something, especially after such a long friendship, and now they don’t? Earlier today, I wondered whether perhaps Albus had dumped her for Valerianna, and that’s why he didn’t listen to her when Gertrude tried to tell him that the cow was bad news – I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything like that, it must be the Gillywater,” Minerva said, feeling as though she had been very indiscreet. 

Quin smiled. “I had assumed ’twas somethin’ like that – about Valerianna, not about Albus and Gertrude. But I find it difficult to imagine that Dumbledore would drop Gertie in preference for Anna. He may not be particularly adept when it comes to women, but I think any wizard could see that Gertrude is a much finer witch than Anna.”

Minerva shrugged. “It was just a thought. But you didn’t think that they were ever together like that?”

“’Tisn’t impossible, nor even unlikely, I s’pose. I have only known Gertrude since . . . I don’t know, forty-four, forty-five. We met before I married Aileen, but we didn’t really get to know each other until after the war, after Alroy was born, actually. So, even though I never sensed anything between them, I never have been able to read her well, and ’tis possible that they had some kind of relationship back while you were in school. But I never saw any indication of it when we would get together for family occasions and he would be there. He seemed like a member of the family, but . . . . I don’t know. I could be wrong. But you are definitely correct when you say that if they ever did have anythin’ together, they don’t now, and haven’t had in a long time, or Dumbledore never would have been escortin’ Valerianna, to be sure.”

Minerva yawned. “I’m sorry, Quin . . . I come here, and even when we’re supposed to be relaxing, I somehow bring the conversation back around to Albus. You’ll be very sick of seeing me soon, with all the moaning I do.”

“Ah, love, you are fine. You don’t moan, and I’m happy to be here and listen and try to help however I can. And I do enjoy your company. But it is getting late, and you are tired.”

Minerva nodded and stood. She blinked. “No Apparating for me tonight. I’ll have to Floo back,” she said.

“Then I’ll Floo with you.”

“Oh, no need to do that,” Minerva protested.

“There _is_ a need, love. Even once you Floo to Hogsmeade, you’ll be walkin’ back to the castle alone and in the dark. And you may not have noticed the time, but it is almost one o’clock. You would have to Floo to the Hog’s Head, an’ I’m not after lettin’ you Floo there alone at this hour of the day, for all I know you’re a capable witch,” Quin responded, standing.

“Oh, I had forgotten that . . .”

“Or, you could stay here, if you like,” Quin offered. “There’s a guest room always made up, and I can loan you some pyjamas to Transfigure however they would be comfortable. Then we can have breakfast in the morning, and you can leave when I Floo to work.”

Minerva hesitated. “I wouldn’t want to put you out . . .”

“Wouldn’t be no such thing, Minerva. Mrs Manning will be here tomorrow afternoon, and she can take care of the room. And I always make breakfast every morning. So no trouble at all.”

Minerva smiled. “All right. I _would_ like to avoid the walk, with or without you, to be honest. I feel like I’m asleep already, and I definitely should have stopped drinking the Gillywater a glass or two ago.”

“Very good, then. Let me show you your room.” 

He brought her upstairs and led her down the hall to a pretty bedroom with pale blue walls and blue and yellow floral furnishings.

“There’s a small loo through here, with its own shower, should you care for one, so you have privacy,” he said, opening the door next to the bed. “There’s a new toothbrush in the cabinet – Mrs Manning is always prepared – and there should be fresh towels there. I’ll be back in a trice with something for you to wear. Look and make sure that there’s nothing else you need, and that you have enough in the way of towels.”

A few minutes later, Quin rapped on the half-open door. He held out some folded pyjamas. “They’re big, but more to Transfigure, I suppose,” he said with a grin. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Thank you, Quin. But everything is fine. I appreciate this.”

“You’re welcome – I’m sorry I can’t Apparate you, but I have had a bit too much myself. I would hate to have to explain to your Headmaster why I Splinched his new Head of Gryffindor ”

Minerva laughed. When he had left after wishing her sweet dreams, she drew her wand, paused a moment to gather herself together, and Transfigured the pyjamas into a nightgown. Casting spells while tipsy was not something she enjoyed doing. It took far too much concentration to do what she normally did with little effort. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, climbed into bed, and was asleep before she knew it.


	114. His Lady's Servent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva returns to Hogwarts after a night away. Albus does not behave well and regrets it.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Quin MacAirt, Gertrude Gamp, Malcolm McGonagall, and Fawkes.

**CXIV: His Lady’s Servant**

Minerva woke in the morning, somewhat confused about where she was. When she remembered, she hopped out of bed and washed and dressed quickly, putting her hair up in a quick, loose bun. Casting a _Tempus_ , she saw that it was only quarter past six. Tuesday the thirteenth. The ides of August, Minerva thought, smiling as she remembered Hagrid’s new puppy. The ides of August should not be fraught with danger and doom. She didn’t know when Quin normally rose, but she didn’t feel comfortable poking around in his kitchen, or anywhere in the house, for that matter, if he wasn’t up yet, so she simply opened her door a crack so that when he got up, he would see that she was up, as well.

Kicking off her shoes again, she pulled the covers of the bed up, then lay down on top of them. She had had a nice evening with Quin, and she was feeling reassured. Albus could very well just be trying, in his own way, to show her he cared about her and wanted to spend time with her, but without placing any pressure on her or risking rejection. That was a much nicer interpretation of his belated invitation to dinner than the ones that she had considered. Or, as Quin had said before, he could simply be confused by his feelings. Minerva smiled. Perhaps Albus was coming to see her as a potential . . . something. Lover? What terms would he use? Girlfriend? No, that didn’t sound right. Paramour? No, that would sound as though they were having an illicit affair. Mistress? Equally bad. Possibly even worse connotations. What would he think of himself in relation to her? Her suitor, perhaps? But that sounded staid and too chaste. But he was from a different era than she . . . she wanted him to be her lover, possibly more, but for now, she couldn’t imagine wanting more, or what that more could be. Marriage eventually. That is what people did when they fell in love . . . somehow, though, that seemed an even more impossible thought than that Albus might be coming to be attracted to her, and her entire fantasy seemed to crumble as she considered it. As she felt her tension and unhappiness returning, she thought again of Quin’s words, his advice to love Albus and let him love her, and that eased her mind. Put that way, it seemed possible, and not absurd at all.

She was just coming to that conclusion when she heard steps in the hallway, then Quin rapped on the door.

“Minerva?”

“I’m here, Quin,” she answered, rising from the bed.

He opened the door and greeted her with a smile. “Ready for breakfast? I am sorry I have t’ leave so early in the morning, but you know what they say about early birds, worms, and all that.”

“That’s fine. I need to get back to the school, anyway.” She looked at him as they walked down the hall. “Wizarding business today, I see.” 

Quin was dressed in dark blue robes of a conservative cut, though they had clearly been tailored for him, and he wore a starched white shirt beneath.

“Indeed. In fact, a visit to the Ministry.” He quirked a smile. “Perhaps I will even see our friend Franky and I can ask him how his engagement is treating him.”

Minerva smiled. “I actually feel sorry for him.”

“He’s a grown wizard,” Quin responded, little sympathy for the man.

Quin made Minerva tea and himself coffee, then set about doing a quick fry-up for them both. This time, he put a long flowered pinny on over his robes, completely unself-consciously, and Minerva smiled to watch him work.

“This should hold you for a while, love,” he said as he served her. “More tea?”

Minerva enjoyed her breakfast with Quin, but was feeling increasingly anxious to leave, and so was pleased when Quin suggested that it was time to go. 

“You can Floo with me to the Ministry, then Apparate from there, if you like. Unless you know of somewhere in Hogsmeade with an open Floo connection at this hour.”

Shortly thereafter, Minerva found herself in the familiar atrium at the Ministry and felt a distinct sense of relief that she no longer worked there. It had been fine at the time, but she could not imagine returning to it. The morning influx of Ministry workers hadn’t yet begun, and Quin walked her to the designated Disapparition point, their footsteps echoing in the near-empty hall.

“Safe home, Minerva,” he said to her softly. “I enjoyed our evening, and our breakfast.”

“Thank you, Quin. It was very nice, and I really appreciated your cooking and your company.”

“See you sometime again soon, then, and let me know how things are at Hogwarts,” Quin said. Minerva nodded, and he leaned forward and kissed her forehead softly. He looked into her eyes. “You have faith in yourself, Minerva. You are a fine witch, and I do not believe your wizard to be a fool.” He touched her cheek gently then shook his head. “You will always be safe with me, Minerva, as I said, but . . . .”

Quin stepped back and nodded to her, then turned and walked rapidly away towards the golden gates, leaving Minerva somewhat confused, but she focussed on the Hogwarts gates and Disapparated, arriving a scant moment later at her destination. She smiled involuntarily. Home. She was home. Home was where the heart was, and her heart was with Albus, whether he was aware of it or not.

Minerva opened the gates and walked rapidly up to the castle, shivering slightly in the cool morning air. The doors were still bolted, so she used the summer password to gain entry, then trotted up the stairs to the first floor, paused and considered using her office Floo, then decided against that and continued up the next six flights. As she walked down the corridor toward Gryffindor Tower and her rooms, she heard someone else in one of the narrow hallways off the main corridor, and as she reached her rooms, she saw Albus coming toward her from the other side of the castle.

“Good morning, Albus!” she greeted him cheerily. He was wearing conservative robes of taupe and mauve with pewter trim, but at least he wasn’t wearing the ugly grey ones she had seen him in before her holiday. It was good to be back at Hogwarts with Albus again.

“Professor McGonagall,” Albus said evenly, nodding. His eyes moved over her. “Just getting in,” he observed.

Minerva smiled. “Yes, you see, it was – ”

“I was unaware when you left yesterday that you would be away from the castle overnight,” he said stiffly. “In the future, when it is anticipated that you be in the castle, it would be appreciated if you would give notice that you will not be. Your holiday is yours to spend as you wish, but if you are expected here, it is a matter of protocol to inform us so that we are aware of your absence.”

Minerva felt the wind go out of her. “I just . . . it was late . . . I hadn’t planned – ” she began, trying to explain.

“You should make your plans better in the future, then, Professor,” he said coolly.

“Of course. And if you would be so kind as to inform me as to how I might relay such a message at one o’clock in the morning in the event that I am again so derelict in planning, I would appreciate it, Professor Dumbledore.” Her jaw muscles hurt from clenching her teeth. She spoke evenly, attempting to match his cool tone, but her injured feelings close to the surface. “And I do understand that as a member of the staff, I am under an obligation to inform you of my general whereabouts, or at least of my absence from the castle, when I am on holiday, so that I may be reached in an emergency, and you, as Headmaster, are under no reciprocal obligation to me, a mere member of staff. However, I would have thought that as an adult witch, how and where I pass my free time would be my concern and no one else’s. I can assure you that my parents, knowing that I was in London visiting a friend, would not address me in this way the next morning upon my return home. It is not as though I went missing and no one had a clue where I was. When you left on your holiday, on the other hand, I was completely unaware of it until I returned to the castle myself, and then upon your return, you scarcely shared anything with me about your time away. But, as I say, you are the Headmaster, and I, a mere member of your staff. And foolish witch that I am, I believed our friendship was the more important factor in our relationship. Now I see that I was incorrect, and I apologise for my misapprehension, Professor. Please assume in the future that when I leave the castle during the summer, I will not be returning until I am required. If I happen to return beforetime, then that shall be a pleasant surprise for everyone. And I apologise if I overstepped the limits of our friendship yesterday when I suggested that you might share your present thoughts, feelings, and concerns with me. I see that it is not my place to expect or even to desire such a thing of you. Now, you did have Hogwarts business to discuss with me. If you would care to discuss it now, Professor?” Minerva’s heart hammered in her chest, and she could scarcely keep herself calm enough to speak, but she was not about to let her hurt and her anger get the better of her, not in front of Albus.

Albus’s expression had scarcely changed, though he did seem slightly taken aback by Minerva’s words. “It was not particularly important,” he said quietly. “I had simply wished . . . .” He shook his head slightly, and continued more firmly, “I am going to ask your brother Malcolm to apply for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. I had thought to ask you if it would discomfit you if I were to do so, and were he found an acceptable candidate, if he were then hired.”

“You are the Headmaster. You may do as you see fit. But I do suggest, although it is not my place to do so, that you consult your Deputy Headmistress in the matter. She may have some . . . thoughts on it.” She was virtually holding her breath in her effort to remain calm. “If that is all?”

Albus nodded. “Yes – ”

Minerva turned toward the Silent Knight, but as she was about to utter the password, the Knight bowed to her and the door clicked open. She pulled it open.

“Good day to you, Professor,” she said, not turning back to him.

“Good day.” He hesitated. “Minerva, I – ”

Minerva shook her head. “I have things to do. If you have no other Hogwarts business to discuss with me, sir, I would like to get to on with my day.”

“Of course. Excuse me.”

Minerva nodded without looking at him, and stepped into her sitting room, closing her door behind her. As soon as the door was shut, her composure completely crumbled, and tears rolled down her face. She slid to the floor, her back to the door, and wept.

To her annoyance, the Silent Knight creaked into the sitting room. “Oh, just tell whoever it is to go away,” she said.

“There is no one else, my lady,” the Knight said gently. “It is only I, your servant, who calls on you. Fidelio guards your door. I have come to beg that I may assist you in your hour of need. Tell me how I may serve!”

Minerva laughed through her tears. A painting come to comfort her! How utterly absurd and pathetic. “There is nothing. But I do thank you.” She sniffed. Despite how pathetic it was, she did appreciate the Knight’s presence and apparent concern. “I just want to be alone and undisturbed right now.”

“Very well, my lady.” He bowed. “I shall endeavour to serve!”

After the Knight left, Minerva stood. She should change her clothes at least. As she walked into her bedroom, she pulled off her earrings. She put her jewellery away mechanically, then stripped off her robes and put them in the laundry. She considered a shower, but remembering her foolish fantasy from the day before, she decided against one. She should dress, she thought, but instead, she padded out to her sitting room in her chemise and knickers and picked up the afghan. Holding it to her, tears rose in her eyes once more. 

Nothing was working out. Just as she would begin to feel as though there was some hope that Albus might care for her, that they might be becoming more than friends, she would learn that Albus saw her as something else, something less, scarcely even a staff member, more like a child, a “good girl.” Today, a good girl who had been naughty and stayed out past curfew. Minerva could not imagine that Albus would ever speak to Johannes that way, nor to Gertrude, nor to anyone else on staff, for that matter. During the summer, Hagrid would go off drinking in Hogsmeade and not return to the grounds until the early hours of the morning then sleep past noon. But the rules were different for her. She was just a little errant Gryffindor student again, out past curfew. He hadn’t even allowed her to explain. Not that she should have had to, though she would have been perfectly happy to tell him if he had let her. And there was little to explain. It had been late and getting back to the school at that hour would have been more than just inconvenient. He would have done the same in her position, she was certain. 

If it weren’t that Melina and Brennan deserved their privacy this early in their relationship, she would just leave that day and go stay at Melina’s until she was required to be back the week before school started. But despite what Melina had said about her always being welcome there, Minerva didn’t want to intrude at that time. And she certainly didn’t want to go stay with her parents. She didn’t want to be around anyone just then . . . she could just take a real holiday. Go away for a few days. Take a room in a hotel somewhere. 

Minerva sat down on the sofa. She didn’t want to go anywhere. She wanted to be here, but she wanted things to be different. She wanted them to be the way they had been before Pretnick had died, or before she had left on holiday. She wanted to be with the Albus who held her hand as they walked through the garden. But she had taken his hand; he had not taken hers. But he had treated her very romantically that evening in Edinburgh, and he had been very sweet at many times since then. She lay down, covering herself with the afghan, and closed her eyes, remembering his expression as he placed the rose in her hair, saying he would be her mirror, telling her she was beautiful.

Minerva sighed. There was something about Albus that she did not understand. She wanted to understand it. Perhaps he had only been concerned, worried about her, and had just expressed himself poorly. But he had been so . . . cold to her. Minerva pushed the afghan aside and went into her bedroom. She opened the wardrobe and knelt to pull out the wooden box with his correspondence in it. She brought the box back into the sitting room, wrapped the afghan around her, then opened it. 

Beginning with the earliest ones, mere notes, she started looking through them, even finding an old pass he had written for her one evening when she was out after curfew her fifth year. She had read second-year parchments for him, she remembered. Albus had been so exhausted that night, and so near tears. He had appreciated her help then, though. And last month, when he had her for dinner in his suite, he had had Wilspy serve the same meal they had that night, the one she had ordered for him.

Slowly, she read through the notes from her time as a student, and then started reading the letters he had written her after she had left school and begun work at the Ministry. Her head ached, though, so finally, she called Blampa and asked for a Headache Potion. After she took it, she put the letters she had read back into the box and placed the others on the table in front of the couch. It was almost lunchtime, but she really wasn’t hungry, so she cast a few cooling charms, wrapped herself in her afghan, invoked the charm, and lay down on the sofa for a nap.

* * *

Albus sat at the desk in his study, fiddling with his plumy purple quill. The quill that Minerva had given him. He could see the reason in everything that she had said. And he never would have dreamed of admonishing another staff member if they were out overnight during the summer, not unless there had been some good reason why they should have returned and had been expected to do so. At the very most, he would have asked them where they had been. No, it had been jealousy, of all things. He wasn’t prone to jealousy. Even as a youngster, he had simply seen the accomplishments of others and striven to accomplish more, himself. And to be jealous like this . . . it was unhealthy. It was possessive and controlling. And even worse, he had no call to be jealous, absolutely none. He was her friend and her employer. Quin was . . . Albus didn’t want to think about what Quin was. But he couldn’t help it. The young man had sat right there and told him that he had no romantic interest in Minerva, and that Minerva had none in him. And Minerva had repeated the same to him; even yesterday, she had claimed that it wasn’t a date. Yet she was Apparating. She had to have visited his home before in order to do that. And then last night . . . last night he had played Go with Johannes until almost eleven o’clock, when finally, distracted, he found himself completely surrounded, and Johannes had won. It had made Johannes quite happy, since he lost three or four games to every one that he managed to win. He had said good-night to Johannes, but he still hadn’t readied himself for bed, remembering how Minerva had come to see him after her date with Filius, and again after she had dinner with Quin in Hogsmeade.

Finally, at midnight, he went down to his office and opened the cupboard in which he kept his Charmed parchments. He rarely used them, and he hesitated to now. It would be prying . . . it would be for his own personal gain, not for school business. But he cast the necessary spells, and the results were clear and easy to read, there were so few people in the castle. Johannes was in his bedroom in Ravenclaw Tower. Gertrude and Malcolm . . . were both together. In her rooms. In her bedroom, in fact. Well, that answered one question that he hadn’t wished to ask. Johannes’s name was steady, but Gertrude’s and Malcolm’s names seemed to pulse, becoming thicker and bolder, then returning to the normal script. He could imagine what that might mean, and he averted his eyes. But Minerva’s name was not on the list. There was Fawkes listed. For some reason, he was perched in the Astronomy Tower. But no other being or creature was named. Albus still hadn’t set the wards properly to detect the ghosts. It had been a low priority, and he had never managed to get to it.

He ended the spells, put the Charmed parchments back in the cupboard, and returned to his rooms. It was after midnight. If Minerva hadn’t returned yet, she would have to Floo through to the Hog’s Head. Alone. He should leave word with Aberforth to watch for her. He started back down to his office, but then changed his mind. Aberforth would find it unusual. And he had no idea whether she would Floo back; she might Apparate directly to the gates. Or she might Floo to her parents’ house and not return to the school at all. Albus sighed and went to bed. But lying there in bed, he admitted that he believed that Minerva had stayed in London, with Quin. And that they were likely engaged in the same activities that he presumed Gertrude and Malcolm were. 

Gertrude had suggested to him that he consider Malcolm for the position of Defence instructor, and it seemed a very good idea to him, but she didn’t want to approach him about it herself. She hadn’t said why, but now he assumed that it must have something to do with their relationship. Until he knew more about the relationship, though, he couldn’t speculate about what that reason might be. Albus assumed that Gertrude would tell him about the relationship at some point. He hadn’t even been aware that she had returned to the castle, nor that Malcolm had returned with her. But she was the Deputy Headmistress, and a teacher of almost twenty years. If she wished to have an overnight guest during the summer, that was certainly her privilege. And it wasn’t as though Malcolm were a stranger, and he had been present earlier in the day. It was hardly surprising that he would return with her. It _was_ somewhat surprising to Albus, however, that their relationship had evidently progressed to the point it had as quickly as it did. But if she was happy, and if Malcolm was good to her, then he was happy for her. She had been alone a long time and had had too much sadness in her life and spent too much of her life looking after others, often at a cost to herself. It was time for her to have some happiness, some joy just for herself.

Albus woke early after an unrestful sleep. Wilspy still wasn’t back, so he made do without his first morning cup of tea before his shower, and waited until he was dressed to call Hwouly and request his breakfast. He ate little of it, though, preoccupied with thoughts of Minerva. He couldn’t understand why she would claim that she and Quin were not involved when they were. Minerva wasn’t prone to lying. There was no reason for her to be coy about a relationship with Quin. Particularly not when he had praised the young wizard, told her he was a fine catch. But Gertrude hadn’t said anything about Malcolm, either. He also hadn’t asked, and Gertrude had never lied about it. If he were to ask Gertrude point-blank, Albus was certain that she would tell him the truth. He wouldn’t ask her such a thing, of course. It was none of his business. Neither of them were married. Malcolm was a decent wizard, if unconventional in his ways. As long as she didn’t carry on obviously once the students had returned, there was nothing that he would have to say against it. Gertrude was his friend, though, and Albus was sure that when she felt the time was right, she would tell him about the relationship. 

Albus went down to his office after banishing his breakfast, and Fawkes joined him briefly. Albus gave the large bird some seed clusters and dried fruit snacks, and Fawkes let forth a merry, cheering song before vanishing in a flash. Albus’s mood brightened some, then he went to the window and let in two early Post Owls, one delivering his _Daily Prophet_ , the other with that Friday’s Wizengamot schedule. It didn’t appear there was anything on the docket that he would need to be present for, although he did like to attend as many sessions as possible, and always any in which the issue was a serious one. He jotted a quick note to the Wizengamot’s secretary saying that he would not be in attendance, but that if any serious issues arose unexpectedly, to please inform him. 

With Wilspy absent, and having already sent the Post Owls on their way, Albus took his backstairs down to the seventh floor, pausing briefly to consider whether he should look in on Minerva, but deciding against it and proceeding to the Owlery. He chose a large Tawny Owl to carry his note into London, and as he gave it a final stroke to the back of its neck and let it loose, Albus looked out across the grounds. Minerva was just entering the grounds and walking up the drive to the castle. He couldn’t see her well from that height, but he believed that she was dressed as she had been the previous afternoon.

Albus grimaced involuntarily, and it felt as though it was suddenly difficult to breathe. So she had spent the night with him. He should be happy that she was entering a new relationship and a new phase of her life, but he couldn’t muster any positive feelings at all. He felt as though Minerva had lied to him when she had said there was nothing between the two. Albus reminded himself that just because she hadn’t returned the night before didn’t mean that she had spent the night in London with Quin. Perhaps she had gone on somewhere else afterward, to her niece’s, or to another friend’s in the city. And even if she had spent the night at MacAirt’s, it didn’t necessarily mean that the two had spent the night together. The man did have children, after all. Though he had said something about them being in Ireland when he had been there the day after the warding. 

Albus tried to get hold of himself. There was no point in being jealous, and it certainly wasn’t healthy. He was happy that Minerva had a life and friendships outside of the school, he told himself. He had encouraged her, in fact. No, he wasn’t jealous. He certainly had no right to be jealous. But nonetheless, Minerva’s behaviour was not what he would expect of a member of Hogwarts staff. Spending the night with the father of one of her students simply was not done. It set a bad example and it would reflect badly on the school if people gossiped about it. And she had not said that she would be gone overnight. Minerva was normally very responsible, but it was certainly irresponsible to be expected back at the castle and then be away all night. Something could have happened to her and no one would have known. 

He made his way down out of the Owlery back to the seventh floor. Rather than heading toward his backstairs, however, Albus walked toward Gryffindor Tower. He had no clear plan in mind. He wanted to see Minerva, certainly, and ascertain that she was safe. And he would remind her of her duties toward the school. 

And that was where he went very wrong, Albus recognised as he sat at there in his study. First, trying to pretend to himself that he was acting only as Hogwarts Headmaster, second, acting like a complete fool in saying what he had, and third, not allowing Minerva to explain when she had tried to. If he had only stopped before he had said what he had about informing him of her whereabouts. He had sounded like an overbearing father speaking to a teenage witch, not at all like a Headmaster speaking to a member of staff, let alone one friend speaking to another. 

Now that Albus looked back on it, he remembered how happy she had seemed to be to see him, and how her expression had changed to one of stunned disbelief, and then to one of anger. Oh, she had controlled herself, but there was no doubt but that Minerva was angry with him. And with good reason. He was behaving like that doctor in the book by Stevenson he had read many years ago. The warm friend one day, and the stern, overbearing Headmaster the next. He smirked humourlessly to himself. One thing that he did not want was for Minerva to see him as a father-figure, and what did he do? Not only behave like one, but like a heavy-handed, controlling father, at that. 

Albus put his head in his hands, remembering the wonderful afternoon they had spent walking in the garden just one week ago, and how even the previous day, she had been happy to see him returned to the castle, and how she had flushed with pleasure and smiled when he had said that a special person had been advising him to eat his veg. His emotions toward Minerva were causing him to do and say things that he never would have dreamed of doing or saying. And unfortunately, these were not positive things. But it was his own fault, not Minerva’s. The poor witch must be wondering what on earth she had done to deserve such unexpectedly nasty treatment. And she had done nothing. He was punishing her for his own faults, and that was terribly wrong. 

Opening the drawer that contained his photographs of Minerva, Albus remembered what he had dropped into it, somewhat negligently, a few weeks ago. After removing the three pictures, he rummaged around until he found the small object, which had slipped down to rest at the bottom of the drawer. He pulled it out and held it up by its dark cord. He wasn’t superstitious, and certainly not about Muggle artifacts, but this . . . Gregor, Maria’s oldest brother, had a naturally-occurring nazar, also set in a bit of mirrored glass, just as this one was. He had explained to Albus that the power of the artificial nazar was in the mind of the beholder and the heart of the one who wore it, but that those were mere shadows of the real nazar, the naturally-occurring nazar stones, inspired by them, but never having their power. Set within a mirror, Gregor had explained, the nazar had the power to avert the envy of others and the evil that can befall one who is envied, but more than that, the natural nazar stone could eliminate the evil of envy and jealousy in its bearer and, set in its mirror, could allow the person clear sight, a vision of others unclouded or tainted by the twisting power of the twins, envy and jealousy. It could keep at bay all manner of evil, Gregor said, but chiefly those two.

Albus held the nazar tightly in his hand, the setting biting slightly into his curled fingers. He did not believe in the nazar, natural or otherwise, and yet . . . He shook his head, clearing it, and looked at his photographs of Minerva, first of the one when she was a student, then of the one taken shortly after his defeat of Grindelwald, and then the one, in colour, taken after her Challenge. Seeing her turn toward him again, and how her smile had brightened when she saw him there, a lump rose in his throat. So much like the smile she had given him that morning in the hallway outside her rooms. And he had driven that smile away with his words. Albus swallowed past the lump and gazed a while longer at the photograph before returning it to its drawer. The nazar, he dropped into his pocket. He would carry it for the day, remind himself of his folly, and then he would find a better place for it than the bottom of a drawer. It may have no intrinsic power, he thought, but it was unusual, and a rare gift, especially from a stranger on the street.

Albus went downstairs to his office and spent the rest of the morning pushing parchments around on his desk, then he left for lunch a few minute early, hoping to see Minerva and tell her he was sorry. He didn’t know what excuse he would give her, but perhaps simply begging her forgiveness would be sufficient. He certainly was not living up to his promises to her. 

But Minerva did not arrive early to lunch; indeed, she did not arrive at all. Malcolm and Gertrude were in fine spirits, as was Hagrid, and Johannes, although he seemed somewhat quieter than usual, had attempted to draw him out after thanking him for the game of Go the night before. Albus was preoccupied and again ate little. As he left the staff room, he felt a hand at his elbow.

“Albus, were you going to speak to Malcolm?” Gertrude asked. 

“Oh, yes, of course . . . ask him to come round to my office when he has finished eating, won’t you?”

Gertrude looked at him curiously. “Is everything all right?”

He mustered a smile. “Everything is fine. Just fine, my dear.”

Gertrude stepped away from the staff room and closed the door behind her.

“I planned to discuss this with you, in private, soon . . . and I can’t go into it here,” she said softly, looking around, “but the reason I’d prefer you to ask him about the job is that . . . you may have noticed that we’ve become friends. And, I hope, something more. So I think it’s best that you bring it up to him. I’ll speak with him about it, of course, afterwards, but it’s better coming from you. I hope . . . that isn’t what is bothering you, is it?”

“No, Gertie, and I am pleased for you if you are happy.” He squeezed her arm. “You have always been very dear to me, you know that . . . and I may not have said it before, but I do love you, and I only want the very best for you. So if you are happy, I am happy.”

A bright smile crossed Gertrude’s face, a happier one than Albus was used to seeing on his friend. “Thank you! Thank you, I will tell him.” She leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek, then her happiness was so great that she put her arms around him in a fierce hug, somewhat surprising Albus.

Malcolm chose that moment to open the door to the staff room and step into the hall. He closed the door behind him.

“Ahem,” he said, suppressing a grin as Gertie suddenly let go of Albus. “I am now available for embraces, no substitutes necessary!”

“We were just talking – ” Gertrude began.

“I see that,” Malcolm answered, humour dancing in his eyes. “Very interesting conversation it must have been, too!”

Gertrude smiled at him. “It was concerning you, actually. Albus wants to speak with you, don’t you Albus?”

“Indeed, my boy, I most certainly do. If you would join me in my office shortly?” Albus asked.

“Of course, Professor.” He grinned at Gertrude. “But I think that Tru and I have to have a conversation of our own first.”

As Albus began to climb the stairs, he caught sight of Gertrude pulling Malcolm into the Great Hall, which was always deserted at this time of year. Forty-five minutes later, the charms on the gargoyle announced that someone had been admitted to the stairway. Although Albus hoped that it was Minerva, he was unsurprised when another McGonagall stepped into his office.

“Gertrude gave me the password to your gargoyle,” he said simply.

“Yes, that’s fine. Welcome. Please, have a seat,” Albus invited. He really did not want to be having a conversation about the Defence job, but it was better than sitting there pretending to work and wondering whether Minerva would forgive him and whether she were well.

After hearing what the topic of conversation was to be, Malcolm laughed, and said that he had never considered any kind of permanent job before, let alone one at an institution such as Hogwarts, but he would hear what Albus had to say about it before dismissing the notion out of hand. By the end of the discussion, Malcolm agreed to consider applying for the job, saying that he would send a letter if he decided on it, but that he wished to speak with Minerva and Trudie about it first.

Albus had heard Malcolm refer to Gertrude as “Tru,” and now as “Trudie,” and it surprised him some. 

“Just out of impertinent curiosity, my boy, did Gertrude invite you to call her ‘Trudie’?” Albus asked.

“No, just started to. Suits her. She said she wasn’t fussed by it, and I don’t use it in general public, but you’re not the general public, I’m thinking,” Malcolm answered.

“Hmm. Interesting . . . I have only known one other person who used that form of her name. A few others may have attempted to use it, but they were informed that the appellation was unwelcome.” In response to Malcolm’s puzzled look and unspoken query, Albus added, “It was her late husband’s pet name for her. I always liked it, myself, but never used it.”

“Well, she seemed surprised when I first called her that, but she didn’t hex me, and I asked and she said it was fine,” Malcolm said. He grinned. “She is a surprising witch. She has certainly surprised me at a time in my life when surprises were becoming rather thin on the ground.”

Albus hesitated, then said, “I shall give you a bit of unasked-for advice, if I may. If Gertrude is only a surprise to you, and nothing more . . . tell her that. And if you value her only for her novelty, think about what you may do when that novelty wears off.”

“You two are close friends, then,” Malcolm said. “I do believe that Gertrude and I have spoken of what is necessary. I appreciate your desire to look after her, as I assume that is how your advice is intended, but she can look after herself, and that is an important quality in her. And to the extent that she does need any looking after, or would simply benefit from it, I will do it, and you needn’t worry yourself. But I do thank you for the advice, as unnecessary as it may have been.”

“We have been friends for forty years. I don’t think that I will ever stop wanting to look out for her interest, even when it is no longer necessary,” Albus replied. “Thank you for not taking offence at my putting my oar in.”

“Can’t be offended when it’s on the lady’s behalf. She is lucky to have you as a friend.” Malcolm stood, smiling, and offered his hand, which Albus shook. “I’ll let you know if I decide I’d like to teach your kids not to get banged up.”

“If you could let me know shortly, I would appreciate it. We do need to have someone in place on the first. I could stand in, of course, until we found a suitable candidate, but I had hoped not to have to teach and to be able to devote myself to my other work,” Albus explained.

“Before the end of the week, then? Is that soon enough?”

“That would be fine. Thank you for considering it.”

After Malcolm left, Albus quickly wrote a note to Minerva. As he had sat there talking about the school with Malcolm, another part of him had been preoccupied with Minerva.

_“13 August 1957_

_“Dearest Minerva,_

_“I wish to beg your forgiveness for my rudeness this morning. Everything you said had merit, and there is nothing you said that I would neglect when castigating myself, although I would add a few things. I was insensitive and unjust, and I never ought to have said what I did, never mind the way that I said it. I know that I have had to ask your pardon frequently in these last days, and I wish I could explain its cause. Please just know that, whatever my faults and however bad my behaviour toward you, you are a wonderful witch and a highly valued friend and when I count my blessings, your presence in my life is at the beginning and at the ending of that count._

_“My dear, if it is not too much to ask, would you care to have dinner with me tonight? Wilspy will be returned, and we may eat in my suite, or if you would prefer to dine elsewhere, we could go into Hogsmeade or even Apparate into London, whatever your desire might be._

_“I look forward to your response and hope for your forgiveness._

_“Yours always,_

_“Albus”_

He rolled the parchment and sealed it. The letter was a bit over the top, perhaps, but after what he had said to her that morning, he was not going to calculate and weigh every word, trying to appear more aloof than he felt. 

Albus made his second trip to the Owlery that day. He was looking forward to Wilspy’s return. It would be good to be able to have her owl his correspondence for him, or even deliver it, if it were within the castle. 

Having written and sent his letter, Albus sat at his desk, feeling more composed than he had all day, and began to write a letter to a parent who was asking about the policy on personal broomsticks. His window was open, and an owl flew in and landed on the desk beside him. Albus recognised it as the little bird he had sent off with his apology and invitation. Minerva had replied quickly. But as Albus retrieved the letter from the owl, his heart sank. It was his own note, the seal not even broken. She had refused his letter. In his fog of disappointment, it didn’t occur to him that this would be unlike Minerva, that she would, at the very least, open the note to see if it contained Hogwarts business even if she didn’t care to hear from him personally. But at that moment, Albus simply castigated himself for believing that a note could substitute for an in-person apology. 

He stood and began to pace. Should he go see her right then? If he did, he could issue his invitation to dinner in person. But she might see it as yet one more duty. He could simply apologise, and then see her manner toward him and decide at that point. Or perhaps it would be better if he were to wait to see her until she was no longer as upset with him. If she was still so distressed that she would refuse his owl, it might be best to wait, even though he felt like running to Gryffindor Tower that very moment and begging her forgiveness. Yes, better to wait. Perhaps he would be able to approach her after dinner . . . they could take a walk. He could explain that he had been out-of-sorts and that she had been completely correct in all that she had said. He could even have his letter with him and give it to her at that time. 

Albus prepared to spend a tedious afternoon waiting for the dinner hour to arrive.

In Gryffindor Tower, Minerva stretched and yawned. Her headache had returned, and she felt peculiar from having slept too long in the middle of the day. She rose, folded the afghan, and went into her bedroom to retrieve her dressing gown. Returning to the sitting room, she cast a casual glance at the clock on the mantlepiece. Almost three-thirty already? No wonder she felt peculiar – and hungry. Minerva called for Blampa and asked her to bring her tea and sandwiches. She ate two sandwiches, drank her tea, then nibbled a ginger newt. 

She felt somewhat better from having eaten, but her headache had only subsided and not completely left her. Another nap appealed to her, but she feared that it might make her feel worse and not better. Still, Minerva wanted to forget her troubles for a while, and decided to take a bath before doing anything else.

An hour later, warm and glowing from her long soak in the tub, during which she endeavoured not to think about Albus, which was very difficult with the tiles of the two of them staring her in the face, Minerva emerged from her bedroom wearing only her dressing gown. No point in dressing, she thought. There was no one there to see her. She had already decided that she wouldn’t go to dinner. She had eaten a late lunch or early tea, after all, and, being honest with herself, she didn’t particularly care to be confronted with Gertrude and Malcolm’s happiness, Hagrid’s attempts at being cheerful despite Wilhelmina’s absence, and Johannes’s effort to appear not to notice that Gertrude had a new wizard in her life. But most of all, she really did not want to see Albus. It was the first time in years that she could remember actually not wanting to see him. But Minerva didn’t know which wizard would greet her, the one whom she loved, or the stranger who had spoken to her that morning. 

Minerva had a vague feeling that she should apologise to Albus, but then she remembered what he had said and how he had behaved, and she realised that she had said nothing to him that wasn’t true or justified. If he apologised to her, then she would tell him that she was sorry if she had caused him worry, or if she had somehow hurt his feelings, and admit that perhaps she ought to have phrased her response to him differently, but she wouldn’t apologise for the content of her speech. She was getting very tired of fighting her feelings for Albus while simultaneously trying to divine his every mood and deal with his swings of temper. She had the sense that there was something about Albus that she simply didn’t understand, but she didn’t know what it could be, and she was too tired that afternoon to think about it any more.

Her study had a very broad windowsill, and her desk was positioned right beside it. She popped into her Animagus form and trotted into her study, jumped lightly up onto her desk, stepped over to the windowsill, and curled up in the late afternoon sun for a catnap. 

At five o’clock, Albus changed his mind. He couldn’t wait to see her at dinner and attempt to speak to her then. It would be more awkward than necessary. No, he would go to her rooms, apologise, and walk her to dinner. Or, if she seemed amenable, he could even suggest then that they dine alone, walk into Hogsmeade for an evening out.

Apprehensive, but determined, Albus reached Gryffindor Tower and approached the Silent Knight. 

“Would you please let Professor McGonagall know that I wish to speak with her,” he said, addressing the portrait.

To his immense surprise, Fidelio stood and growled at him, baring his teeth, and the Knight drew his sword. 

“You shall not pass! I protect my lady!” the Knight cried, brandishing his sword.

“I am the Headmaster. I insist you inform the Professor that I am here to see her,” Albus said, fingering his wand in his right-hand pocket.

“I shall not! You are a powerful warrior and a mighty magician, and alack! I am but a humble knight, servant to my mistress, trapped within this portrait, and possessing but little power and less freedom. I cannot stand against you, but I shall not let you pass. You may smite me, you may destroy me, and you will defeat me in the end, but you will not pass without first overcoming me. My life for my lady!” He lifted his shield for the first time, and Albus saw that it was broken, but there was a serval, rampant, emblazoned upon it. “Have at me!”

Taken aback, Albus stood and considered his options. He could use his Headmaster’s password and enter – he had the sense that even were he to try Minerva’s own password, the Knight would attempt to resist allowing him entry, and Albus did not know what the result of that would be. It seemed that Minerva must have given her portrait orders that he not be admitted, or even announced, and her bellicose guardian had interpreted it quite literally.

“I ask again that you announce me to your mistress,” Albus said, hoping that another request, courteously made, would override whatever peculiar characteristic of this painting’s charms that had driven it to interpret Minerva’s request for privacy as a complete bar to visitors. There did seem to be something slightly wrong with the portrait. After he had dealt with more pressing issues with Minerva, he would ask her to realign the portrait network in Gryffindor Tower.

“Back, knave, or have at me! I have seen you toy with my mistress and I have seen your churlish behaviour! I will defend my lady’s honour with my very life. I have pledged it. I shall not, I will not, allow you to pass. You must defeat me first!” The Knight raised his sword, and it gleamed in the sunlight, coming from who-knew-where. Fidelio bared his teeth, his short ears laid back upon his head, and he snarled menacingly. If the two were real, flesh-and-blood combatants, Albus would not have wanted to face them, not as a Muggle, at any rate.

He shook his head and turned away, perplexed and disappointed. He could hang about outside her door, he supposed, and wait for Minerva to emerge, but that would be undignified. Besides, he could hear the Knight’s taunts and the hound’s growls, and he didn’t fancy listening to them until Minerva came out to go to dinner. Minerva must have given the Knight instructions to bar him specifically. He had deserved it, Albus supposed, sighing. He would simply have to wait and try to speak with her at dinner. Using his Headmaster’s password might have peculiar consequences on the Knight, and although the portrait’s behaviour was unusual, he did not want to damage it, particularly not in order to essentially break-and-enter into a staff member’s rooms. If he believed Minerva were ill, that would be a different matter entirely.

Albus headed downstairs to the staff room to await dinner. He had no appetite, but he did want to see Minerva.

Dinner came and went, but Minerva did not appear. Albus scarcely ate. Finally, when dessert arrived and she still wasn’t there, Albus turned and asked Malcolm if he had seen his sister that day.

“No, but I haven’t looked for her, either. I thought perhaps she hadn’t returned to the school yet, since she wasn’t at lunch,” Malcolm said. “She didn’t say anything to me about her plans, but then, I didn’t ask.”

Albus didn’t want to question each person at the table about whether they had seen Minerva, so he poured custard over his sponge and contented himself with pretending to eat it. But when Hagrid left the table, and Minerva still hadn’t arrived, he knew that she was not coming, not even late. He pushed away from the table, acknowledged the others as they wished him a good evening, and went back to his office. He paced there for a while until the portraits’ queries regarding whether they could assist him wore on his nerves, then he went up to his sitting room and paced. Fawkes appeared and crooned a bit and listened, apparently sympathetically, as Albus talked, going over again what he had and hadn’t done correctly, and what he might do now, and whether any of it really mattered, or whether he was simply becoming the barmy old codger he had taken to calling himself, and whether he might truly be entering a decline into dotage. 

Much to his displeasure, in the midst of his ramblings, Phineas Nigellus entered the small landscape over the fireplace in the sitting room.

“Your Deputy is downstairs with her . . . _friend_ ,” he said, leaving immediately upon making the announcement. 

“Lovely,” Albus said unhappily, looking over at Fawkes. “Would you stay tonight, Fawkes? I’d like to see you here when I’m through with them.”

Fawkes trilled lowly, and Albus smiled and stroked the bird’s throat before leaving to see what Gertrude might want, trying not to wish that it had been Minerva come to see him, instead. But Minerva would have just come up, and not sent the portrait instead.

It turned out that Gertrude was going to be leaving the castle again and she wasn’t sure when she would be back, though it would be only a few days, she thought, but as they would be travelling, she might not be easily reached, even by owl. Albus didn’t even bother to ask where they were going. He thanked Gertrude for letting him know, reminded Malcolm that he needed his answer about the Defence position by the end of the week, and headed back up the stairs to his rooms as the two were still letting themselves out of the office.

Fawkes was, indeed, still there when Albus returned.

“Well, old friend, I suppose I should stop contemplating myself and my own foolish concerns. Perhaps if I were to do that, I would not continue to behave in such a way as to cause others pain and myself embarrassment,” Albus said, stroking the phoenix’s fiery red head. “You know, I believe that Gertrude may have found someone special for her. Isn’t that a good thing? Yes, it is, I know it. And if I can be happy for her, as I am, then if Minerva has found someone special for herself, I can be happy for her, as well, can’t I? Yes, of course I can. Although I don’t know that she has. And that is my own fault. Ah, but it is, Fawkes! I should have allowed her to speak and I should have behaved as a friend. I do not know what it is that is keeping me from behaving sensibly with Minerva, but I have to do something about it. Yes, I do. And I can, too. Of all the things I have done in my life, that surely cannot be difficult. A good start would be to begin behaving as her friend. That really ought not be difficult. We are, after all, friends. Yes, I am glad you agree with me,” Albus said, chuckling. “You know, it is most satisfying to talk to you, Fawkes, even when we aren’t holding a real conversation. Everything seems to make complete sense when I speak to you. You know, I was out in my Animagus form last week, and you were not here to fly with. Where have you been keeping yourself, anyway? Well, you are at your peak now, I suppose you should enjoy it.”

Fawkes trilled in response, and Albus smiled. He let out a deep sigh and said, “I suppose it would be wise to go to bed and to sleep now. I will surely be less prone to behaving like a . . . a . . . a ‘knave,’ as Minerva’s door warden put it, if I have a good night’s rest. I would be most pleased if you were here in the morning, Fawkes. I do believe that seeing you when I waken would do me as much good as a full night’s sleep. Of course, seeing Minerva upon waking would be even better, but I’m sure you understand that.”

Albus gave the phoenix one last gentle caress and took himself off to bed. As he fell asleep, Fawkes, perched on the head of the bed, sang him a soft, sweet lullaby.


	115. Questionable Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus goes to see Minerva.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Joahnnes Birnbaum, Blampa, the Silent Knight, and father & son centaurs.

**CXV: Questionable Intentions**

Minerva woke very early Wednesday morning. The sun was just up, and her bedroom was too cold. She fumbled for her wand and closed the window, shivering and waving her wand to pull the afghan up to cover her, as well. She invoked the blanket’s charm, and soon was feeling warm and cozy. Unfortunately, as cozy as she felt, she was now wide awake. Contemplating her options, she decided on a modicum of decadence. Hoping that Blampa wasn’t sleeping, she called her house-elf.

Blampa appeared, seeming cheerful and quite well-awake, and she was thrilled with the idea of serving her Professor breakfast in bed. Fifteen minutes later, after a quick trip to the loo and a return to her bed to doze a bit, Minerva was presented with a tray filled with all of her breakfast favourites, a small, steaming bowl of porridge with plumped-up sultanas, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, a fried egg with wholemeal toast, and a large pot of tea.

“Thank you, Blampa! You spoil me,” Minerva said, feeling better for just looking at the breakfast. She had had biscuits and tea for her supper the night before, eliciting Blampa’s clucking tongue and _sotto voce_ remarks about the inadequacy of her meal, and Minerva was now very hungry, indeed.

Blampa smiled and bounced, glowing from Minerva’s praise, and promising that if Minerva wanted anything in addition, she could have it. But Minerva thought this breakfast would be more than adequate, and so Blampa popped away, happy to have been of service.

After breakfast, Minerva dressed, did her hair, and pulled her lightweight tartan cloak on over everything, then set off for her morning walk. She had expected to be the only one up, so she was startled to find Johannes just leaving the castle as she was.

“Good morning, Minerva!” he greeted her cheerfully.

“Good morning! How are you?” Minerva asked as they stepped outside together.

“I am well. I did not know you were in the castle,” Johannes remarked.

“Yes, I am here for the time being,” Minerva answered, not wanting to get into the details of her comings and goings. “And you?”

“I leave this afternoon for Cardiff. My friend Jack and his mother make a holiday there every year, and they have invited me. I did not know if I would go, but . . .” Johannes shrugged.

“You are up very early. I didn’t think I would see anyone.”

“I have work to do in the gardens before I leave, and I enjoy working in the early morning. There is something very renewing in the air,” he said.

Minerva nodded. “Yes, there is. It is invigorating, certainly. And I do like to take my walks early when I can.” 

“Your brother has been spending a lot of time here,” Johannes observed as they approached the gardens.

“Yes,” Minerva said, unsure what else to say.

“He is the friend to Gertie . . .” Johannes said hesitantly.

“It appears so.”

Johannes nodded, and they walked in silence to the outbuilding in which the garden tools were stored.

“I hope you have a good morning, Johannes, and if I don’t see you before you leave, I hope you enjoy your holiday in Cardiff.”

Johannes smiled. “I will, I am certain. Enjoy your walk, Minerva!”

Minerva walked down to the Forest, walking along the edge just inside the line of trees, until she reached the stone wall, then she turned and, this time walking a bit further into the Forest, she started back to the castle. She considered changing into her tabby form, but remembering Albus’s concerns about her tarrying in the Forest in her Animagus form, she refrained until she reached the edge of the Forest again, emerging on the far side of the gardens, several hundred yards from where she had originally entered. She popped into her feline form and began picking her way across the dew-covered ground, then breaking into a sprint and racing toward the castle. Her small heart pounding, Minerva slowed as she approached the back of the castle, then trotted around to the front doors and returned to her ordinary form.

Feeling refreshed, though slightly winded, Minerva pulled open the door. Since she and Johannes had already left the castle, they were unbolted. Rather than return to her rooms, she went to the library, using her password to enter. It was eerie in a peculiarly comfortable way to be in the large, silent space, filled with books, dust motes visible floating through the air in front of the large windows. She went to the Transfiguration section and pulled out the few books that she needed to use but didn’t own herself. 

Two hours later, Minerva headed back to her rooms. She had taken notes using the parchment and quill that she had borrowed from the librarian’s desk, but brought one of the books back with her. She wanted to copy a few of the pages, and she had some specially Charmed parchment in her study that would hold the copies indefinitely. She saw no one and had the peculiar and uneasy sense that she was entirely alone in the castle, which was, of course, foolishness. Even if Johannes were still in the gardens, he wouldn’t be leaving until the afternoon. She presumed that at the very least, Gertrude was present at the school, as Albus wouldn’t leave without passing the wards to someone, and as Johannes was resuming his holiday that afternoon, one or the other of them would have to stay. Of course, Albus could pass the wards to her. But she hadn’t seen him since the previous morning, and although he could pass them to her without being in her presence, she doubted that he would do so without informing her first, unless there were an emergency, and she hadn’t felt anything that indicated she now held the wards. So either Albus or Gertrude had to be at the school.

Thinking of Albus, though, depressed Minerva. He hadn’t come by to see her at all the previous day after meeting her at her door. But he had been angry with her, and she with him. She wasn’t angry with him any longer, just vaguely upset that he had scolded her as he had. Minerva sighed deeply. She should apologise, she decided. Again, not for what she said, but for the fact that she had not considered the possibility that she would not be returning to the castle. She was simply unused to having to think of those things. She had lived alone in London, never having to let anyone know of her comings and goings, and she could always Floo to her flat, no matter what the hour. But Hogwarts had no open Floo connections to the outside. The Headmaster could open one for his own use, or for someone else, but what was she to have done? Floo-called and asked the portraits to wake the Headmaster and tell him that she wanted to Floo back to the castle? That would be ridiculous. Albus wasn’t a porter, at the beck-and-call of any staff who wanted to Floo back to the castle in the middle of the night – or any other time of day. Perhaps she should have Floo-called, anyway, and left a message with the headmaster portraits. But that sounded just as absurd. She could see herself, head in Quin’s Floo, shouting to get the portraits’ attention, and trying to get them to realise that she was speaking to them and wanted to leave a message for the Headmaster.

No, she had done what had been reasonable under the circumstances. The only other alternative would have been to Floo to the Hog’s Head and keep Quin from his rest as he walked her up to the gates and then hurried back to the seedy pub to Floo home before it closed at two – or he would have had to have spent the night at the castle, which would have been awkward for him, to say the least, particularly given that he had early business at the Ministry. And she would have had to have found a room for him. Minerva shook her head. She simply would have to tell Albus that if she was out in the evenings during the summer, she might not return until the next day. It would be different during the school year, of course. She would plan her departure – and her alcohol consumption – so that even if she did have an evening off and spent it with friends, or with Melina and Brennan or other family, she could return to the castle that night. Minerva didn’t anticipate being able to have many evenings out, however, not as Head of Gryffindor.

Albus had been unreasonable, Minerva concluded once again. He had treated her differently from any other staff member, and it was unfair of him. She entered her rooms and put her tartan cloak away in the wardrobe, then returned to her sitting room. Having suitably depressed herself with thoughts of Albus and his irrational behaviour, she no longer had any desire to make the copies from the book she had brought back from the library. Instead, she sat down on the sofa and picked up the next letter in the correspondence from Albus. This one was from not long after the war had ended. It was brief, asking how she was, telling her that he would be in London on the coming Friday and would like to take her to dinner. She couldn’t remember whether she had accepted on that specific occasion, although it was likely. It was rare that he would ask her to lunch or dinner and she would not accept, and then, only when she had other plans. And often, he wouldn’t write in advance, but would appear in the Department and ask for her. Occasionally, he would have to wait a short time while she finished some work, but when she had, he would take her to lunch or for a cup of tea. Sometimes, he would wait longer than they were able to spend together, just having a quick cup of tea in the Ministry canteen because she was particularly busy that day. 

Minerva read through more letters, tears occasionally filling her eyes as she read some particularly sweet phrase or was reminded of an occasion when they had seen each other and they had had an especially nice time. She had so hoped that when she came to teach at Hogwarts, their time together would be even better and that they would become closer, but each time that she believed that was happening, something else would occur, and their relationship would become strained again. At least this time, she had not left him with any doubt about her feelings. She had promised Albus that she would tell him when he upset her, and she certainly had done that. But he hadn’t apologised. Of course, she hadn’t really given Albus the opportunity to apologise. She had been too upset, and had needed to get into her rooms, away from him.

Minerva dropped the letters on the floor and began to weep in earnest. She Summoned the afghan from her bedroom and held it to her face, wishing that it were Albus himself, wishing that she could turn back time, wishing she had never gone to Quin’s for dinner, for if she hadn’t, there would have been no opportunity to disappoint Albus and to be disappointed by him. It didn’t seem fair. It wasn’t fair.

She curled up on the sofa and tried to blank her mind and not think or feel. It was almost lunchtime. Minerva truly did not want to see anyone. She would just go down late, leave enough time to eat something, then excuse herself. Perhaps she would go back to the house that afternoon. Her mother had said to come at any time. She would just let Albus know that she would be gone and would return at the same time as the rest of the staff during the last week of August. Melina’s wedding was the twenty-third. He had wanted to go with her. She could write him a letter to make arrangements and allow him the opportunity to change his plans, if he wished. Minerva didn’t want Albus to feel obligated to accompany her if he preferred not to.

* * *

Wilspy still wasn’t returned from Aberforth’s, and Hwouly gave Albus his breakfast, which he ate little of. He had assumed that Wilspy would return Tuesday evening, but evidently, she was staying with his brother until the first full day that he had originally been scheduled to return from his holiday. She would no doubt be back sometime that day. It was just as well, Albus thought. She was always able to tell when he was distressed about something, and always insisting he eat his full breakfast on those days, whether he was hungry or not. Hwouly simply delivered the meal and left.

Albus spent a dull morning, barely cheered by Fawkes’s song. He considered taking a flight with Fawkes, but he couldn’t bring any enthusiasm to the idea. He remembered when he had transformed into his phoenix form when he was with Minerva. She had stroked his plumage and kissed his head and called him beautiful. He slumped lower in his chair. He had forgotten the lovely lunch they had shared in the rose garden and her encouragement to him that he transform into his Animagus form, those events overshadowed by the news of Pretnick’s death.

He did go to the roof of his Tower, though, and watch as Fawkes swooped and soared. He could see someone working down in the gardens near the greenhouses. Although he couldn’t see him well, he assumed that it was Johannes. Johannes had sent him a note the night before, informing the Headmaster that he would be taking a few days’ holiday with his friend. Johannes had been undecided before – Albus had actually believed that he had decided against it – but his mood had been somewhat subdued since he had returned to the castle, and he must have been trying to decide whether he should go or not. 

Albus thought that Johannes had had a little bit of a crush on Gertrude at one time, but he seemed to have recovered from that. He had said once, several years ago, half in jest, that no wizard could compete for a witch’s attentions if Albus Dumbledore were near. As Gertrude had recently refused his courtship, Albus had found it difficult to respond lightly to the comment, but he had managed to smile and make a joke of it. Of course, if Johannes knew the truth of the matter, that no witch would really want him for himself, but would only want the wizard they thought he was, the “hero,” the wizard who could bring them social standing of some kind, Johannes would no doubt feel sorry for him. Albus had believed that those days were over once the first excitement after his defeat of Grindelwald had faded, but his experience with Valerianna had taught him differently. But since Valerianna, there hadn’t even been any social-climbing witches trying to lure him into a relationship. There had been a few old friends whom he had escorted casually to various Ministry functions, but one of them was Philomena Yaxley, who was firmly married and they had accompanied one another only when her husband was unavailable, and the other few . . . they were uninterested in any kind of relationship outside of attendance at whatever event he had escorted them to. Which was just as well, given their personalities – they were fine witches to spend a few hours with in a structured setting, but Albus had no interest in them beyond that, either.

Just before noon, Albus went down for lunch. He needed to see Minerva, try to make things right with her. He could understand if she remained angry with him, if she cooled their friendship, spent more time with other friends. It was to be expected, anyway. It was what he had wanted, after all . . . what he had thought he wanted, to have her spend her time with others, away from the castle. Now, though, he was conflicted. What he wanted most was to have Minerva there with him, but he could not be selfish about it. He knew where selfishness could lead, and it wasn’t anywhere good. His selfishness when he was a youth had led to Dervilia’s death. He had rationalised his actions to himself, justified them, and never even considered that he was being selfish and neglectful of Dervilia. Yet he had been, pursuing his apprenticeship with no true regard to Dervilia’s well-being. Albus never wanted to return to that self-centred pursuit of his own goals, his own desires, with no regard for others. It had been one reason he had chosen to live a retired life for so many years. 

The situation with Minerva was even worse than that with Dervilia; not only did he have no claim on her time – outside of that which she owed to the school, not to him personally – but he also hadn’t even the veneer of a legitimate excuse for his selfishness. He had at least had his apprenticeship before, certainly a worthy pursuit. But this selfishness, this was for Minerva, his desire for her, not for the sake of learning, or for magical power, or any of the other motivators that had driven him in the past. This was worse. And he would remind himself of that and keep himself from destroying Minerva with his selfishness. Perhaps his selfishness would not lead to her death, as it had with Dervilia, but it could injure her sense of her professional worth and personal value. Minerva had always been independent, even as a child. He could not make her feel as though she were a mere chattel, to be ordered about, every moment structured.

Albus sighed. At least she possessed sufficient independence and strength of character to have told him how wrong he was, but he could tell that she had been upset. If he continued to treat her in that way, especially when she was so desirous of his respect, Minerva might attempt to please him, to avert his displeasure, and to subjugate herself to his whims. And he could not have that. He would be sure to tell her that he had been wrong, and if he were ever that wrong in the future, she must continue to tell him, she must not permit him to believe he was right when he clearly was not. 

Knowing Minerva, if he had approached her in a different manner the previous morning, she would have been happy to agree to let him know in the future if there were a possibility she would be away from the castle overnight. But even that was none of his business, not under these circumstances. He would make sure that she knew that he was aware that her personal life was none of his business and that she did not require his permission for anything.

Hagrid and Johannes arrived together, and lunch appeared on the table. Albus picked at his food and waited for Minerva. At ten after twelve, he began to grow nervous. Perhaps she wasn’t well. No one had seen her since yesterday morning, after all. He hadn’t, at any rate, and neither had her brother the day before. At quarter past, he ceased pushing his food about and excused himself. As he left the staff room, he heard Johannes remind him that he would be away on holiday, but Albus hurried away and up the stairs, not answering. Albus wished he could simply Floo to Minerva’s rooms, but he couldn’t very well appear like that, with no warning, as though he had some right to barge in whenever he felt like it. He was worried that she was unwell, but there was no cause for alarm just yet. Primarily, he wanted to see her to talk to her and to apologise.

The trip to Gryffindor Tower had never seemed so long, but he finally found himself in front of the Silent Knight again. This time, he was determined that if the Knight didn’t allow him entrance, he would use his Headmaster’s password and open the door himself.

The Knight loosened his sword in its sheath, but did not draw it fully. 

“I have come to see Professor McGonagall. Please let her know that I am here,” Albus requested.

The Knight raised his visor, and Albus could see startling blue eyes staring from a pale face. “What business have you with my mistress?” the Knight asked.

“I wish to assure myself of her health and well-being . . . and to apologise for my unfortunate words to her,” Albus replied, feeling somewhat put out and more than a little foolish for explaining his errand to a painting.

The Knight lowered his visor again. “It is a worthy purpose.” He looked down at the hound, which was eying Albus warily. “Fidelio, fetch our mistress.” Addressing Albus again, he said, “Pardon that I do not announce you myself, but I am my lady’s servant,” as though that explained all.

Albus could hear the dog barking in the sitting room, and a moment later, the door was open, and he saw Minerva standing across the room, framed by the doorway to her study, the light behind her throwing her into silhouette, and he could not see her face. 

“Albus?” her voice was soft.

“I . . . I came to see you.” Well, that was stating the obvious, he thought. “That is, you weren’t at lunch, and I was worried.”

“I was just on my way,” Minerva said, stepping toward him, out of the light that had blinded him.

She looked pale to him, and there was a stillness about her and in her magic, as though her life’s energies had been dampened.

“May I come in?” Albus asked hesitantly.

“Of course,” Minerva replied, looking around her. “I am sorry for the untidy state of my rooms. I was . . . tired.”

She waved her wand and the papers strewn on the floor by the sofa gathered themselves together and deposited themselves in a small wooden chest that sat on her coffee table. Albus thought they appeared to be letters, and some, at least, seemed to be ones he had sent Minerva, but she waved her wand again, and the lid settled on top of the box, removing them from his view.

He stepped further into the room. “I was concerned,” he repeated. “That is to say, you weren’t at meals yesterday, and again . . . lunch. Not that you need to attend meals if you do not wish to.”

“I was coming down for lunch,” Minerva said, still standing in the middle of the room. “Although now, I wonder whether I might not be too late.”

“Johannes and Hagrid were still eating when I left,” Albus said, looking at her with concern. “Are you well?” He was worried. She seemed oddly drained.

“Yes, of course. I am fine. You need not be concerned for my welfare,” she said somewhat stiffly.

Albus swallowed. “I could not help myself, particularly after my abominable behaviour yesterday morning. I had no right whatsoever to speak to you as I did, and I cannot adequately express . . .” Breathing seemed difficult at that moment. “I cannot adequately express how very sorry I am.”

Minerva looked at him silently, then gestured to the sofa. “Please, have a seat, if you would like.”

Albus nodded, and Minerva waved her wand to close the door behind him. Albus sat at one end of the couch, and she at the other.

“I wanted to apologise . . . I tried . . . I wanted to apologise yesterday,” Albus began. He could not help himself. “Why did you refuse my owl?” He sounded pathetic to his own ears.

“Your owl?” asked Minerva, genuinely puzzled. She shook her head. “I didn’t refuse your owl, or anyone else’s.”

“But it returned to me, my letter to you unopened and unread,” Albus said.

“I don’t understand . . . when did you send it?”

“Yesterday afternoon, after you were not at lunch.”

“I fell asleep, I napped and slept heavily after taking a Headache Potion, then later, I took a bath. It could have tried to get my attention either when I was asleep or in the bath. My windows were all closed up. I didn’t notice any owl.”

Albus let out a sigh of relief, and he could feel himself relax, much of his tension draining from him. “I wanted to apologise then. And when I thought you had refused my letter, I came down to apologise in person, but your portrait would not admit me or even announce me.”

“Really?” Minerva asked, surprised. “When was this?”

“Before dinner, about five o’clock, I would say.”

“I may have still been in the bath then . . . but you say he would not announce you at all?”

Albus shook his head. “I thought . . . it seemed he had orders not to allow me entry and he took exception to my presence.”

“Really? I did tell him I didn’t want to be disturbed, that I wanted to be alone, but that was in the morning.” Minerva shrugged. “He must have taken my request very literally.”

Albus nodded. He didn’t want to tell her that the Knight had drawn his sword against him, that he had been chased off by a mere portrait; it seemed ridiculous now.

“I _am_ sorry, though, Minerva, for everything that I said and for the way that I said it. There was nothing in what you said to me that was invalid. And you have every right to leave the castle and to do as you wish with your time, and I have no call to place any restrictions on you, either as Headmaster or as your friend. Especially not as your friend. I will understand if you find it difficult to forgive me, particularly as this is not the first occasion on which I have had to apologise for truly poor behaviour toward you. But I do beg your forgiveness.”

Tears brimming in her eyes, Minerva reached out and placed a hand on his. “Do not. Of course I forgive you. I . . . I do not understand why you said what you did, but of course I forgive you.” She blinked, and a few tears trickled down her cheeks. Albus reached out and wiped them away with his fingertips and a slight nonverbal spell.

“I said those things because I am a fool, Minerva. And I hadn’t slept well, and I had wondered where you were, although I had no cause to wonder, nor to worry. It was purely selfish of me. And I will endeavour not to be so selfish in the future. But if I am, I expect you to continue to tell me when I am being selfish and wrong. This may sound insincere after my words of yesterday, but I prize your friendship, and I prize your independence, and I do not want to lose the first nor for you to lose the second.”

“I was so happy to be back in the castle, and to see you . . . and, to be honest, I was distressed that evening before when we parted,” Minerva admitted. “It seemed as though you were belittling the precise thing which you had earlier encouraged me to do – to go out and make the most of my free time this summer. I had waited for you all afternoon, Albus, not even going to the library, thinking that you would come by to see me. Then I realised that I had only imagined that you had promised to visit, but that you hadn’t definitely said that you would. And when you did finally come to see me, and I was on my way out – and I had told Gertrude I would be gone from the castle, since she was here and acting in your stead – I was very disappointed because I had wanted to see you, but it seemed to me that you hadn’t really wanted to see me, and as though the invitation to dinner was an afterthought. Indeed, you described it as a whim. I felt foolish for placing so much value on our time together when you seemed to place so little on it, especially when you said what you did about not expecting me to cancel my plans.”

“I did not want to seem grasping . . .” Albus said, feeling as though this half-truth was an entire lie. He swallowed, then continued, “I was disappointed, myself. I did not want to seem so to you, and that’s why I said what I did.”

“I don’t understand it,” Minerva said, confused. “Why wouldn’t you want me to know you were disappointed?” She had told him that she wished that he had asked earlier; that should have indicated to him that she was disappointed, even if nothing else had.

Albus shook his head, smiling slightly. “I cannot hold you here, Minerva, despite my words of yesterday morning, and I do not wish to. I don’t want to deprive you of those things and people that make you happy.”

“But expressing disappointment would not have deprived me of anything,” Minerva said. “We could have taken the opportunity to make other plans, at least.”

“I am sorry, my dear. Did you enjoy your evening out? You seemed happy yesterday when I saw you.”

“Yes, despite being unhappy when I left the castle, I tried to enjoy my evening, and, in fact, I did. We lost track of time, Albus. It got late. Quin did offer to Floo to the Hog’s Head with me and walk me up to the castle, but it was already one o’clock, and he had work in the morning. That seemed selfish to me. I am sure he was already up later than he normally would be on a Monday night without having to take the time to see me home. But he didn’t want me to Floo on my own.”

“You needn’t explain any of this,” Albus said, “In fact, it occurred to me that you would Floo to the Hog’s Head, and it worried me slightly.”

“Oh, Albus, you needn’t worry about me! Even if I had Flooed on my own, I am sure I would be fine. Although I wouldn’t have wanted to Apparate, I was certainly fit enough to make it home on my own without trouble.”

“Perhaps . . . but Quin was right to insist you stay. And I am sorry if it seemed I was belittling your enjoying your holiday. You should enjoy yourself and see your friends whenever you like. I mean that. Feel free to leave as you wish, my dear. And I do value our time together. I was disappointed that you were unavailable for dinner, as I said. But what is more important to me is that you are happy.”

“Being with you makes me happy, Albus. Don’t you see that? Can’t you? Why do you think . . .” Minerva’s breath hitched, and she looked away.

Albus put his hand on her arm. “What is it, Minerva?” he asked softly. 

“Why do you think it has meant so much to me, spending time with you this summer, having you tell me so much about yourself? Because you are important to me, Albus, and being with you, being your friend . . . it is what matters,” Minerva said softly. “And sometimes, it seems you feel the same, but other times, it’s as though . . . as though I don’t matter at all.”

“Oh, Minerva,” Albus breathed. He rubbed her arm and moved closer. “Of course you matter. If you had received my letter . . . I told you that when I count my blessings, your presence in my life is always at the beginning and the ending of that count. You matter. You matter to me, in my life, and as your own person.”

Minerva blinked back tears. “You have no idea how much it means to me to hear you say that, Albus.”

Albus touched her face. “Oh, my dear Minerva, don’t cry, please. Come here . . .”

He put his arms around Minerva, and she slid closer to him and lay her head on his shoulder. Gradually, she relaxed and embraced him, sighing and relishing the pulse of his magic and the comforting sensation of his hands stroking her back. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but she also didn’t want to spoil that moment. Instead, she thought she would say something light.

“This is nice. But I did think that we had said that we would skip the insults next time . . . I think we should remember that in the future.” Minerva felt Albus’s chuckle, and a frisson passed through her. She turned her head and nestled more closely into his embrace. She restrained herself from nuzzling his neck, burying her face in his hair and beard, but she gave him a squeeze, and was pleased when his arms tightened around her. She wished they could stay like that forever.

Minerva lifted her head a bit and kissed his cheek. She felt him sigh slightly, and she kissed him again before sitting back a little and looking at him. His eyes met hers, and she smiled. Her smile grew as he kissed her cheek softly, the barest touch of his lips to her skin, and she couldn’t help herself. She turned her head and kissed his cheek again, then, scarcely pausing, she moved her lips to his and kissed him lightly. She felt his intake of breath, but he did not release her from his arms, so she brought her lips to meet his again, and was thrilled as he responded, returning her kiss. His lips moved against hers as they renewed the kiss, and when his hand moved to her side and then touched her breast, she moaned lowly into his mouth. 

But then he was gone, suddenly, and she was sitting back against the sofa. Confused, Minerva looked over to where he stood, halfway across the room.

“Gods, Minerva, I am sorry, please . . . so sorry! Propinquity – it was simply propinquity! I had no intention, never . . . never would intend such a thing. I –”

Minerva tried to interrupt him, but he continued as he began to back away toward the door, horror written on his face. 

“I never would do such a thing, never – just a physical reaction. Physical – I – forgive me,” Albus said.

Minerva called his name, but he opened the door and was gone. 

“Stop, Albus!” It was too late, he was through the door, and the door was closed behind him, and tears streamed down her face. How could she have been so foolish! And now . . . now he was blaming himself.

Minerva pushed herself from the sofa and went to the door, looking out, but he was nowhere to be seen. She hurried to the stairs and looked down, but she could not see him or hear his footsteps. She ran down the main corridor to the narrow hall that led to his backstairs, but he was gone, not there.

Minerva raced back to her rooms and Flooed to her first floor office, then ran out and up the stairs, down the hall to the gargoyle, panting as she gave the password. She rode the stairs up, walking, as well, trying to reach his office faster. The office was empty, and she took the stairs to his suite two at a time, bursting into his sitting room. Not there. She opened his bedroom door. Not there. She tried every door in the suite, even the door to the loo, but he was nowhere. The stairs that went up. They probably led to the very top of the Headmaster’s Tower. She entered the bedroom and opened the door that led to his backstairs, glancing once at the door at the top of the stairs, but it was shut, and she took the worn, narrow stone stairs up. It was evident when she reached the top of the stairs that he was not there. Minerva looked out across the grounds, and she saw not a soul stirring. 

Beginning again to weep, she turned and went back down to Albus’s suite. He had left, and she knew not where. Minerva kept seeing the horrified expression that had been on his face, and she felt inconsolable. She had been such an utter fool. That was where all of those unrestrained fantasies had led her. Why hadn’t she controlled herself? She paid the portraits no heed as she stumbled through Albus’s office, and reaching the second floor, she didn’t care who saw her as she walked weeping through the castle, shuffling her way back to her rooms. 

What was she to do? How could she face Albus again? He must think her completely wanton, having thrown herself at him as she had, inspiring a physical reaction in him that had clearly horrified him. She saw no one as she returned to her rooms and cast herself, sobbing now, on her couch. They had been so close and he had been so sweet in his apology, and she had ruined it, utterly ruined it, and perhaps their entire friendship, as well.

She wept, her sobs subsiding to quiet but constant tears, and wondered where Albus could have gone, how he could have seemingly vanished from the castle as he had. One of the Headmaster’s passageways, perhaps, one of which she wasn’t aware . . . anything to get away from her. Minerva sniffed and rolled onto her back. What should she do? She lay in a daze, not thinking, only feeling and trying not to feel, her head throbbing, her heart aching, her limbs heavy, wishing she could scream and cry and rant at the universe, but having no energy to do more than lie there and stare at the ceiling.

Minerva didn’t know how long she lay there when she heard a scrabbling at her window. She turned her head and saw a small owl at her sitting room window. First, she felt for her wand, but she couldn’t seem to raise the energy to cast the spell to open the window, so she forced herself to sit and then to stand and to walk over to the window, where, with a heavy sigh, she pushed down on the latch’s handle and pulled the window open. The little Scops Owl flittered into the room and perched on the edge of the table. Minerva took the parchment from the bird and returned to the sofa, leaving the window open.

Sealed only with a charm, and not with wax, Minerva observed. She unrolled it. It was in black ink, and very brief. 

_“Dear Minerva,_

_“Please forgive me. I had no intention of behaving as I did, and I am ashamed. A wizard’s physical reactions are not always in accordance with his feelings, but they should remain within his control. I promise you, Minerva, you have no reason to fear me. I will never do such a thing again and will never allow such an occasion to arise._

_“You have been in my care for many a year, first as my student, grandchild of my childhood friend, then, later, as my own friend, and you remain safe with me, Minerva, although I will understand it if you are no longer comfortable in my presence._

_“I can say nothing else, and nothing that will explain or excuse my actions. I can only hope that one day you will grant me your forgiveness and that we may return to our friendship._

_“Most sincerely,_

_“Albus”_

Minerva crumpled the parchment in her hand and began to cry again. His actions not in accord with his feelings. A physical reaction only, as he had said. Propinquity. She had elicited unwanted reactions in him, and, gentleman that he was, he blamed himself. She dropped the letter to the floor and went to the window. The owl had since flown off, and Minerva looked out across the grounds. She had to get away. She had to leave. She could not bear this any longer.

Without any further reflection, Minerva left her rooms, ignoring the Knight calling out to her, and taking the stairs as fast as she was able, then she was out the doors and running across the lawns. As she ran, she entered her Animagus form, a smooth, flowing transition, and she continued sprinting on four legs out away from the castle, habit carrying her to the small stand of trees near Hagrid’s hut, but she did not stop there, or even pause for breath, but continued racing onward, into the Forest, paying no heed to the sharp slapping of the underbrush against her, or the thorn that lodged in her front paw, just running, blind, falling, tumbling, leaping, into the depths of the Forest, until finally, with a howling cry, she flung herself at the base of a large, gnarled ancient tree, and collapsed.

Minerva didn’t know how long she lay there, as she must have fallen into a light sleep, and she started slightly, hearing a branch crack beneath a heavy foot. More footfalls. Beasts of some sort. Large ones. She listened and sniffed. An unfamiliar musky odour met her nostrils. Her heart began to beat wildly, but she remained frozen at the base of the tree, yet ready to leap up and climb the tree, away from whatever animals lurked nearby. She heard another loud, clomping footfall, and a scuffing at the earth. Hooves, perhaps. Then she heard voices.

“It is one of them, from the place of stone,” said a youthful masculine voice. 

“Castle. It is called a castle,” said a rougher voice. “Yes, one of them, hiding in a different form. But human. A young one, but still old enough to know the foolishness of being here, sleeping in our wood.”

The footfalls came nearer, and Minerva tried not to stiffen and give away that she was awake.

“What shall we do, Father?” the younger voice said.

“Watch her. For a while. Keep others away that might think to have found their dinner. If she does not wake and leave soon . . .” The older one made a peculiar noise, like the nicker of a horse. “You will wake her. Give her a scare and chase her from the wood so she does not do such a thing again.”

It sounded as though the younger one laughed at that. Minerva didn’t like the thought of the two centaurs staring at her, watching her, even if they were being protective, in their own way. She heard them move off, and she stretched, as though she was just awakening. She stood, stretched again, and as nonchalantly as she could, she scratched the bark of the ancient tree, becoming suddenly painfully aware of the thorn in her front paw. Ignoring it, she turned and walked off, trying not to limp, and aware that the centaurs were following her at a distance. 

She had gone quite a ways into the Forest, and Minerva was unsure where she was, but she headed toward where she believed the wall entered the Forest. Finding the wall, she turned and began to walk along it, back toward the school grounds, but then she stopped and changed her mind. She could not return to the school. Not then. What would she do? Go to dinner and pretend that everything was well? Sit there across from Albus and chat about the upcoming school year or the most recent article in _Transfiguration Today_? No. Minerva turned and headed along the wall away from the school until the wall became low enough to jump. Her paw was hurting quite a bit by that point, but she put it out of her mind. Instead, she leapt to the top of the wall and down again to the other side. Safely out of the Forest, at least the more dangerous part of it, Minerva transformed back to her ordinary form. She hissed a sharp intake of breath as she did so, and looked down at her left hand. It was bloody and dirty, the thorn now driven far into her palm, but she wouldn’t concern herself with that now.

Where to go now? She had no money with her. Could she Apparate? Minerva thought she had calmed down enough to Apparate without Splinching, but at the thought of being calm enough to Apparate, tears rose in her eyes again. She swallowed them and willed herself to regain control of herself. Where to go? Not home, she couldn’t bear the questions, and she must look quite a sight. And not to Melina’s. To Quin, then. He might not be home. She had no idea what time it was. It was still daylight, but with the trees, it was difficult to tell precisely how high the sun was. It could be anywhere between late afternoon and late evening, for all she knew. But Minerva drew her wand from her pocket, held it close, closed her eyes, and concentrated on the Apparition point near Quin’s house. A moment later, there was a crack as she Disapparated, and two centaurs returned to the depths of the Forest.


	116. Seeking Solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva seeks help from Quin.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall and Quin MacAirt.

**CXVI: Seeking Solace**

Quin opened his door. Looking out at Minerva, he took in her appearance and the waves of pain rolling off of her.

“Oh, love . . . smashed t’ smithereens, is it, now? Come, come in.” He took her arm and guided her into the foyer, where she began to weep. Seeing her face, her clothes, and then her hand, he said, “What have you done here? What has happened?”

Minerva’s answer was lost in her choking sobs, and Quin took her into his arms and held her. 

“Shh, shh, shh . . . just relax, there, love. You are safe. You are with me now. Just shh, shh, shh,” he said in a soft voice. “No need to speak yet. Just come in here with me.”

He led her to the sitting room and to the couch, easing her down, then crouching in front of her, trying to see her face, look at her eyes. He pushed back the hair that had straggled from its bun.

“Ah, love, you sit there a moment. I will be back soon. Just a minute.” Minerva clutched his arms, sobbing still, and he kissed her forehead. “I will be back. I promise. Lie down here. It will only be a few minutes.”

When he returned a few minutes later, Levitating a basin of warm water and carrying towels and a small bottle, she was lying on the sofa, just as he had left her.

“Had to make a quick telephone call, and I wanted to fetch a few things, as well,” he said in a gentle voice. “You just stay right as you are. I will take care of everything.”

Quin spoke to her lightly as he first washed her left hand, using a nonverbal spell to soothe the pain before extracting the thorn with another spell. The cut began to bleed again, and he told her that wasn’t a bad thing, that it would help clean the wound. He dabbed it with a potion, then wrapped her hand with some gauze, saying he was no Mediwizard, but that should keep her for a while. He then banished the dirty water from the basin and called forth fresh warm water to fill it. He dipped a flannel into the water and began to bathe her face, then her right hand, speaking in low, crooning tones as he did so, and passing cooling, soothing charms over her as he washed her. Finally, he banished everything and sat on the edge of the sofa beside her.

“Better now, Minerva?” he asked.

She nodded and whispered, “Thank you.” 

“Do you feel up to talking about it now?”

“It was awful . . .” Tears welled up in her eyes as she tried to speak, and she shut them tightly.

“Take your time,” Quin said, holding her right hand between both of his. “Was it Albus?”

Minerva nodded.

Quin hesitated, then said in a questioning tone, “He didn’t hurt you – I mean physically . . .”

Minerva shook her head vehemently, her head aching as she did. “No, he wouldn’t, never –”

“I couldn’t imagine such a thing,” Quin said, “but you were a right mess . . . and your heart is in smithereens, I could feel that as clear as anythin’, even before I opened me door and saw you . . . ’twas just rollin’ off you. And still is.”

Minerva let out a shuddering sigh and didn’t open her eyes, but she held Quin’s hand close to her. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he answered. “Don’t worry about it at all. Just tell me whatever you wish to.”

“He . . . I was a fool, such a fool . . . it is so embarrassing. I thought he felt the same, or was coming to, and I – oh, gods, Quin, it was awful!” Tears rolled down her face again.

Quin lifted her and held her against him until eventually her tears subsided. 

“I had been upset with him, you see. He had admonished me for not informing anyone I wasn’t going to be returning to the castle. He behaved . . . as though he were someone else, someone whom I did not know. And so I stayed in yesterday, in my rooms. I just felt terrible, and I couldn’t face seeing him, or anyone else. Today, he came to find me when I was late to lunch. He apologised for what he had said. We were talking. Some of the things he said, he was so warm and sincere, Quin, it was lovely. And when he saw that I was upset, he held me.” Minerva sighed against Quin’s chest before she continued. “I thought . . . I kissed his cheek. And when I looked at him, I thought I saw something in his eyes, an affection for me . . . then he kissed my cheek. It was just a little kiss, Quin, and I don’t know why I made it more than I did, but . . . I kissed him. I mean that I really kissed him.” She choked slightly. “It seemed all right at first, I thought he was returning my kiss, and the way he touched me . . . but then he was suddenly across the room, and I have never seen a more horrified look on a man’s face. He apologised. He said he hadn’t intended it. And then, oh, gods, Quin! It was terrible!”

“What? What did he do?” Quin asked, aghast. 

“He said it was just propinquity. Mere propinquity and a physical response. And he left. I tried to stop him, but he wasn’t listening. I looked for him everywhere, in his office, in his suite . . . I couldn’t find him. Then he sent me a note, apologising again, saying once more that he never would have done such a thing, that he didn’t intend it, that I was like a grandchild in his care, and that nothing like that would ever happen again. And he said that his feelings for me were unrelated to his physical response. It was dreadful, just dreadful, Quin! I made a fool out of myself, and now he is blaming himself rather than me, though what he must think of me, throwing myself at him like that, I can only imagine.” 

“I am sorry, Minerva . . . I had hoped . . . I had hoped that he felt more than that,” Quin said. “But how did you come to be in such a state? With a thorn embedded so deeply in your hand, and so dishevelled?”

“After I received his note, I just couldn’t bear the thought of staying there one more moment, so I left my rooms and the castle, and I ran out in my Animagus form. That was, perhaps, even more foolish than my behaviour with Albus. I ran out into the Forbidden Forest, which is called that for very good reasons. I ran and paid no attention to where I was. Somehow, I got the thorn in my paw as I ran, but I kept going. It was as though I had gone mad, Quin, and no longer knew myself. Finally, I stopped, just . . . stopped. In the middle of the Forest, and I lay down. I was dozing when two centaurs came upon me. I pretended to be asleep still, until they moved away, but they were still there, watching, so I didn’t transform then, but waited until I left the Forest. I jumped over the wall. By then, the thorn was driven well into my paw pad, and when I Transfigured myself back into my ordinary form, I think it worked its way in even deeper.” She pulled back out of his arms and looked at him. “I’m sorry, Quin. I shouldn’t have come here, burdened you, but I didn’t know where else. I have my wand, but no money. I couldn’t imagine going to my parents’, the questions they would ask . . . I thought of you, and I Apparated here. I could go, get a room somewhere, if you could loan me a little money until I can get to Gringotts –”

“Don’t even think such a thing. You are stayin’ here until you are ready to go home, either to your parents’ or to Hogwarts. The kids are still with Ella – I telephoned to let her know I would not be there for dinner tonight – and Mrs Manning only comes a couple times a week when the children aren’t stayin’ with me. And don’t even think to be sayin’ anythin’ about bein’ a trouble to me! You are no such thing, Minerva. Now,” he said, waving his hand as if calling someone into the room, “you stay right here for now. D’you need anythin’ at the moment?” A blanket flew in through the open door. Spreading it over her, Quin said, “You just curl up here and rest. You know where the loo is, if you need it. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Thank you, Quin,” Minerva said, looking up at him gratefully.

“Ah, I’m happy to have you here, Minerva.” He bent and kissed her forehead before leaving and gently closing the door behind him.

Forty-five minutes later, he reentered the sitting room to find Minerva asleep. He settled the large tray on the coffee table, then knelt beside her. He looked at her a moment, then caressed her cheek and called her name. Minerva’s eyes fluttered open to see Quin’s smiling face. She smiled slightly in return. 

“Mmm, something smells good,” she said, stretching and realising that she hadn’t eaten in hours.

“Some soup, some o’ me famous scones, butter, and hot tea,” Quin answered.

“I am hungry, actually. Didn’t think I would be,” Minerva said, sitting up.

“There’s more soup in the kitchen, so if you want more, just say the word.”

In short order, Minerva had eaten a bowl of soup and three scones. Quin poured her a second cup of tea.

“Would you like more soup?” he asked.

“No, thank you. That was fine,” Minerva said, sitting back.

“When did you last eat? If you haven’t been leavin’ your rooms . . .”

“My house-elf – my Hogwarts elf – brought me meals. I had a good breakfast this morning. That was at about five o’clock, though, and I never made it to lunch, of course, so it has been a while since I ate. And entering my Animagus form takes energy.”

“I haven’t a house-elf, but consider me your personal servant while you are here, Minerva,” Quin said with a smile. “No missed meals under this roof!”

Minerva smiled slightly and nodded. She felt somewhat better after having rested and eaten, but she ached, her throat felt raw, and her head hurt, but worst of all was the pain that seemed to centre on her heart, but that inhabited her entirely. She had lost Albus. Lost him completely. Whatever he said about friendship, she couldn’t imagine being able to look him in the eye again. She would have to, though. She was a Hogwarts teacher and Head of Gryffindor. She could not completely avoid him, though she did think that she could avoid being alone with him, at least for a while. And eventually, they would become more comfortable with each other and she would lose some of her sense of humiliation. But they would never be able to return to the friendship they had before. Minerva wished that they had never reconciled after he had overheard her complaining to Poppy. At the time, she hadn’t believed that she could feel any worse than she had then; now she knew better. She grimaced.

“Minerva?” Quin asked, looking at her with concern. “Are you all right? That’s a foolish question, I’m sorry . . .”

“No, thank you. I’m fine – well, as fine as I could be, given my humiliation and my . . . loss.”

“You know, Minerva, I’ve been thinkin’ about that. If he cares for you, and he’s attracted to you, it seems to me that he might come to fall in love with you. Maybe ’tisn’t as bleak as it seems to you,” Quin suggested.

Minerva shook her head. “No, it is. He said it was just propinquity, it was like a . . . a reflex, and it had nothing to do with his feelings for me. He was horrified, Quin. And I can understand why,” she said, her voice breaking, “if he sees me as a granddaughter.” Tears began to trickle down her face again.

“But you aren’t his granddaughter –” Quin began.

“That makes no difference. Do you think I am so naive that I believe that a man only . . . that he has to feel something in order to . . . oh, I don’t want to think about it,” Minerva said, closing her eyes. 

“Perhaps you are right,” Quin said. “I am sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing, encouragin’ you in your feelin’s, and now, you’re hurt more than before.”

Minerva shook her head. “It might be better this way. To know now. To get it out, not to harbour false hopes for years to come.” She didn’t sound convinced by her own words, though, and when Quin put an arm around her shoulders, she leaned against him and sighed. “It’s never easy to be rejected, but to have it from him, to have him so . . . repulsed.” 

Minerva buried her head against Quin’s chest and took comfort from his embrace. As he stroked her back, she began to relax, and her tears dried.

“You have a headache, love?” Quin asked.

She nodded, and she felt Quin kiss her forehead, and the cooling spell wash over her face, drying her tears, calming her, and alleviating her headache, much as he had that night in her room at the Gamps, when he had first learned of her love of an unattainable wizard.

“I’ll fetch you a Headache Potion now, or some aspirin, if you prefer,” he offered.

Minerva shook her head and clung to him. “No, don’t go, not yet. It’s a bit better now.”

Quin nodded and leaned back, holding her. He began to remove her hairpins, sending them over to the table, one at a time. “There, that should help a little, too,” he said, running his hands through her hair, then smoothing it. “You really did get yourself into a state. Do you know you have a shiner?”

“A shiner?” Minerva asked.

“A black eye, not bad, but still . . . when I saw that, and the blood on you, I was worried. I did what I could for it when I washed your face, but I’m afraid that me Healin’ skills are minimal, just what I need with two active kids and no more.”

“I ache all over,” Minerva said, turning slightly in his arms and touching her left eye. “I notice it now that you mention it, but . . . it must have been when I was running through the wood, there was a lot of underbrush.”

“A nice hot bath might be in order, then. Some good bath salts in the water. That will help.”

Minerva nodded, but said, “Not right now, though. Later.”

The room was beginning to grow dark, and Quin waved a hand to light a lamp. Minerva turned her face from the light, into his chest, and he dimmed it slightly. She sighed, relaxing as he resumed rubbing her back reassuringly. Her hand crept up to his shoulder, and she played with the ends of his hair. His hand stilled its stroking.

“I think it might be time for that bath now, love,” he said softly. “I’ll go get everythin’ ready for you, and find a robe for you, and some pyjamas to Transfigure. Some Headache Potion, too.”

“No, please, Quin. Don’t leave . . . I just. I feel so empty now.” She felt him nod, and she relaxed again.

She was beginning to relax and fall asleep, and she felt him shift, as if to rise, and her hand grasped his shoulder reflexively.

“Thought you were asleep, I did,” Quin said softly. “I was just goin’ to run that bath for you. I’ll be back.”

Minerva raised her head from his shoulder and looked at him. “Thank you, Quin. You are very good to me.”

He stroked her face, brushing her hair back. “’Tis an easy thing with you, Minerva.”

Minerva kissed his jaw, then kissed it again, then his cheek, then his mouth. Quin touched her cheek and eased her back away from him before kissing her forehead gently. 

“You’re not after wantin’ that, love,” he said very softly.

“But you care for me . . .” Minerva said.

“O’ course I do. You know it,” he answered.

“You don’t find me attractive?”

Quin took in a deep breath and let it out, looking at the ceiling. “I wouldn’t like t’ lie to you, Minerva. You are a very attractive witch, and you know I find you so.”

Minerva turned her face from him, tears springing into her eyes.

“Shush, shush, no need for more tears,” Quin said gently, pulling her back to rest on his chest. “But I know you have hurt in you, Minerva, or you would never think to . . . you wouldn’t think o’ me and how I might find you.”

“So, you say you care for me, and you find me attractive, but you don’t want me,” Minerva said bitterly. “It must be my lucky day.”

“Ah, don’t say that, Minerva! Not like that. ’Tisn’t fair to either of us.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just a fool. A fool with two wizards in one day. Lovely.”

“That you are not,” Quin answered. “Not at all. And me feelin’s aren’t as separate from me desires as they may have been in the other wizard today. But it doesn’t change anythin’ between us. I’m goin’ up and drawin’ your bath. I’ll come for you when everythin’s ready for you.”

Twenty minutes later Quin was back. 

“Your bath is ready, and I left a robe and some pyjamas and a few other things in the bathroom. Feel free to Transfigure anythin’ as you need to.” He held out his hand and helped Minerva to stand. “I’ll show you where it is, and you’ll be in the same bedroom as before, so I hope you’ll be comfortable tonight.”

“I’m sure I will be,” Minerva answered.

He had put lavender scented bath salts in the water, and the room was comfortably warm. After he showed her where he had set the nightclothes for her, Quin left, saying as he closed the door that he would be nearby, and to call out if she needed him. Minerva undressed, getting a good look at her clothes as she did so. A few cleaning charms, and they would be fine to wear the next day, but she must have been quite a sight when she landed on Quin’s doorstep, she thought, particularly after catching a glimpse of her “shiner” in the mirror. No wonder he had asked if Albus had hurt her physically. Albus would never do such a thing, of course. Breaking her heart was an entirely different matter. Minerva sighed and tried to keep herself from crying again. There was a vial of Headache Potion sitting beside the sink next to a clean hairbrush. She downed the Headache Potion then climbed into the bathtub.

For the next twenty minutes, Minerva did her best not to think. She relaxed, then she washed, then she relaxed again, but finally she washed her hair, rinsed it, then stepped out of the tub. She wrapped a large towel around her, then using her wand, she dried her hair before brushing it out. She removed the wet bandage from her left hand. The potion had been a good one, and her hand was well on its way to healing, though it was still sore and the injury not yet fully closed. She shrugged and ignored it.

A Transfiguration charm, and the pyjamas became a suitable nightgown, but she did nothing to the dressing gown, pulling the oversized robe on and wrapping it close around her. Quin had also brought her a pair of socks, which she Transfigured into a pair of light slippers, tears coming to her eyes when she remembered how Albus had Transfigured his socks into slippers for her. She still had the slippers in her wardrobe, not wanting to part with them.

Minerva opened the door and stepped into the hall, calling Quin’s name. He stepped out of the bedroom just beside the bathroom, himself dressed in pyjamas and dressing gown.

Smiling, he said, “You look a sight better. How do you feel?”

Minerva tried to return his smile. “I feel better. Cleaner. Less achey. And my headache is gone. Thank you for the potion.”

“Good, and you’re welcome. Your bedroom is this way, you may remember. I brought your hairpins up and put them on the nightstand, and there’s an extra blanket, too. Do you think you’ll be wantin’ anythin’ else?” He asked as he opened the door to the guest room. “Somethin’ to read? No, didn’t think so.”

“Some company?” Minerva said hopefully.

“We can sit in the library for a bit, if you like,” Quin suggested.

Minerva nodded, and he led the way to the library, down the hall and around a corner. Like the dining room below, it had large windows that looked out on the courtyard garden, and French doors opened onto a narrow balcony. He waved the doors open. 

“Would you care to sit here?” he asked.

“This would be nice, thank you,” Minerva said.

“I’d suggest a glass o’ wine, but I think its medicinal value would be outweighed by its negative effects on your headache, particularly after the potion. But tomorrow, if you like, we could have our lunch here,” Quin suggested as they sat.

“I should be gone tomorrow,” Minerva said. “I can go to Gringotts in the morning, get some money, find someplace to stay.”

“If that is what you would like, Minerva, but you are truly welcome here. I have rearranged me schedule. I am free tomorrow, and Friday, too, if you need me.”

Minerva sniffled and wiped her eyes. “What you must think of me, Quin, breaking down in tears at the slightest thing. But it means a lot to me. Thank you.”

“’Tis me own pleasure, love,” he answered, taking her hand. “And I think you have had a very hard day, that is what I think.”

“It wasn’t just today. It was the accumulation of everything. I already felt emotional before Albus even came to see me. If I hadn’t been so, so . . . so vulnerable just then, I never would have kissed him as I did. But I thought, it seemed to me, I thought he kissed me, too.” She shook her head. “If he had only just, just moved away, or pulled back, but . . . no, he leapt from me as though he had been bitten.”

“Odd, it is, that you couldn’t find him after,” Quin said thoughtfully. “Where d’you think he went to?”

Minerva sighed. “I haven’t a clue. I think if he’d just made himself invisible, I might still have felt him near, but I was so upset, I might not have. I could scarcely tell where I was and what I was doing, after all.”

“Made his self invisible? You mean Disillusioned his self?”

“No, he can become invisible. I don’t know how, except I think it might be some kind of perceptual trick, acting on the perceptions of those around him rather than on his own body, as is the case with a Disillusionment Charm.”

“Really? Huh . . . heard tell of such a thing, but thought it an exaggeration,” Quin said.

“I never thought it possible until I saw him do it myself. I don’t know how commonly known that is, so perhaps –”

“An’ who would I tell? Me good friend Franky Flint?” Quin asked with a grin. “It might help him move up in the Department of Mysteries, after all!”

Minerva smiled slightly at that. “Did you see him yesterday?”

Quin shook his head. “I did not. Can’t say I missed seein’ him, either! But I did me business there, though it may be moot now, but . . . ’twas a painless visit, relatively speakin’.”

Minerva yawned.

“Bedtime?” Quin asked. “Come, let me tuck you in, then I’ll bring you somethin’ nice to drink.”

Quin left her at her bedroom, promising to be back in a few minutes, and, good to his word, he was, carrying two steaming mugs.

“Horlicks,” he pronounced. “Nice Muggle drink I make me kids,” he said as he handed her a cup and sat down at the end of the bed.

Minerva hadn’t had it before, so she sipped it cautiously. It was a bit sweet, but nice, and she finished the foamy, milky drink, then leaned back against her pillows. Quin finished his, put the mug down on the nightstand, and pulled the covers up around her a bit more. He caressed her brow briefly.

“I hope you’ll be sleepin’ well, love. If anythin’ bothers you in the night, wake me. You know where I’ll be.”

Minerva took his hand. “Please, don’t go just yet. I – I feel so . . .”

Quin sighed and sat back down beside her. “It will be better, Minerva. Give it some time. You will feel better.”

Minerva nodded, but she couldn’t imagine this bleak emptiness ever disappearing, and as he moved to stand, she caught at his arm. “Please, don’t leave. Please.”

She caressed his arm and moved to pull him closer, her other hand at the side of his face.

“Don’t, Minerva,” Quin said, and she turned her face from him. Taking a deep breath, he moved closer again and held her. “I will stay, if you like. I won’t leave you. But I’m just stayin’, if you take me meanin’.”

She nodded. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

Quin kissed the top of her head, then as she relaxed, he moved the covers aside, took off his dressing gown, and lay down beside her. She rolled over and lay against him. 

“Better now?” he asked.

Minerva nodded again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

Minerva was quiet for a moment, then she said, “You needn’t stay. I . . . I am embarrassed . . . I shouldn’t have –”

“It’s fine, Minerva, though if you’d prefer me to leave, I will,” Quin said.

“No,” she said softly. “I’d rather you stayed.”

“Kick me out if I snore or such,” Quin said, making a gesture to darken lamps.

Minerva let out a short laugh and put an arm around him. “Good night, Quin.”

“Good night, love.”

Minerva woke a few times in the night, reassured by Quin’s presence beside her, and when she finally woke again in the early morning, she gazed at him as he slept, his face relaxed, looking young and boyish. His lips were slightly parted and his breathing light. Minerva remembered what Malcolm had said, with a flick of his little finger, that she could just “tip him right over,” if she wished. She didn’t wish, she hadn’t wished . . . but he was a good man, a good friend, and certainly an attractive wizard, just as Malcolm had described him. She smiled slightly, thinking of the description, “pretty, but rugged.” He was that. Minerva remembered the kiss he gave her on the balcony of the Gamps. He said that he had been out of practice, but it had been very nice. She had felt odd about it afterward because of her feelings for Albus. And although she had not admitted it to herself at the time, even then she had had hopes that Albus might someday return her feelings. But now, that hope was gone entirely. Tears welled up in her eyes again, and she blinked them away, reaching out and touching Quin’s cheek lightly, not waking him, simply making contact with him and his warmth. His magic thrummed lightly beneath her fingertips, strong, but far from the strength of Albus’s. 

Minerva closed her eyes. She had to stop thinking about Albus, measuring her life by her relationship to him, measuring others by their similarity or dissimilarity to him. She opened her eyes again. Quin had changed his plans for her, and this wasn’t the first time. She caressed his cheek once more, and this time, his eyes opened. He blinked.

“Minerva. Mm. Good morning,” he said sleepily, stretching slightly.

She smiled at him. “Good morning, Quin. Sleep well?”

He nodded. “And you?”

She tilted her head noncommittally. “Fine. I woke up a few times, but I slept better than I had expected to.”

“I, um, need to get up,” Quin said.

“Yes, of course,” Minerva replied.

He rolled away from her and Summoned his dressing gown from where it lay on the floor, where it had fallen the night before. He swung his legs around and quickly wrapped the robe around him.

“I’m just goin’ to go down the hall, use me own bathroom. I’ll make us some breakfast, if you would like to meet me in the kitchen in a few minutes,” he said as he opened the door and turned his head to look at her.

Minerva nodded, trying not to smile. She had a feeling she knew what had prompted his rapid departure from the bed, and she doubted it was simply a full bladder. “I’ll see you in a little while, then.”

She got up herself and went into the small bathroom just off the bedroom. She emerged a few minutes later and looked at her robes. She had neglected to clean them up the night before, and in the daylight, she saw more dirt and bloodstains than she had noticed earlier. She must have presented a frightening appearance, dirty, bloody, black-eye, hair a mess. Quin had been so good to her. Minerva waved her wand a few times, cleaning the robes, then she dressed. 

When she walked into the kitchen, she found Quin pouring coffee and the porridge stirring on the porridge. 

“Good morning again, love! Coffee? Or I can make you tea. No trouble at all,” Quin offered.

Minerva hesitated. “I’ll try some coffee.”

Quin quirked a smile. “’Tis no trouble to make you a pot o’ tea, Minerva.”

“No, I think coffee would make a nice change this morning. And I could use the caffeine.”

“Still sleepy?” Quin asked, handing her a cup of coffee and sending the small pitcher of cream over.

“Not exactly. But I feel as though I have cotton wool in my head instead of brains,” Minerva said, sitting down. “And I still ache.” She looked down at her hand and grimaced. “And I should have asked you for something for this after my bath.”

Quin came over, bent, and looked at her left palm. His brow knit in reaction to the scabbed-over wound and the hot, red area around it. “I shoulda thought of it, brought you more potion.” He looked up at her. “I’m sorry.”

“It didn’t look this bad last night. I thought it would be all right.”

Quin clucked. “It would be healed up today if I’d done better,” he said, gesturing and Summoning the potion bottle into the kitchen. He put more potion on the wound and watched as it fizzed. “Just keep an eye on it, Minerva. I’ll put more on again later. If you think it needs coverin’ –”

“No, I think it will be fine.” The redness had faded, and much of the soreness was gone already. “I’ll just be careful of it.”

They ate their breakfast in near silence, Minerva trying hard to keep her emotions under control. They seemed to affect Quin when they were strong, and she didn’t want to burden him more than she already was.

“So, what would you be doing today if you weren’t baby-sitting me?” Minerva asked lightly.

Quin shrugged. “Usually, I’m in me office in the City, or I’m visitin’ a business or lookin’ in on me investments. Today, though, I was goin’ to Switzerland.”

Minerva’s eyebrows rose. “Switzerland?”

Quin nodded and took a sip of his coffee. 

“You cancelled a trip to Switzerland to stay here?”

Quin shrugged. “I do business there. ’Twas somethin’ new this time, though, lookin’ into a chocolate company to partner with, but I have others there who can represent me interests. And if this opportunity doesn’t work out, there will be another.”

“Oh, Quin! You shouldn’t have! I could have taken care of myself, found a room somewhere, I would have been fine. Can you still go?”

Quin shook his head, smiling. “I cannot. I have a houseguest, a good friend who needs to be in a warm, homey setting, not in a cold, impersonal room somewhere, dwellin’ on her troubles alone.”

Minerva felt a bit of cheer enter her with Quin’s warm smile. “Thank you, Quin. I do appreciate your company. And to be honest, I don’t want to be alone. But I can’t face anyone else just yet, either.”

“You needn’t. Not yet, anyway, but later today – ah-ah! – later today, we will go out. You need something more than that one set of robes. And shopping is supposed to be a cure for many a witch’s ills.”

Minerva laughed. “I’ve never been much of a shopper, actually, Quin, and I can’t put you out another night.”

“I don’t see that you put me out at all, Minerva, for all I didn’t sleep in me own bed,” Quin said with a grin. “And even if you went elsewhere, you’d want somethin’ else to wear tomorrow.”

“I don’t know,” Minerva said, suddenly feeling overwhelmed again. “I could just Transfigure something. I don’t want to have to see people yet.”

Quin sat back and looked at her a moment, then he nodded. “As you wish, Minerva.”

After Minerva had helped him clean up the kitchen from breakfast, she followed him up to the library. 

“Thought you might like to read a bit, Minerva. And I do have a little work I could do. I’ll just fetch it from me study and join you.”

Minerva ran a finger along the spines of a row of books. Nothing caught her eye. She sighed. It was good of him to try to cheer her up, but she doubted she could read. Still, she found an old book of myths and legends, nicely illustrated, and settled down on the couch with it. She might just be able to concentrate enough to read this, or to pretend to. 

A few minutes later, Quin returned, several thick files with him. “I don’t have everythin’ I need here, so don’t be alarmed when the doorbell rings. Someone will be comin’ by from me office shortly with a box.”

“I shouldn’t keep you from your work –”

“You’re doin’ no such thing, Minerva. This is all catch up I’m doin’ here, and I wouldn’t have normally got to it till next week, so everythin’s fine.”

Minerva turned the pages of her book mechanically, her eyes drifting over the words but not really reading them. Quin got up twice, once to answer the telephone and once to answer the door, returning with a box of papers. Finally, Minerva stopped pretending to read, and just reclined on the couch and watched Quin at work, reading, jotting things down, casting the occasional spell, which Minerva didn’t recognise, and generally the very picture of relaxed concentration. When he had finished with one stack of papers and apparently signed them, he leaned back and stretched, then looked over at her. He smiled, eyes bright.

“Ready for a change, Minerva?”

Minerva shrugged one shoulder. “I couldn’t concentrate.”

“I didn’t think I was that fascinatin’, normally,” he said with a grin.

Minerva blushed slightly. “You didn’t seem to notice.”

“’Tis difficult not to notice when you are watchin’ me, Minerva. To have your undivided attention, rather nice, actually,” he said.

Minerva normally would have asked him about the spells he was using when he worked, but her curiosity had ebbed quickly. 

“Chess?” he suggested.

Minerva swallowed, a wave of grief passing over her, and she shook her head. She didn’t know if she could play chess again. Only one game with Albus, and there would never be a rematch now.

“I’m sorry, love. I’ve reminded you of your sadness again,” Quin said with a sigh.

“It’s all right. I’m just being silly. But I don’t think I could concentrate, anyway.” To her embarrassment, tears began to trickle down her face again. 

Quin got up and came over to her; he knelt beside her and dabbed her tears with his handkerchief. 

“You will feel better, though, love. You won’t always feel this way,” he said.

“You know this?” Minerva asked.

He hesitated. “I know that you are resilient. And I know that I cannot bear to see you unhappy as you are. So I hope you don’t allow this event and these feelings to rule your life.”

“Why not? The other event, my magical accident, my feelings for Albus, they ruled my life for years. This might do the same,” Minerva said dully.

“It didn’t control you utterly, though. It may have felt like it occasionally, and I am not minimising the effect it had on you, but you went on and had a career and a successful apprenticeship. You can still have your life, Minerva, and it can be a good life.” Quin paused, weighing his words. “And I’m still thinkin, though you may not want to hear it now, that Albus may come around. ’Tis true that a wizard can have a physical reaction and be quite attracted to a witch without bein’ in love with her, but I can assure you that there are witches – and I’m not talkin’ ugly ones – who could do all manner o’ things to try to attract me and I wouldn’t feel even a smidgen o’ desire for them. Valerianna Yaxley, for all she has a nice figure and isn’t a hag, she could do the dance o’ the seven veils, and it would disgust me. Albus does care for you very much, and he’s attracted to you – perhaps it was a surprise to him. Perhaps if he knew that you were attracted to him too –”

“And how could he not know that now, Quin? I wish he didn’t . . . he must think me some sex-starved harlot, throwing myself at him as I did,” Minerva said, her voice breaking. “He was appalled.” 

“At his self, his own behaviour, Minerva –”

“Mine, Quin, my behaviour. His reaction, but my behaviour.” Minerva closed her eyes, trying to keep from crying again.

Quin sat on the edge of the couch and put his arms around Minerva. “Then he is a fool, Minerva. Completely. If a wizard were lucky enough . . . he is a fool.”

Minerva, still trying to control her tears, and fearing that if she spoke, she would lose her composure again, just shook her head. But as she relaxed against Quin, she remembered his words from the previous evening, _“Me feelin’s aren’t as separate from me desires as they may have been in the other wizard today. But it doesn’t change anythin’ between us.”_ He cared for her, and it seemed he was attracted to her. Or had he just been being kind? He was a sweet wizard, a good friend, he could have simply been saying that to make her feel better, because he didn’t want her to feel the way she did, unlovable, unattractive, desperate . . . 

She nestled her head against his shoulder and sighed. She couldn’t think anymore. She just want to be. And she didn’t want to feel, or she only wanted to feel something good, something comforting, and so she concentrated on the sensation of Quin’s warm, broad chest against her, his arms around her, his pulse, his breath on her hair, and she began to relax. With just a nudge and the weight of her body, she lay back and brought him to lie beside her. It was warm and comfortable.

“This is nice,” she whispered. 

“It is,” Quin replied, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He shifted slightly, though, just turning a bit out of her embrace, but still leaving her to rest her head against him.

Minerva tilted her head to look up at him. His eyes were half-closed, but he was looking at her. 

“Are you uncomfortable, Quin?”

“I am fine. Just fine. Tryin’ not to get too comfortable, is all,” he said with a wry grin.

“Why? Do you have more work you need to do?”

“Best for me not to, that’s all, love,” he said softly. “Don’t want t’ forget that I am here for you.”

“And I appreciate that . . . very much,” Minerva whispered. She reached up with her left hand and gently caressed his face. 

Quin cleared his throat. “So how is the hand?” He took it in his own and held it out to look at it. “It looks better. But I’ll put more potion on it at lunch.”

Minerva nodded. “It’s just a little sore now.”

Quin gently rubbed the healing wound with his thumb. “Does that hurt?”

Minerva shook her head. “Not really. Not as it would have yesterday, or even earlier this morning.”

“That is good, then,” Quin said, bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing it gently. Minerva felt a similar cooling sensation that she felt when he dried her tears with a kiss, and she smiled.

“And that is good, too,” Quin added. “T’ see you smile.”

Minerva stretched a bit and kissed his cheek. She paused, then she said, very softly, “I wish . . . I wish my kisses were more welcome.”

Quin blushed. “Your kisses are, I am sure, welcome. I just think you should reserve them.”

Minerva felt her grief renewed, and she looked away. “Reserve them . . . for whom? I must seem quite pitiful to you.”

“Not pitiful, Minerva, not at all. Sorrowful, and beautiful, but not at all pitiful,” Quin said quietly.

“Is it really so horrendous, to be kissed by me?” she asked, looking back at him, rising up slightly on one elbow.

“Minerva . . .” Quin sighed, closing his eyes.

Minerva raised her hand to his face again, tracing the line of his cheek and his jaw, then the bow of his lips. “Malcolm was right,” she said huskily, “you are both pretty and rugged. I would say handsome and attractive, though.”

Quin didn’t respond, but he did not stop her, either. 

“Would it be so bad if I were to kiss you, like this . . . and like this . . .” she said, kissing his cheeks. “Or even like this?” she asked, and she kissed his lips lightly, first once, then twice more.

Quin lifted his hand to her face and opened his eyes. “You don’t want that, love. You don’t . . . if you did . . .”

Minerva bent her head and kissed his lips again. “Kiss me, Quin, kiss me . . .”

He held her there a moment, looking at her, his fingers carded through her hair, and then he drew her down and kissed her gently on the lips, just once before pulling her head down to rest beside his. 

“We cannot do this, love. I cannot. ’Tisn’t right for me to take advantage of your pain and your broken heart.”

“You aren’t!”

“But I would be . . . and I love you too much to do that to you, Minerva.”

Minerva turned her head away, and she felt her tears returning.

“See now, love? Your emotions are all too close t’ the surface, they are. You aren’t yourself,” Quin said.

Minerva nodded. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I think I will just go take a nap before lunch, if you don’t mind.”

“O’ course not. I’ll come and call you for lunch. I thought fish might be nice, so if you don’t mind bein’ alone a while, I’ll run to the fishmonger.”

Minerva nodded. “That’s fine.” She didn’t really want to be alone, not at all, but she was too embarrassed by Quin’s rejection, as kind as it had been, to hold him there. 

She got up and left the library without looking Quin in the face again.

“Minerva,” Quin called out behind her. She stopped just outside the door. “If I were Albus, things would have been different yesterday. So don’t mistake me meanin’ and feel worse. Please.”

Minerva nodded. “I just need a nap,” she said, not responding to what he said.

“I will fetch you for lunch.”

Minerva went back to the blue and yellow bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. She toed off her shoes, then lay back. Sighing, she got back up and took off her robe. Her nightgown was in the little bathroom still, but she didn’t want to bother with it, so she climbed into bed as she was. She was drowsy, actually, though she doubted she would sleep, and she had a headache from all of the tears she had shed, but she didn’t want to bother Quin for another potion.

She thought that she was becoming quite spoiled at Hogwarts, having Blampa take care of all of her daily needs for her, making her bed, taking care of the laundry, picking up after her, bringing her Headache Potions and meals at all hours. She wondered if Hogwarts staff gave their house-elves presents. Clothes would be out of the question, of course, even though a mere member of the staff didn’t have the power to free a house-elf, it would be quite insulting to offer an article of clothing to one. Minerva knew that her mother gave the McGonagall elves gifts each Christmas, but she had no idea what they might be. House-elves had peculiar values, and they were obscure to Minerva. She should ask someone who might know, like Albus . . . a lump rose in her throat. No, not Albus.

Minerva rolled over and hugged a pillow to her, determined not to cry, but neither did she rest. By the time Quin knocked on the door an hour later, her headache was much worse. She rolled over. 

“Come in.” Her voice came out in a hoarse croak.

“Minerva?” Quin opened the door a crack and looked in. “Are you all right?” Seeing that she was in bed, the sheet pulled up around her, he came in, setting a package down on the end of the bed. “You don’t sound well.” He felt her forehead.

“I’m not sick,” Minerva said, clearing her throat, “but I do have a terrible headache. Is there lunch already?”

“Not yet. I just got back. But I brought you somethin’. You can look at it later. First, let’s take care of that headache. You’re all knotted up and tense, and congested from your tears.”

He began to gently rub her head, putting more pressure on different spots, and then he moved to her neck and shoulders. A few spots were so tender, Minerva hissed sharply in reaction as Quin massaged them, but then as the muscles relaxed, she did, as well. Her nose began to run, and Quin Summoned a large handkerchief for her. 

“Better?” he asked.

“Much. I still have a headache, but it’s not nearly as bad,” Minerva answered.

“Good. If you still have a headache after lunch, I’ll fetch you some potion – unless you’d like it now?” When Minerva shook her head, Quin continued, “Then I’ll give you your present.” He reached behind himself and picked up the package he had left at the foot of the bed.

Minerva sat up and began to unwrap it. “Robes?”

Quid stood and said, “Nothin’ fancy. Just somethin’ to cover yourself and so you don’t have to wear the same clothes tomorrow as you did today. There’s a nightgown, slippers, and dressing gown there, too. Just plain off-the-rack stuff, but I think everythin’ will fit you, and if not, you’re talented with Transfiguration. I, um, didn’t know what to do about underthings . . . I hope you don’t mind.”

“Thank you, Quin. This is very nice.” 

Minerva looked at the day robes, which were on top. They were a pretty pale green with a pale yellow under robe that was meant to show beneath it. They were not precisely what she would have chosen for herself, but they were fine. The nightgown, though, was something else. She thought she would be too warm in it. It was flannel, with long sleeves and a high neckline. Minerva couldn’t imagine what shop would be selling winter nightgowns in the middle of August. But a Transfiguration would fix it. She could make it into a light batiste and lower the neckline. It would be fine. The dressing gown, on the other hand, was gorgeous; silk, cool and soft, in a rich emerald green, a diamond design woven through the fabric, with wide, floaty sleeves, and a special wand pocket. Minerva smiled.

“I love the dressing gown, Quin. I’ll enjoy wearing that even later.” She looked up at him, smiling.

“Good, I’m glad. I’m off to make lunch now. Got a nice piece o’ cod. Hope there’s nothin’ you can’t eat . . . I’m after makin’ one o’ me mother’s recipes. I hope you’ll enjoy it.”


	117. Comfort and Consolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva spends another day with Quin, recovering. Quin is tested.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall and Quin MacAirt.

**CXVII: Comfort and Consolation**

By the time Quin came back for Minerva, telling her that lunch was almost ready, she was famished. She had only eaten a little porridge that morning, not feeling hungry at all, but now, her appetite was returning again. She was glad it had, too, because lunch was delicious, the cod nicely cooked with a lovely creamy sauce that had dry yellow mustard in it, potatoes diced and cooked with butter, parsley, and fresh dill, and French beans, steamed, not boiled. Quin served a dry Riesling with the meal, and as they ate on the small balcony overlooking his garden, it felt at that moment like a true holiday to Minerva, as though she had finally escaped all of her daily cares and could block out the rest of the world. Quin apologised for the lack of dessert, but said that there were biscuits in the pantry, if she wanted. Minerva declined the biscuits, saying, perhaps later, with tea.

“That was very good, Quin. I really enjoyed it. Thank you.”

Quin beamed. “The pleasure is me own, it is, Minerva.”

“You know, oddly enough, at this moment, I feel as though I am actually on holiday. And I haven’t the sense at all that we are in the middle of London.”

“Part of that is the charms on the house, to be sure. You can’t hear the traffic or any other noises from the outside, and the air is kept fresh, no automobile exhaust or anythin’ else, so it’s like breathin’ the fresh country air. And then the design o’ the house . . . ’twas for Aileen, the garden, and the sense that one could step outdoors from almost any room in the house. We had a balcony off our bedroom, too, and we’d take our morning coffee there, we would.” He pointed to another balcony across the courtyard.

“Had? You don’t use it?” Minerva asked.

Quin shook his head. “At first, I just couldn’t. I tried. But I couldn’t. And one night, just a few nights after we came back, the three of us, without her, Gertie came and found me tryin’ t’ sleep in the library on that hard leather sofa. She brought me to the room she was using, the one I use now, in fact, and she put me to bed, and then she sat with me all night. I didn’t sleep that night. ’Twas one o’ the many sleepless nights she spent with me. She is a good woman, Gertrude is, and I hope . . . it would be good if she found someone who appreciated her as she should be.”

Minerva nodded. “I would be interested, though it is none of my business, if you were to see Malcolm and Gertrude together, whether you would sense anything.”

“I don’t know. I’m not that talented, not usually. And both o’ them are hard for me t’ read, even in an ordinary sorta way.” He quirked a grin. “An’ your right: ’tisn’t any of your business, or mine. But I’m curious, too.”

Minerva smiled. “I’d say that they are very taken with each other. They seem . . . they seem to inhabit their own space together, if you know what I mean.”

Quin nodded. “That I do. But your brother, you said he moves into and out of relationships quickly.”

“Apparently so. And to such a degree that I have never known him to be in one. I doubt they would be recognisable as ‘relationships’ to me. But this is different for him, and he even acknowledges that. You know, he was wondering, not strongly, but still, he was wondering about Gertrude’s past relationships. He came to see me while Gertie was busy talking to Johannes, apparently informing him of her . . . friendship with Malcolm, so that he would not be surprised by it. And Malcolm was wondering who she may have been involved with. I didn’t think she ever was with Johannes and told him that, but I didn’t say anything about Albus.”

“As well you shouldn’t, not knowin’ the nature of their relationship or if it ever went beyond the friendship they have now, and it bein’ up to Gertrude to tell him about those things, if she wishes to,” Quin said.

Minerva held out her glass and Quin poured her the last of the wine.

“But some things he said, and that you have mentioned . . . I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but were you and Gertie ever – ”

“Me an’ Gertrude?” Quin asked astounded. “Never! Not that she isn’t a wonderful witch, and I love her, but she’s me wife’s aunt and has come to be like me own. It just, no, no, Minerva.”

“Just curious, that’s all. I hadn’t thought so,” Minerva said, “and it hadn’t seemed likely.”

“I need to be makin’ a few phone calls. I’ll be in me study. Make yourself at home, Minerva. I’ll come find you in a little while. I still need to put more potion on your hand. How’s it keepin’?”

“Very well, actually,” Minerva said, holding out her hand for his inspection. It was now healing very nicely.

“I still think one more application might be a good idea,” Quin said. “Should be good as new by tomorrow, I would think!”

“What potion is that? Something from the apothecary in Diagon Alley?” Minerva asked. She hadn’t noticed the bottle the day before, but that morning, she had caught a look at it, and it was not labelled in a way that she recognised.

“Somethin’ o’ me gran’s,” Quin replied. “She makes up potions for various ills and ailments. I don’t usually trust stuff from the apothecary as well as I do hers, although the Headache Potion I gave you is just your standard, basic potion you can get at any apothecary.”

“Oh. Does it have a name?” Minerva asked.

“I reckon it does, but I just call it ‘the healing potion.’ It’s for cuts and the like.”

“I wonder if it’s anything that Murdoch would be interested in.”

“She don’t usually share her recipes,” Quin said.

Minerva shrugged. “He does sell some potions that he doesn’t make himself, although that is his main stock, unlike some apothecaries, where almost everything comes from elsewhere. If he could be assured of its safety and efficacy, he might like to sell it. If your gran is interested.”

“Doubtful. She does make it up for sale or trade, but in small quantities. And I’m sure that Murdoch sells other potions that do the same thing, more or less.”

“Yes, but this one felt nice going on, even when it fizzed, and it didn’t smell disgusting. Some of the wound-healing potions are truly foul smelling, especially the pastes.”

“I don’t think I could use anythin’ foul smellin’ on Aine, little princess that she is!” Quin said with a laugh. “But she’s rough an’ tumble enough to need ’em, to be sure!”

Minerva took the book of myths and legends with her down to the sitting room and stretched out in the cool, clean room, opening the French door to the garden first, and enjoyed the sound of the water trickling in the nearby fountain. She was paging through the familiar story of Jason when Quin came, carrying the potion bottle, and found her.

She looked up from the book. “Finished your calls?” Minerva asked. She had never known a wizard who made so many telephone calls. It seemed very peculiar.

“Yes, for today. Doesn’t look as though the deal with the Swiss company is goin’ to go through. But it’s not a big loss. And it means less work for me, which isn’t a bad thing,” Quin said philosophically.

“I’m sorry, Quin. It’s my fault,” Minerva said, distressed. 

“Not at all. I don’t think it would have worked even if I’d been there, so don’t fret yourself about it. Now, let’s see that hand.”

He dabbed some potion onto the closed, red mark on her palm, then blew a cooling breath across it. Minerva could feel some of the ache dissipate as he did.

“If your gran doesn’t want to market her potion, maybe we could market your breath, or your kisses,” Minerva said with a laugh.

Quin chuckled. “There’s a limited supply, so I save up for family and friends.”

“I do feel better, Quin. Thank you. And not just my aches and pains. I don’t know if it will last . . . it does seem to come and go, but for now, I feel better, more like myself. Not completely, but I don’t feel as utterly desperate, I suppose.”

He nodded. “I can tell. This mornin’, you were almost as distressed as you were when you arrived, not quite, but nearin’ that. I think maybe the nap helped.”

Minerva said, “I think it was you. Having you come back right when you did. I felt awful, physically and emotionally, and I hadn’t slept. Having you massage my head and shoulders as you did . . . it felt good, and I needed it. I needed the human contact, the human warmth, almost as much as the massage, I think. And it was very thoughtful of you to pick up some clothes for me as you did.”

“’Twasn’t anythin’ at all, Minerva. Just a bit o’ common sense to get you somethin’ fresh to wear.”

“But it wasn’t just that, Quin. You made me feel cared for . . . I appreciate that,” Minerva said softly.

“And that, ’tis an easy thing, love, carin’ for you.” He looked away. “I just wish things were different for you.”

“So do I.”

“I’m goin’ into the garden for a bit. You can stay here and read, though.”

Minerva shook her head. “I haven’t really been reading, just . . . perusing, I suppose. Remembering the story, not reading it. Do you mind some company?”

Quin gave her his hand and helped her from the sofa, then the two walked out into the garden. Quin was quiet, and unlike during the tour of the Gamp gardens, he didn’t describe or explain anything, though he would occasionally stop to pluck a dead blossom from a plant and banish it. 

Finally, they reached a small herb garden, close to a door near the kitchen, and he said, “Just a few necessary herbs now. Used to be bigger when Aileen was alive, though nothin’ like your mother’s.”

Minerva picked a small sprig of dill and chewed it, enjoying its bright flavour, but as they walked, her mood had begun to dip again. She didn’t know what the cure would be, not unless she could roll back time and change everything she had done the day before. If she had only gone to lunch on time, none of that would have happened, and she could be at Hogwarts right now, enjoying Albus’s company. But still harbouring false hopes, hopes that would rise every time he made the slightest affectionate gesture, and she would still not realise they were false hopes, and that day would come, finally, when she found out. Perhaps it was just as well that it happened when it did. She couldn’t imagine trying to teach after having had him react to her as he did.

Her hand was resting at Quin’s elbow as they walked, and he turned to her now and touched that hand with his other. 

“Anythin’ I can help with?” he asked softly.

Minerva looked up at him, at his serious blue eyes, the worry for her evident in his expression, and she shook her head. 

“No, only time, I think, will help. Though I wish it were that I could go back and change what happened yesterday, I still think it would only be postponing the inevitable . . . but perhaps his rejection wouldn’t have been so dreadful under other circumstances,” Minerva said.

“I still am not understandin’ it, Minerva,” Quin said, bringing her to a bench and sitting her down. “You said yesterday that he told you that he cared for you like a granddaughter . . . but I don’t believe Dumbledore t’ be . . . how to put this . . . I think if he really did care for you like a granddaughter, all the propinquity in the world wouldn’t ha’ brought him to react as I gather from you that he did – though you were never clear on how that was, either.”

Minerva blushed. She said softly, “He was returning my kiss, and then,” she swallowed and continued in a near-whisper, “then he moved his hand around and caressed my breast. That’s when he leapt away from me.”

“I see. Somehow, I thought perhaps it was more than that.”

“No. And it was over very quickly. I had barely begun to realise that he was returning my kiss when he was halfway across the room from me, looking at me like . . . like . . . like he had never seen anything more dreadful than the sight of me.” Tears came to her eyes despite her best efforts to keep them at bay.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up again,” Quin said with a sigh, putting an arm around her shoulders. “I just am tryin’ to understand, is all.”

“At least you don’t see me as a granddaughter, or sister, or whatever the relationship might be,” Minerva said, resting her head against him.

Quin didn’t respond to that, but only sighed again. They sat like that for a long time, and when the sky began to darken and a wind picked up, Quin made a motion for them to go in. Just after they had entered the nearest set of doors into the hallway outside the kitchen, large, heavy raindrops began to fall.

“You don’t keep the weather out of your little bit of paradise?” Minerva said.

Quin shook his head. “And a garden wouldn’t be a garden without some weather, good and bad.” He smiled down at her. “Rather like life, Minerva, isn’t it?”

She nodded, and as she looked up at him, she wished he would be the weather in her life just then, even just a brief storm, or a short heatwave; she wanted to feel alive, and not dying inside as she did. Her eyes burned, and she rested her forehead against his chest. 

“Another headache?” Quin asked, concerned. She nodded against him, and he said, “Might be the weather. Let’s go into the sitting room; I’ll rub your head again. That helped last time.”

“I’d like to take a nap, too,” Minerva said, leaning on him heavily. 

“All right, now, upstairs. You all right to go upstairs, or would you prefer to nap on the sofa?”

“Upstairs.”

He led her to her room, and Minerva asked if she could have a minute. She used the loo, then took off her robes and put her new dressing gown on over her chemise. She splashed her face with cold water, then looked in the mirror. She was pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes, one eye darker than the other and slightly swollen still, not helped in its healing with all the crying she had done in the last day. She smirked. Definitely not at her best. But it didn’t matter. No one would see her but Quin. A good thing, too, since she didn’t feel up to casting a Glamour.

Minerva reentered the bedroom, then opened the door. At the sound, Quin’s head popped out of the bedroom down the hall.

“Quin, have you anything, a salve or something, that would be all right to put on my eye?” Minerva asked.

“I think so, half a tick.” He disappeared again, and Minerva went back into the bedroom and lay down to wait for him.

Quin arrived with a small tin in his hand. “I think this will be fine for it, though I wouldn’t want to get it directly in your eye. Comfrey and a few other nice herbs, and nothin’ foul-smelling,” he said with a grin.

Minerva tried to return his smile, but her mood had darkened again. Quin dipped his index finger into the salve and gently spread it under her eye in a very thin application. Then he did the same to a spot on her jaw near her left ear where she had a bruise.

“Any other bruises?” Quin asked.

As Minerva listened to the rain lashing against the window panes, she lay back and closed her eyes, every now and then indicating a new spot for Quin to apply the salve. Her forearms had several bruises, and she had a few on her legs, as well. When she indicated a rather large bruise on the side of her thigh, though, Quin paused.

“That is a large bruise. Perhaps you would prefer to do it yourself,” he said softly, holding out the tin to her. 

Minerva nodded and put two fingers in the salve. She applied it in a circular motion, just as Quin had applied it to the other places. 

“It doesn’t feel the same as when you do it,” she said.

“The intent matters, Minerva, it helps the potion along to intend it to heal. ’Tis magic, you know,” he said with a smile.

“Perhaps I don’t care enough, or it doesn’t work as well when you apply it to yourself,” Minerva said.

“Any others?” Quin asked.

“There’s one on my left hip, but it’s not bad, and when I took my bath last night, I noticed a bruise under my left arm, on my rib cage,” she said. 

“Ah, well, I’ll leave the salve with you, now. You can get them later.”

Minerva nodded.

“Now for that headache. Would you like to lie down?” Quin asked.

Minerva lay down on her stomach and Quin arranged the pillows and her head so that she was comfortable. First removing her hairpins, he began by massaging her scalp, then working at the base of her skull. From there, he moved aside her dressing gown to reach her neck and her shoulders. She wasn’t as sore as she had been the first time, and Minerva sighed and relaxed as his fingers kneaded her muscles. Quin indicated that she should roll over, and when she did, and she looked up at him, he gently brushed her eyelids, closing her eyes, and he began to press and massage her forehead and her cheeks, then, lastly, her jaw muscles, which were still tight.

“Better?” he asked softly.

Minerva nodded, not saying anything, and she reached up and caressed his face. Quin parted his lips as though to speak, but did not.

“There is another bruise you might take care of for me,” Minerva said softly. She opened her dressing gown and indicated an area on her chest, just below her left shoulder.

“Your left side seems to have had the worst of it,” Quin observed, Summoning the small tin of salve. 

He moved aside the chemise just enough to apply the salve, using gentle circular motions of his fingertips. Minerva closed her eyes and sighed. She heard him put the lid back on the tin, and she opened her eyes again.

“I should go . . . let you take a nap now,” Quin said.

Minerva shook her head. “Please don’t . . . could you, would you put some on the other bruises? The one on my side is sore when I breathe.”

“Minerva . . .” Quin looked away, and he slowly took the lid from the salve again as Minerva opened her dressing gown. “Where?” he asked softly.

Minerva turned onto her right side and raised her chemise. She heard Quin’s intake of breath as he saw the bruise.

“Why didn’t you say somethin’ before?” he asked. “You may have a cracked rib.”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s just a bruise. When I was running, I tumbled into a ditch, but I didn’t stop, I just kept going. And that was after I had already picked up that thorn. It was as though I had gone mad, Quin. And now I feel as though I’m returning to myself, though painfully.”

Quin applied the salve to the bruise, then moved the dressing gown aside further. “Would you like me to do the other, now?”

“Yes, please,” Minerva said softly.

Rather than lower her knickers to access the bruise on her left hip, Quin pushed the fabric up from the leg, and when he couldn’t reach the entire bruise, he simply slipped his fingers beneath.

Minerva reached over and moved the waistband lower for him, and she could feel his hesitation before he resumed applying the salve.

“Minerva, I have to go,” he said softly.

She took his wrist. “Don’t. Not yet. Stay a while. Please.”

“Minerva . . .” 

Quin closed his eyes and let out a breath, but he removed his shoes and lay down beside her on his left side, one hand gently resting on her arm. Minerva moved closer and put her arm around him.

“I feel much better. The salve is very good. And my headache is gone,” she said.

“I am glad I was able to help.”

She rubbed his back with one hand, sighing against him and moving closer.

“Minerva, this isn’t a good idea right now.” Minerva could feel him swallow. 

“It’s nice though.”

“Too nice. I am only human,” he answered.

She looked up at him. His eyes were closed, but he had an expression on his face that she could not read. Minerva slid up and kissed him lightly.

“Thank you, Quin,” she breathed, before kissing him again.

He opened his eyes. “I should go now.” He shifted and pulled his arm away.

“Do you want to go? Or do you only think you should?” Minerva asked.

“I don’t think you understand, Minerva,” he answered.

“What? That you do like it when I do this?” she asked, kissing him again lightly and caressing his cheek.

“No . . . that I do like it, but that . . . we shouldn’t. I cannot take advantage of you. And . . .”

“You would not be. And what else is there?”

“Minerva, I have said before that I play the part of a flirt very well, but I don’t simply bed women every time the spirit – or something more corporeal – moves me,” Quin said.

“And that’s how you see this, just . . . ‘bedding’ me?” Minerva asked.

“O’ course not. It might even be easier if I did. Though it still wouldn’t be the right time for it,” he answered.

Minerva looked at him for a moment, then she kissed him again. “You don’t fly across the room when I do that,” she observed.

“Oh, Minerva . . .” Quin said with a groan. “Don’t you see – ”

His words were cut off by her lips on his, and as she kissed him, his hand crept back around her, and he pulled her to him. He deepened the kiss and rolled her onto her back, kissing her still. Minerva put one arm around him and brought her other hand between them and began to unbutton his shirt. Quin broke the kiss and buried his head in the pillow beside her, fighting to control his breathing. Her fingers found something suspended from a chain around his neck. A ring. Minerva caressed his cheek. 

“What is this?” she whispered.

“Me ring. Me weddin’ ring. Time to take it off, everyone said, for years. Finally, I did. But I couldn’t remove it completely, I couldn’t,” Quin answered.

“I see.” She put her arms around him and held him tightly. After a few moments, she said, “It wasn’t anyone else’s business how long you chose to wear it. No one should have said anything.”

She felt Quin shrug. Minerva held him there, her arms around him, rubbing his back lightly. Finally she turned her head and kissed his head. “What do you say to a nap now?” she said softly.

Quin nodded and rolled aside, off of her. “Sorry. Sorry if I hurt you, if I was too heavy.”

“No, no, not at all.” She tucked the ring back inside his shirt. “Let’s just rest here a while. I think I could sleep. I feel better now that you have tended to my bruises, and I think I will sleep.”

Quin nodded. He made a few gestures, moving the covers from where they were bunched beneath them and bringing them up to cover them. He rolled over on his back. 

“Hope you don’t mind. Can’t nap with braces on,” he said, looking embarrassed.

“Of course.” Minerva turned over onto her left side, away from him. She could feel him shrugging off his braces, and then his trousers. “It is good to be able to lie on my left side again without it hurting so much,” she said lightly.

“I’m glad you feel better,” Quin answered. He rolled back over and held her, her back to his chest. “Sleep now, love.” He kissed the back of her head. “Just sleep and dream pleasant dreams.”

When she woke up, Minerva was lying across Quin’s chest, and he was asleep. The rain had subsided to a mere pattering against the windows. Looking at Quin, watching him sleep, Minerva thought back on their first meeting, and how she hadn’t known what to think of him, this apparently wild Irishman, a heavy brogue coming and going as he tweaked the snobs at the dining table, and his humour and his honesty with her. She remembered his stiffness when he believed she thought he was a bad father, and when she practically accused him of being a thief, and she remembered, too, his quick forgiveness. Quin was a warm, open-hearted man, and he hadn’t let his own personal loss keep him from being so, nor had it kept him from being a good father or a successful businessman, though he had clearly been devastated by the untimely, violent death of his young, beloved wife.

Minerva brushed a lock of hair from his forehead.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said softly when his blue eyes opened and looked up at her. 

“’S’alright,” Quin answered with a barely stifled yawn. “Still rainin’, is it?”

“Yes, but not as hard.”

“Mmm.” Quin closed his eyes again. “Don’t usually nap durin’ the day, between work an’ the kids. Feels quite the luxury.”

Minerva lay back against him, placing her head on his chest again. “It does feel like a luxury today. I can barely remember the last time I woke up in someone’s arms.”

Quin chuckled. “My, your memory is sufferin’, then, Minerva, if this mornin’ is that removed from your mind – or it was so entirely unmemorable as to have already faded away!”

Minerva smiled. “No, you know what I mean. Other than here, with you.”

“Ah. Well, that’s reassurin’, now,” Quin said with a laugh. “As for me, ’twould have been with Gertrude, back when she was stayin’ after Aileen died, but we weren’t in bed. Poor witch was sittin’ up with me in the library one night, and I fell asleep on her. I doubt she slept a wink, herself. So that was the last time, unless you count when me kiddums climb into bed with me after a nightmare, or durin’ a thunderstorm. But that’s different.”

Minerva nodded. “It is.” She let out a breath and relaxed against him.

“How’re you feelin’?” Quin asked.

“Not too bad,” Minerva said. “Can’t you tell?”

“I can tell that you aren’t utterly miserable . . . but if I keep up talkin’ about it, you will be, no doubt.”

Minerva nodded. “If I can keep from thinking, it’s not as bad. Still . . . empty, but not as painful.”

“I wish I’d been there, wish I could understand it,” Quin said softly.

“There’s nothing to understand. Whatever I didn’t understand was made clear in his letter. He will never allow it to happen again. He didn’t intend it. I am in his care, and safe from him,” Minerva said, choking slightly at her last words.

Quin ran his fingers through her hair, but found no words of comfort for her.

Finally, Quin said, “What about some tea, now, love, and some of those biscuits?”

“Yes, that would be nice.”

Quin swung out of bed, pulled on his trousers quickly, then his shoes, as Minerva watched.

“I may make some eggs and toast, too, if you’d like some.”

“I am a little hungry, I suppose. I could eat an egg,” Minerva replied.

“Good, then. I’ll see you back downstairs.” He paused and bent over her, and for a moment, Minerva thought he was going to kiss her, but he straightened and said, “Your eye is much better. Don’t look like you were in a fist fight anymore!”

Minerva gave a half-smile. “Well, that’s a good thing, I would say.”

A few minutes later, Minerva walked into the kitchen, where Quin was busily frying eggs and sausages. She sat and watched him, protested the amount that he served her, and then ate it all, anyway.

Minerva poured them each a second cup of tea and said, “I don’t know what it is about your cooking, Quin, but I’ll think I won’t be able to eat a thing, and then I do.”

Quin smiled. “’Tis the smell of the food cookin’. Gets your appetite whetted.”

“Whatever it is, thank you, again, for feeding me.”

“Can’t let you go hungry!” Quin said with a laugh. “Now, what would you like to do tonight?” There’s a wireless programme I listen to sometimes in the evenings. A Muggle programme, but ’tis amusin’.”

They spent an hour in the library listening to the wireless programme, before Quin switched to the wizarding wireless to hear the news, Minerva once again struck by how effortlessly Quin seemed to move between the Muggle and wizarding worlds. Even when she had lived in London and had attended Muggle concerts and plays, those activities had required careful planning and seemed quite apart from her everyday life. For Quin, it all seemed of apiece, the Muggle and the magical. She could see why the Ministry found him disturbing. It quite upset their notions of how things should be, separating the wizarding world from that of the Muggles. Minerva thought that Quin posed little danger in creating a contagion of Muggle-loving, however; most wizards and witches, even Muggle-borns, she thought, would simply find it too taxing to move back and forth as readily as Quin did, remembering not to use magic or say the wrong things in front of Muggles. She wondered how Melina would fare, married to one. Melina already seemed to be assimilating into the Muggle world, almost alarmingly so, and she and Brennan weren’t even married yet. But some magic-Muggle marriages did work, and this one had a better chance than most, Minerva thought, since Brennan knew that Melina was a witch before he married her. So often, that was kept secret from the potential spouse until after the wedding, leading to all kinds of complications, particularly the sense that one had been lied to, betrayed, and married under false pretenses.

Remembering Melina’s approaching wedding, however, brought tears to Minerva’s eyes, as she thought of how she and Albus had planned to attend together. She couldn’t even imagine sitting with him, speaking to him in a social setting; she was certain that they would not be going to the wedding together now.

The news programme had ended, and now some innocuous music issued from the wizarding wireless. Quin was reading a peculiar pink-coloured newspaper when he looked over at her. 

“What is it, Minerva?”

“Just more foolishness,” Minerva said with a sigh, wiping her tears from her eyes. “We were planning to attend Melina’s wedding together. That won’t happen now.”

Quin put down his newspaper and came over to her. “It might still. You don’t know that. I keep thinkin’ there must be another explanation for what Albus said – ”

“You wouldn’t think that if you had seen the expression on his face, Quin.” Remembering that brought fresh tears, and Minerva turned her head away, covering her eyes.

Quin sat down beside her and put an arm around her.

“You must think me tremendously weak and foolish, the way I break down every other hour,” Minerva said.

“Not at all, Minerva. You have had a difficult time of it,” he said gently.

Minerva turned back towards him and leaned on him. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“You would be fine, Minerva, I am sure. You would hold yourself together when you had to,” he answered.

Minerva nodded. “I feel safe here with you.”

“And you are. Don’t feel you have to be any particular way with me.”

They sat like that for a while, then Quin waved his hand and turned off the wireless.

“Time for bed, I’m thinkin’,” he said softly.

Minerva nodded, and he walked her up to her bedroom. When they reached it, Minerva leaned against him and put her arms around him. 

“I’m not usually so clingy,” she said apologetically.

“Didn’t think you were,” Quin said. “Independent and feisty, that’s what I usually see. And you’ll be back to yourself, I’m sure.”

Minerva didn’t say anything, but thought that she would never be herself again, not after what had happened with Albus.

“So, more Horlicks tonight? Or would you prefer something else? I have chamomile tea,” Quin offered.

“If you’re having something, I’ll have the same thing,” Minerva answered, not wanting to put him to any trouble.

Quin kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be back in a bit, now.”

Minerva got ready for bed, and slipped between the sheets. Twenty minutes later, Quin returned, dressed in his pyjamas and bathrobe, a tray floating behind him.

“Tea tonight, chamomile,” Quin said as he sat down at the end of the bed. “You Transfigured the nightgown,” he observed.

“It was too heavy for August,” Minerva explained. “I would have been sweltering in it.”

Quin nodded.

Minerva sipped her tea. Finally, she asked, “Are you staying tonight?”

Quin was silent for a moment. “If you would like, Minerva, but I hadn’t planned to.”

“Oh.”

Minerva tried to make her tea last, and was disappointed when Quin finished his and sent the cup and tray back down to the kitchen. 

“You can just leave your cup on the bedside table,” he said. “I’ll take care of it in the morning.”

He stood, then bent to kiss Minerva’s cheek. She pulled him down to sit beside her and held him. Quin put one arm loosely about her. 

“Stay. Please,” she whispered.

He nodded, and when he agreed, Minerva kissed him. She felt as though life would flow back into her if she could just feel something other than the raw, aching emptiness within her. Quin returned her kiss, then broke off.

“I don’t know, Minerva – ”

“I do . . . I need you, Quin, I need you.” She rubbed his back, her hand moving down to his buttocks, the other hand reaching beneath his dressing gown and pyjama top to feel the warmth of his skin.

Quin kissed her forehead softly, lingering, then kissed her lips again. He caressed her and kissed her, gently kissing her throat, his fingers moving over her, down her body, then back up again. Minerva moved her hand lower, inching it down between them, and her heart beat faster as she found growing evidence of his desire for her. Quin passed his hand over her breast and moved down to kiss her through the thin nightgown, away from her caressing hand, then he reached beneath the sheet and stroked her leg, moving aside her nightgown as he did so. Minerva could feel the pounding of his pulse, and a thrill went through her; when his hand reached the top of her thigh, she felt his breath hitch. He paused, kissing her again, and lay his head down on her with a sigh, then, his hand still beneath her nightgown, he reached around and embraced her and held her close. 

“Minerva . . . Minerva,” he said softly, “if I were to continue . . . I could make love to you so easily, all night. I would kiss you and touch you and love you, and you would feel . . . and I would try to bring you pleasure, every pleasure, but I know that the pleasure of the moment would not bring you any happiness.” He sighed and raised his head to look at her. “Go a winter, and go a summer, come to me then, when you want me, me for myself, if you ever truly want me, and you will have me, Minerva. But . . . not today.”

“Quin – ”

“Shh . . .” He rose up and kissed her lips lightly. “I would do this for you, even knowing that we have no future, if I believed that it would truly help you. But I do not. And I would come to want you and yet not have you, not really, even if you tried to make something work between us.” He looked into her eyes. “I could fall in love with you so very easily, ma grande dame de la Metamorphosis, and yet I would risk it, and my heart, if it would bring you happiness, even if I were to later lose you. But I think you would only feel more empty and alone after.” He shook his head as he saw tears well in her eyes. “Do not cry, Minerva. Not for any reason to do with me.” 

Quin withdrew his arm from beneath the sheets and caressed her face, then kissed her forehead. “I will still stay, if you like.”

She shook her head wordlessly, eyes closed, but as he began to rise, she said, “No, wait. I . . . I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. You are the first witch since Aileen died who has stirred more in me than a vague appreciation. ’Tis good to feel somethin’ again, even if ’tisn’t meant to be any more than what it is now,” he said.

“Would it bother you to stay with me?” Minerva asked.

“’Twouldn’t trouble me,” Quin replied. 

“Then do, please, do stay.”

After he had settled beside her and the lights were out, Minerva said, “I do love you, Quin. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know; it isn’t in your nature to deliberately hurt someone, particularly not someone you care about,” he answered softly. “But you don’t love me as you do him, and nowhere near it, and never would.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be. Don’t be at all. Just sleep. Tomorrow is a new day. A new day.”

Minerva woke the next morning feeling better, if feeling numb could be considered an improvement over the pain of the previous two days. She got up without waking Quin and slipped into the small bathroom. She showered quickly, then dressed in her new robes. She felt they were a bit young for her, but they were pretty. First charming her shoes to match the pale yellow under robe, she then reentered the bedroom. Quin had rolled over and was now clutching another pillow in front of him. He seemed deeply asleep.

More comfortable in the house now, Minerva went down to the kitchen. After rummaging in the pantry and the kitchen, she started making a breakfast of omelettes and toast. She wished she had Quin’s skills in the kitchen and could make fresh scones or crumpets. But trying to figure out how to use his cooker was enough of a challenge first thing in the morning. She noticed the matches on the shelf near the cooker and assumed they were for Mrs Manning’s use, but she just used her wand to light the gas. Deciding that Quin would have to make his own coffee if he wanted it, she found some tea and brewed a large pot.

Quin shuffled into the kitchen, still wearing his pyjamas, his dressing gown on. 

“Thought you said you couldn’t cook,” he said, “but somethin’ smells good.”

“Good morning, Quin! I don’t make coffee, I’m afraid, so I left that to you. But we have omelettes with cheese and mushrooms, and I made tea, and there’s toast.”

“That’s lovely, Minerva. I’ll just have tea this mornin’, though.”

After breakfast, they spent the day much as they had the previous day, though with fewer tears and a few smiles that Quin managed to tease from her. Several owls arrived during the day, even one for her, from Poppy, filled with ordinary, everyday news, and a few hints that she and Murdoch were still seeing each other, though not daily anymore. Not a single owl from Albus, though. She considered writing him a note, but each time she picked up a pen, she had no idea what to write.

Finally, late in the afternoon, she decided on something short and professional. She couldn’t address what had happened between them or what he had said in his letter. If she were going to do that, it would have to be in person.

_“16 August 1957_

_“Dear Albus,_

_“I wanted to let you know that I have been staying with a friend and I hope you haven’t been worried about me. I will return the week before school begins, although if there is anything for which I am required before then, I will, of course, return earlier._

_“I hope you are well._

_“Yours,_

_“Minerva”_

She hesitated before addressing it, then she finally addressed it just to him without adding “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry” to it. Even though there was nothing personal in the letter, she didn’t want it deposited in his owl box, possibly to be opened by someone else, and if he weren’t at the school, he would still receive it. Quin cheerfully brought her letter in its Muggle envelope to Diagon Alley and owled it for her, explaining that he travelled too much to have an owl, particularly in the Muggle world, though his son and daughter each had their own owls that they kept with them wherever they were staying.

“I should leave soon, Quin,” she said when he returned from the errand. “I do appreciate all you’ve done, and I’ve been very comfortable here, but you have your work and your family. I know you have talked to the children, but that is not the same thing as seeing them, and Alroy will be leaving soon for Hogwarts. I’m sure you want to make the most of this time.”

“Where will you be goin’, now?”

“Home. To the McGonagall house. To my own family.” Minerva sighed. “I doubt I can hide how I feel from them, but at least I’m not crying at the drop of a hat now.”

And so that evening after a light supper, Minerva gave Quin a kiss and said good-bye.

Before she left, Quin said to her, “Don’t forget, Minerva, that you are a beautiful, talented, desirable witch, and any wizard would be fortunate to have your love. If Dumbledore loves you and he finds you attractive, he may still come to fall in love with you one day. Don’t lose all hope, Minerva.”

“I cannot hope, Quin. The hope that arose in me when I thought Albus was returning my kiss was irrevocably shattered when he rejected me and apologised for his behaviour. I have no more hope for anything at all,” she said. “And I am sorry if I have hurt you, Quin. You were concerned about taking advantage of me, but it was I who was taking advantage of you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t concern yourself with that, love. I knew what I was gettin’ into. And you are a fine witch and a good friend. I hope we will be friends for a long time to come.”

She kissed his cheek and gave him a squeeze, then Flooed through to the McGonagall library.


	118. Confronting Albus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see how Albus has been spending his time. He has a few visitors and a confrontation.
> 
> **Beginning of Part Eighteen.**
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Quin MacAirt, Gertrude Gamp, Malcolm MacGonagall, Egeria Egidius, Merwyn McGonagall, Wilspy, and Fawkes.

**PART EIGHTEEN  
**  
CXVIII: Confronting Albus

Albus sat slumped and sick, unthinking. He couldn’t get Minerva’s face from his mind, the tears in her eyes, tears that he had caused. This was precisely what he had been trying to avoid – not precisely, since he had always believed he would simply say something inappropriate, or perhaps hold her a bit too long for a friendly embrace, or that someday he wouldn’t restrain himself sufficiently and she might feel the evidence of his desire. He never dreamed he would actually kiss her as he had, let alone touch her inappropriately. He had very nearly molested her. Albus felt quite ill. He had always respected witches, their modesty, and their privacy, and he certainly wouldn’t dream of ever touching one against her will. He had felt so relieved that she hadn’t rejected his owl the previous day, nor had she instructed the Silent Knight to refuse him entry, that he simply hadn’t kept himself in check as he should have. And when she had kissed him so sweetly and he had returned her kiss, and then her lips were there, so tantalisingly close, he simply hadn’t restrained himself from kissing her. She hadn’t objected . . . she had felt so pleased that he had apologised that she had accepted his kisses. That alone would not have been so bad, if he had only stopped with that, but he hadn’t and his feelings had overwhelmed him in a most unbecoming way. He hoped that he would have stopped when he had regardless of his state of mind, but it was Minerva’s protest that had brought him back to himself. 

In his haste and his blind horror at his behaviour, his feet had carried him, by dint of years’ habit, to his former rooms in Gryffindor Tower, and that was where he sat now, in the dusty, near-empty rooms. He had to gather himself together. He had a school to run, he reminded himself, but he did not stir a muscle. Finally, he shook himself and blinked. An apology. Yet another apology, and to the one whom he loved beyond all others. He would not be surprised if Minerva did not forgive him this time. By virtue of their long acquaintance and her professionalism and commitment to the school, Albus did not doubt that Minerva would continue to serve Hogwarts – and him as Headmaster, as well – but they would never have the same degree of comfort between them.

Albus rummaged around the rooms until he found some parchment, an old quill, and some black ink in an unopened bottle. He wrote the best apology he could manage, considering that he was scarcely able to think, then he gathered himself together and went to the Owlery, hoping that he would not meet Minerva on the way. There was little likelihood of seeing anyone else, since the only other member of staff still at the school was Hagrid, and he never seemed to write any letters.

After sending off the letter, Albus stood for a while, looking out over the grounds, much as he had the morning before when he had seen Minerva returning to school. He wished he hadn’t seen her, or that he had simply been sensible and returned to his office until he had regained his senses. He never should have said what he had, and if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have committed this final offense. Minerva probably thought that he saw her as he had the women he had “entertained” as a young man, but nothing could be further from the truth. Albus turned and slowly headed back down out of the Owlery, then to his backstairs and to his suite. He didn’t leave his bedroom, but pushed off his shoes and lay down on top of his bed. 

Albus didn’t know how long he lay there when Wilspy popped in. 

“Afternoon nap, Professor?” Wilspy asked. “Nice holiday? No, not a nice holiday,” she said. A worried look crossed over the wizened elf’s face. “What is wrong, Master Albus?” she asked, patting his hand.

Albus shook his head. “Nothing that you can do anything about, my dear.” He looked at Wilspy, his companion of years, nurse of his childhood, and his eyes filled with tears. “Nothing anyone can do anything about.” 

Wilspy brought him his post regularly, and Albus sifted through it, always glad there was nothing requiring his immediate attention. He didn’t leave his suite, and barely left his room. On those few occasions when he did leave his bedroom, it was to go into his study and sit, quill in hand, and try to think of something to write to Minerva, but he could think of nothing to say, other than to beg her forgiveness again. But she had not responded to his first letter, and according to Wilspy, Blampa had reported that her mistress was not in the castle, having left unexpectedly on Wednesday afternoon.

She had left, evidently unable to bear the thought of being alone in the castle with him, she, who had once trusted him so. And Albus could not blame her.

And so Wednesday afternoon passed, and Thursday, as well. Phineas Nigellus came into his sitting room painting late Thursday afternoon to say that he had a Floo-call from the Ministry. Albus had shuffled down and spoken briefly with Philomena Yaxley, returned from her holiday, and learned that she would be continuing as Department Head. After she had pulled her head from his Floo, he had grumbled about people who didn’t know how to pick up a quill and owl someone any longer, and went back upstairs, where he closed himself into his study to gaze at the photographs of Minerva and wonder how she would greet him the next time they saw one another. She would likely not wish to see him alone any longer.

Wilspy brought him all of his favourite foods, and when they did not entice him, she finally insisted that he at least eat some chicken soup, and, as she stood over him, watching, he ate half a bowl of soup before protesting that he could eat no more. Friday morning, she woke him at his usual hour, though he had scarcely slept, his cup of tea floating at her elbow. He drank his tea, then rolled back over and tried to pretend he was asleep, but a half hour later, the persistent little elf was there with a tray holding a small pot of tea and a bowl of creamy porridge, and she stood on his bedside table watching until he had finished it all. 

“Now you shower, Master Albus. You shower, or Wilspy gives you a bath!” she threatened sternly.

And so he dragged himself from his bed and showered. He dried himself somewhat carelessly, then went back into his bedroom. He looked longingly at his bed, but he knew that returning to bed would just prolong his misery, so he opened his wardrobe to find something to wear for the day. Wilspy had apparently decided on what he should wear, however, and there was only one set of robes in his wardrobe, the robes that Minerva had given him. His bed looked even more enticing, but, feeling numb, he dressed in the starry robes and tried without success not to think of the lovely evening he had spent with Minerva, and how she had brought out a birthday cake for him, a cake with candles, and how he had wished for her love . . . tears came to his eyes and he blinked them away.

When Wilspy brought him his lunch, he asked her why she had taken all of his clothes, and she just looked at him and said that he had to wear happy robes and look nice for visitors. Albus didn’t bother protesting that he was having no visitors that day, and that the robes were no longer happy ones. He did, however, eat his entire lunch, much to Wilspy’s satisfaction.

“I’s very happy with you, Master Albus,” she said, nodding with approval at the empty plate and bowl. “Very good to eat all your lunch! Now time for work! Workie workie, no more holiday! Master Albus, you make yourself sick sitting here. I put your letters on your desk – in your office today, not in your study. Now go work, Professor!” With that, she Disapparated.

Albus sighed, but he agreed that he was doing no one any good at all hiding in his rooms, least of all, himself. He was pleased, though, that Fawkes was back, sleeping on his perch in the office. His afternoon was not as productive as usual, but there was something satisfying about trying to get himself organised again. And it was just as well, since at five-thirty, Gertrude and Malcolm arrived, Malcolm looking sunburned, but Gertrude simply glowing. 

“I’ve decided to take you up on your offer, Dumbledore,” Malcolm said with a grin. “But only if I can just do a one-year contract. I don’t think I can manage a longer commitment at this point. At least not for a job,” he added, casting a glance at Gertrude.

Albus agreed, and said it was perhaps most sensible to do a one-year contract, but that he needed a letter of application from him before they could finalise anything. Malcolm looked over at Gertrude, and when she nodded at him, he said he would have one ready for him on Monday. 

As Malcolm rose and shook his hand, he said, “Nice robes.” He looked him over. “Special occasion today?”

Albus shook his head. “House-elf.”

Malcolm looked at him, then looked down at Gertrude, then back at Albus. “Right. House-elf.” Turning back to Gertrude, he said, “Coming, Tru-love?”

Gertrude blushed and shook her head. “I have just a little business to discuss with Albus. I’ll be along shortly. I’ll meet you in the staff room.”

As soon as he was through the door, Gertrude looked at Albus and said, “What’s wrong, Albus?”

“Nothing. I’m pleased to see that you and Malcolm – ”

“What is wrong?” Gertrude asked insistently.

“Nothing.”

“Is it to do with Minerva?”

“Why would it have anything to do with Minerva?”

“It does, then . . . what did you do? Or what did she do?”

“She didn’t do anything.”

“So what did you do?” When he didn’t respond, she said, “I’ll just talk to her, in that case. Is she here?”

Albus shook his head.

“Then you tell me what has happened, Albus. You look like hell. Have you even been eating? Or sleeping?”

“Thank you very much, Gertrude. You certainly do have a flattering way about you. No wonder young McGonagall is taken with you,” Albus said. Immediately, he grimaced, and said, “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. But, no, I have not been sleeping well.”

“So what happened?” Gertrude asked again.

“Why do you presume it has anything to do with Minerva?”

“And who else? Hagrid? Johannes? Who else would affect you so?”

Albus looked away. “I just did something very foolish. She has left the castle . . . so as not to be alone here with me,” he said softly.

Gertrude looked perplexed. “She left . . . so she wouldn’t have to be here alone with you? That doesn’t sound like Minerva. I would have thought . . . well, the opposite, actually.”

Albus shook his head. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Albus, we’ve been friends for many years. We have shared so much, you can tell me about this, too.”

“Not now . . . I just did something of such monumental stupidity, I cannot even describe . . . but I can’t talk about it yet.”

Gertrude sighed. “All right. Then let’s just go down to dinner, shall we?”

Albus shook his head. “No, I’d rather not. The house-elves have been bringing Hagrid his meals, since I’ve been taking mine in my rooms. You might want to fetch him this evening. He’d appreciate the company, I’m sure.”

“Albus – ”

“I have work to do.” He stood to open the door for her. “I will see you tomorrow – if you are here? Then tomorrow at lunch.”

Gertrude gave up and left, telling him that if he didn’t come to lunch on Saturday, she would send Hagrid after him. 

Albus sighed and sat back down. Within minutes, Wilspy arrived with a plate of cold sliced chicken, carrot salad, and mashed potatoes with extra butter. 

“You needn’t watch me eat, Wilspy,” Albus said as the house-elf took up a spot on the corner of his desk. “Unless you wish to join me.”

Wilspy nodded and snapped her fingers. A plate containing the same array of foods appeared, floating in front of her, although her potatoes had considerably less butter on them. She sat cross-legged on the corner of the desk and the two ate in companionable silence.

“Your Professor Minerva will be home soon, Professor,” Wilspy remarked as she finished her carrot salad.

Albus’s knife skidded along the plate, and a gesture from Wilspy stopped his food from flying off it.

“Professor McGonagall is gone indefinitely, Wilspy,” Albus said. 

Wilspy didn’t respond, but continued eating her chicken before snapping her fingers and producing three bowls of fruit compote, a large one for Albus and two smaller ones for herself and Fawkes, who flew down from his perch to join them. Albus sighed. He was rarely not in the mood for dessert, but he didn’t think he could manage it that evening. Just as he was contemplating the fruit compote, a sturdy Post Owl flew in threw the window and, with a flourish, landed on the back of Albus’s chair and stuck out his leg.

A letter addressed directly to him, he saw immediately, in an envelope. Minerva’s hand-writing. He paid no attention as Wilspy Summoned owl treats and gave them to the bird. Minerva sending him a letter in an envelope, using a Muggle pen. She wasn’t at her parents’, then. He stared at the envelope, dreading its contents. If it held her resignation, what would he do?

“Letter from Professor’s Professor Minerva?” Wilspy asked.

“Yes.”

“You reads it through the envelope now?” the house-elf asked.

“Hmm? No, of course not.” 

Albus made a slight gesture, slitting the envelope open cleanly. He withdrew the paper. Nice paper, linen perhaps, but no indication of where she wrote it, no hotel mark, and she hadn’t given a return address of any sort. The letter was brief and to the point. She did not make mention of his own note, nor of the events between them. At least Minerva had still addressed him by his given name rather than more formally, and had signed it that way, as well. That was something. She would return to Hogwarts at the same time as the rest of the faculty unless called back earlier. 

Albus wished he could find a legitimate excuse to call her back earlier. He pushed his compote over to Fawkes, who trilled questioningly, but when no response was forthcoming, he happily started on his second bowl of the evening.

“From Professor’s Professor?” Wilspy asked.

“Yes. She will be gone from the school for a while.”

“Write to her. Tell her you is sad without her here. Professor’s Professor Minerva comes back home if you tell her you miss her.”

Albus shook his head. “No, she won’t. And she is not my Professor Minerva.”

“You is a silly, silly wizard,” Wilspy said, banishing the remains of their supper. “But we all loves you, don’t we, Fawkes?” she said, patting the large bird’s head before he tucked it beneath his wing and fell asleep, his stomach overwhelmed by the fruit feast. “Professor Minerva, too. You tell her to come back. She comes back, like that!” Wilspy snapped her fingers.

“I can’t, Wilspy.” He looked at her fondly. “But thank you, my dear.”

“You can, Master Albus. You be’s stubborn. You be’s always so stubborn.” Wilspy shook her head, sighed, and snapped her fingers again, this time, Disapparating.

* * *

Quin watched as the green glow faded from his fireplace. He wished he had been able to do more for Minerva. He had done all he could, perhaps even more than he should have, but that was water under the bridge. Still, there had to be something more. He went to his study and sat, staring at rows and columns of figures, but not seeing them. How could Albus have hurt her so? The wizard might be thoroughly Victorian, and perhaps it was gentlemanly on his part to take responsibility for what had happened, for what he had himself done, but to run away as he had and to allow Minerva to feel as though she had thrown herself at him like a – what was the word she had used? a harlot? – that was the worst thing he could have done. To make her feel as though her attentions were so unwanted that they were appalling, disgusting, common . . . it was hard for Quin to fathom that, and impossible to reconcile it with the image he had of Albus Dumbledore. He had always seemed courtly, and certainly kind, and most assuredly fond of Minerva. 

Dumbledore could have no notion of how he had affected Minerva. If he had been so horrified by his own behaviour, he likely was simply clueless about Minerva’s feelings, or had the wrong idea, somehow. If he knew how upset Minerva was, he would want to apologise differently, Quin was sure of it. Dumbledore couldn’t know how she had reacted, how she had run into the Forbidden Forest, endangering herself, and even causing herself injury. Quin had seen how Minerva had begun to look up whenever the post arrived, and he knew she hoped for a letter from Dumbledore, until she finally wrote one of her own. He hadn’t asked her what she had written, but he had seen that it was very short, and he doubted that it contained a word about anything that she felt at all.

Quin shook his head. Minerva might not speak to him again, but he had to do something. It was intolerable to know that she suffered still, and Dumbledore was sitting there in his Headmaster’s Tower, doin’ whatever headmasters do, with nary a thought to Minerva’s broken heart nor to her belief that their friendship had ended because of her own behaviour. He stood, determined. He would do something about, that he would. 

Quin went back downstairs, grabbing his short black cape along the way, took up a pinch of Floo-powder, tossed it in his fireplace, then stepped inside, pronouncing, “The Three Broomsticks.”

* * *

Her parents looked up as Minerva stepped out of the Floo and into the library. 

“Minerva, sweetness! What a surprise,” her mother said.

“What brings you home, Min?” Merwyn asked.

Minerva shook her head slightly. “I simply decided to spend what is left of my holiday at home.”

Her mother looked at her closely. “Are you feeling well, Minerva?”

She nodded. “I am fine.”

“You don’t look well, sweetheart . . . have you been ill?” Egeria asked, persisting in her concern.

“I said I am fine, Mother.”

“Have you had your dinner yet, Minerva? I am sure Fwisky could find something nice for you,” her father said.

“Yes. I had dinner, thanks. I think I’ll just go up to bed.”

“Already?” her mother asked. “It’s still early.”

“I am tired, that’s all. I’ll read in bed.”

“You go on up, sweetness. I’ll be up in a little while.” Egeria squinted at her. “I know you say you are perfectly well, but indulge your old mother. I would like to just make sure of that.”

Minerva sighed, resigned. “Fine, Mother.”

Twenty minutes later, Minerva was washed, had brushed out her hair, and had changed into her nightgown. She had been annoyed to see that the bruise on her left side, though faded and no longer nearly as sore as it had been, was still visible. Her mother would likely see that, even if she only did a diagnostic and didn’t make her undress. Who knew what else she might notice, Minerva thought with a sigh.

She put her dirty robes in the laundry, thinking that it would be nice to have her own clothes to wear, although she didn’t have very much there, and all of it was old. She would have to go shopping to find something to wear to Melina’s wedding. She had thought to wear her saffron and raspberry robes, but they were at the school.

Her mother knocked on the door. Reluctantly, Minerva called for her to enter. Egeria had her daughter sit on the edge of the bed, and she cast several diagnostic spells. When she was through, she sat down next to her and took her hand.

“Oh, sweetness, what happened to you?”

Minerva shook her head and said nothing.

“Did someone do something to you? I can see that you must have been a mass of bruises, and you even have a cracked rib that’s begun to heal on its own. Someone has been taking care of you, but whoever it was wasn’t a Healer.”

“I went to a friend. He helped me,” Minerva answered.

“To Albus?” Egeria asked.

Minerva shook her head and turned from her mother, willing her tears to stay away. 

“Here, let me take care of that rib for you, sweetheart. There just move your arm aside.”

Minerva felt a tingling as her mother’s spell cast healing over her ribs. She took a deep breath, then sighed. “I hadn’t realised. It seemed better before.”

“Mmm. Now that hand.”

Minerva held out her hand. Her mother looked at it. 

“I think it will do fine as it is. But what on earth did you do to it, sweetness? You had a deep cut, a puncture, well into the muscle. You are fortunate it wasn’t worse.”

“I was in my Animagus form. I . . . had a bit of an accident, and I got a thorn in my paw,” Minerva said.

“I see. And there is nothing else?” When Minerva shook her head, her mother persisted. “You are not at all yourself, Minerva. Your magic is wavering in a way I have never seen before, and you are also clearly quite melancholy.”

“I will be fine.”

“No doubt you will be, my sweetest girl, but you aren’t now.” Egeria sighed. “It is something to do with Albus, isn’t it?”

Minerva shrugged, and this time she couldn’t keep her tears back. When her mother put her arms around her, she began to sob, turning into her mother’s comforting embrace. Egeria just stroked her hair and her back and made soft, soothing sounds.

Finally, Minerva said, choking, “I’ve been a dreadful fool, Mother.”

Egeria kissed her hair. “If it’s love, then you haven’t been a fool. No one who loves is a fool. Or we all are. And it’s what makes us human, this foolishness.”

Minerva shook her head. “What could you know . . .”

“It’s all right to love him, Minerva,” her mother said softly.

Those words brought another bout of sobbing from Minerva, who had thought she hadn’t another tear left in her.

“Did you tell him? Is that it?” Egeria questioned gently.

“No . . . no, I didn’t even, I didn’t even – ” Minerva couldn’t continue.

Egeria lay back on the pillows, holding her youngest child in her arms, and tears came to her own eyes.

Finally, Minerva calmed down again, and she said, “I never even was able to tell him how I felt. I did try. I told him, on his birthday.” Minerva sniffed, and her mother gave her a handkerchief she’d had in readiness. “I should have learned from that. He said he was ‘fond’ of me, Mother. But no, I had to persist, reading every small gesture as though it had some great import.”

“His birthday was more than two weeks ago. What happened this week?”

Minerva shook her head. “It became very clear that he cares about me, but like a . . . a granddaughter. I thought it was more, but it wasn’t.”

“Oh, sweetness! He may not be able to tell you how he feels – ”

“He did,” Minerva interrupted. “He said that he never intended, well, that he didn’t – it is just too awful, Mother.”

Minerva rested in her mother’s arms, weeping softly.

“You know, Minerva,” Egeria said softly as she stroked her daughter’s hair, “Albus is from a different era than you are, different even from my own, and he was raised differently, and I can’t say that I know precisely what he feels for you, but I do know that he loves you. In many ways, he is a complicated and powerful wizard, and he has seen and done much, but at the end of the day, he is a simple wizard at heart, one who was raised with certain values and taboos. Perhaps you should simply accept that about him and remain his loyal friend, and, in time, he might come around. I believe that Albus does have very deep feelings for you, sweetness, but, out of decency and honour, he has suppressed them, and now he is having difficulty dealing with having you so close to him. Give him time, give yourself time.”

“I don’t know, Mother,” Minerva said dully. “I just can’t have any hope any longer.”

Egeria sighed and rocked Minerva in her arms, wishing she could have saved her from this pain and broken heart, that she could take it on herself and spare her daughter.

* * *

Not many miles from the McGonagall cliffs, a tall, dark-haired wizard stepped through the doors of the Three Broomsticks, looked up toward the Hogwarts castle, closed his eyes, and Disapparated. On arriving at the gates, he rang the Charmed bell. He didn’t have to wait long before Hagrid appeared.

“Hullo, there, Mr MacAirt,” Hagrid greeted him.

“‘Quin,’ ’tis ‘Quin’ t’ me friends. I’m here t’ see your Headmaster, Hagrid. ’Tis a matter of great importance.”

“I don’t rightly know if yeh can see ’im or not,” Hagrid answered as they walked up toward the castle.

“He’s not here?” Quin asked.

“I reckon ’e is, but I ain’t seen ’im today. ’Ere’s P’rfesser Gamp comin’ now. She’s talked to ’im.”

“Ta, Hagrid,” Quin said, then he loped off toward Gertie and Malcolm, who were just coming around from the other side of the castle.

“Malcolm,” Quin greeted the older wizard with a nod before turning to Gertrude. “Gertie, I need t’ speak t’ Dumbledore.”

“Do you? And on what matter at this time of day?” Gertie asked, eyebrow raised.

Quin looked over at Malcolm, then back at Gertrude. “’Tis a confidential one.”

Gertrude looked at him a moment then nodded briefly. She turned to Malcolm. “This shouldn’t take long. I’ll just show him in.”

Malcolm nodded, and the three went into the castle and up the stairs to the second floor. 

Gertrude looked up at Malcolm and smiled. “Wait for me?”

“Always,” Malcolm said softly, caressing Gertrude’s face with his gaze before turning and heading off to her rooms.

The other two walked in the other direction, toward the gargoyle. When they reached it, Gertrude turned and looked up at Quin, who seemed grim.

“Is this about Minerva?” Gertrude asked softly.

“And what do you know of it?” Quin asked.

Gertrude shook her head slightly. “He wouldn’t tell me what happened. I only know that she left the castle.”

“Mmm. I need to speak to him.”

Gertrude hesitated only a moment, then she gave the password, “Pixie sticks.” The gargoyle moved aside and the stairway opened before them. “Is she all right, Quin?”

“Could be better. She’s at home now, with her parents,” he answered. 

Gertrude nodded, Quin stepped onto the moving spiral stair, and she watched him as he began to disappear, the staircase corkscrewing upward, before the gargoyle again closed it off from her view. She hoped that Quin knew what he was doing. But Malcolm was waiting, and she turned and headed at a rapid pace toward her Gryffindor wizard.

As Quin rode the stairs up to the Headmaster’s office, he wondered what he could say to Dumbledore that would persuade him to contact Minerva and reassure her of their friendship. He still didn’t have a clear idea of what had happened between them, although Minerva was convinced that Albus must believe she had thrown herself at him and was disgusted with her as much as he was with himself. Quin couldn’t imagine that; Dumbledore might be old-fashioned and of a different era, but surely any wizard would be flattered to have Minerva express her attraction for him, even if he didn’t return the feelings, or was only reacting physically to her “propinquity.” What a word . . . Quin thought that had bothered her more than anything else Dumbledore had said, other than the suggestion that he considered her to be like a granddaughter.

Finally at the top of the stairs, he reached for the knocker, but before he could grasp it, the door opened to him. Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, dressed in the robes that he had helped Minerva pick out. Quin found that surprising, almost disturbing. Here was a wizard who had caused Minerva great grief, and he was sitting there happily in his tower, wearing the luxurious robes that Minerva had given him, as though nothing at all had changed. Quin felt his anger rising, but he fought it off. Dumbledore looked surprised.

“Quin! I hope you don’t mind if I say that I am surprised to see you,” Albus said. “Did you have a concern about the school?”

“No, not about the school. About a friend, a mutual friend,” Quin responded. He waited for Albus to respond, but the older wizard only gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. Quin came around and stood in front of the desk, but he did not sit. “I’m here about Minerva, Dumbledore.”

“She is not here,” Albus answered. “Gertrude is, however, if you would care to see her before you leave.”

Quin laughed shortly. “Gettin’ rid o’ me? That’s your thought, is it? I’m not goin’ until we have talked.” He stepped closer to the desk.

“Have a seat,” Albus said.

He ignored the invitation and looked over the other wizard. “Nice robes. Special occasion? Or just a sentimental choice?” Quin said evenly.

“My choice of attire is a peculiar, and inappropriate, topic of conversation,” Albus answered.

“I think it entirely appropriate, given the source of your attire.” At Albus’s raised eyebrows, Quin said, “Gift from Minerva, weren’t they? For your birthday?”

“What has this to do with anything?” Albus asked, rising and stepping around the desk. He wasn’t as tall as Quin, but he could draw upon his magic, and he appeared to loom over the man. 

Quin wasn’t flustered, though, and said, “Minerva, Dumbledore. Me visit is about Minerva, that fine witch.” He could feel Dumbledore’s magic rippling against him. The wizard was growing angry, or irritated, at least, and given the control that Quin believed the wizard had over his power and his emotions, this encouraged him rather than frightened him. “Minerva came to see me a few days ago.”

“Did she,” Albus said coolly, his voice not betraying any interest or even vague curiosity, let alone any concern at all.

“Would it interest you in the slightest to learn that she was in quite a state when she appeared on me doorstep?” Quin asked. “Or,” he continued as Albus stepped away from him and turned toward the window, “that she was greatly distressed? No . . . I see that it doesn’t interest you at all. And I imagine, then, that you would not be at all concerned to learn that your Transfiguration mistress, your friend of many years, was not merely distressed, but that she was injured?” At that, Albus’s head turned slightly, betraying his surprise.

“Injured?” Albus asked softly.

“I thought she’d been beat up, t’ be honest. And I wasn’t sure that ’twasn’t someone she knew who done it, if you take me meanin’,” Quin said. “Bruised all over, she was, and bloody. A right mess.”

“Is she all right?” Albus asked, worry finally evident in his tone.

“She will be, and she is better. But she came t’ me, Professor,” Quin said, following the Headmaster to the window. “She came t’ me because she felt she had nowhere else.”

Albus said nothing at first, then he asked, looking out the window and not at Quin, “What is it you want to say to me? That she left the castle on my account? I know that. And I regret it.”

“You _‘regret it’_?” Quin asked angrily. “Do you know what she believes? What she said t’ me? She said that you must think her a common harlot. And that wasn’t the least o’ the things she said. You may think that whatever apology you extended to her was sufficient, but it was not. It simply increased her distress, it did.” 

When Albus simply bent his head and didn’t respond, Quin took his arm and began to turn him, saying, “Are you listenin’ man? Wait! The devil!” Quin’s eyes grew round. “Dumbledore – you . . . you, oh, gods!” Quin gripped the Headmaster’s arm more tightly, staring at him. “Ya lyin’ son of a – ya didn’t mean any of it! Ya bleedin’ eejit! D’ya know what ya done t’ that poor girl? She t’inks she’s no better than a Knockturn Alley floozy in your eyes! She damn near killt herself t’rowin’ herself t’rough that Forest, and ’twas all a pack o’ lies! If I had me cup here, ’twouldn’t be split, ’twould be shattered! Ya love her, yer feckin’ _in love_ wit’ her, and ya made her believe ya were just reactin’ t’ her ‘propinquity’! _Propinquity!_ Could ya come up wit’ any other worse word fer sayin’ she meant nothin’ to ya?”

Quin let go of Albus with a shove. He was shaking, but trying to regain control of himself. “You have no idea, none . . . what you’ve done . . . what you drove her to,” Quin said, anger still in his voice. 

“It’s none of your affair,” Albus said hoarsely.

“None o’ me affair, is it? None o’ me affair? You most certainly are mistaken,” Quin said, softly, but fiercely, his anger rising again, “She is me friend, and she came t’ me, hurtin’. I t’ought . . . I t’ought ya just couldn’t understand, but now I see ya here, dressed in robes she gave ya, pretty as ya please, and I find ’tisn’t ya didn’t understand, but yer so caught up in yer own miserable feelin’s ya cannot see beyond yer own nose, ya daft man! And _that_ is whole-makin’ truth!”

Quin stepped away from Albus, looking at him as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but gathering himself together and regaining his composure. 

“I was always told that ‘Gryffindor’ meant ‘brave,’ an’ don’t tell me I’m wrong.” Quin shook his head and turned, going toward the door. He turned back. “I will tell you this, Dumbledore: you tell Minerva how you feel – and I mean all of it – or I will. And you can set your imagination to how that might sound. I give you one day. Twenty-four hours. Count ’em, Dumbledore.” Quin walked to the door, put his hand to the handle, then paused. “You are a great wizard and a greater man, Dumbledore. I ain’t denyin’ that. But you are a great fool, as well. Tell her. Or I do, an’ the devil take ya.”

Quin opened the door and left, closing it behind him with a gentle click. Albus sank into the nearest chair. He should have controlled himself more, taken his emotions in hand. The boy was a MacAirt, after all. Cormac Quinlivan MacAirt. His emotions were so close to the surface, as soon as Quin touched him, they must have started screaming at him. 

Albus sat. He had believed he felt miserable enough before, now he was in shock. He would have to tell her. Why would Minerva think that she was . . . what Quin had said? Whatever it was that Minerva felt or thought, though, Albus had no doubt that Quin would follow through and tell Minerva exactly what he had felt coming from him. And it would do no good to him to tell her himself after that event, and it would be worse to deny it. He couldn’t deny it. Denying it was what had brought him to such a pass, after all.

In the midst of his shock and his embarrassment, though, Albus felt a peculiar sense of relief. It would soon be over, this terrible state he was in. Minerva would know. Whether it would make her feel better about their relationship or worse, Albus had no idea. But at least she would no longer think of herself as a Knockturn Alley floozy. That was awful. And Quin had said she had injured herself. He wished he knew that she really was well. But Quin wouldn’t have left her if she weren’t. Or she was no longer with Quin.

Albus stood and made his way slowly up to his suite and into his study. He removed the photographs of Minerva from their drawer, then he pulled out the parchments that he had put in the drawer with them. Albus sat at the desk and began to write. The truth. The truth to mend the lies. Whatever else the letter might do, that much he had to accomplish. When he was through, he took one of the parchments he had taken from the drawer, wrote a note at the bottom of it, and rolled up his letter with that parchment. He sealed it with purple wax, then he called Wilspy.

“Yes, Professor?” Wilspy said, popping in.

“I have a letter here. It needs to be owled immediately.”

“To Professor’s Professor Minerva?”

Albus cringed at the appellation, but nodded.

“Then no owl,” Wilspy said with some determination, and the house-elf called for Fawkes. “We send your letter with Fawkes-the-phoenix. Professor’s Minerva gets it quick quick!”

“I – ” But Albus didn’t get any protest out of his mouth before Wilspy had told the phoenix to bring Professor’s letter to Professor’s Minerva, and Fawkes was off in a bright flash of flame.


	119. Love Unceasing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva receives Albus's letter and goes to see him.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Egeria Egidius, and Fawkes.

**CXIX: Love Unceasing**

Minerva sat up and blew her nose. “No, Mother. It is hopeless. I simply must face that.”

“Oh, sweetness . . . does Albus know, that is, when you go back –”

“It will be awkward. But he doesn’t know precisely how I feel. The impression he has is not a positive one, but at least I was only partially humiliated, not completely.” Minerva sighed deeply.

“He has been a friend for a long time, though,” Egeria said softly. “Surely everything will eventually return to normal.”

Minerva shook her head. “I don’t think that is possible. They can only become less uncomfortable.” She looked over at her mother. “Was I that obvious, though? That you guessed? Do you think he has?”

“It doesn’t appear that he has . . . I think you would be less distraught.” At Minerva’s expression, her mother hastened to add, “I just believe that he would have handled things with some sensitivity, that you wouldn’t be feeling humiliated. Let down, perhaps, if he did not share your feelings, but not as upset as you are.”

“Oh, yes, the kind, gentle rejection,” Minerva said bitterly. “I had thought that would be the nightmare. But this is worse, by far.”

“What happened?” 

“I just can’t talk about it,” Minerva said, wiping her eyes again. “But you didn’t answer my other question. Was I so obvious? I thought no one knew.”

Egeria shrugged. “I dare say it wouldn’t be obvious to most, but your father and I –”

“Dad knows?!” Minerva groaned. “Who else? Did you all sit about speculating about when I would come to my senses?”

“No, no, it wasn’t like that at all. I doubt your brothers have the faintest idea. It’s just that over the years –”

“Over the years? How long . . . ?”

“We just noticed things on occasion, that’s all, sweetness. When you came back from London that time, for example, after your friend was killed in the war.”

“But that was, that was a _long_ time ago!” Minerva protested.

“Yes, well,” Egeria said, not wanting to delve into when she and Merwyn had begun to believe that their daughter had a crush on her Transfiguration teacher. “In any event, we did think it might be a passing phase, something of that sort. Especially when you became involved with that apothecary in Heidelberg. But then you came home, and you didn’t seem to date at all. There seemed to be no wizards in your life other than Albus Dumbledore. You still mentioned him frequently in your letters home. That is one reason I was concerned about your taking the job at Hogwarts, sweetheart. I was worried that . . . that you were only there because of your feelings for Albus. And worried that you might have your heart broken. That is the reason I tried to get you out, seeing other wizards. I was hoping that you would be able to focus on something else, someone else, so that if this moment came, it wouldn’t be a crushing blow, as it has been.”

Minerva shook her head. “I tried, Mother. Especially early on, I tried . . . but it is incurable. Even now –” Minerva’s breath hitched. “Even now, I can’t help the way I feel, and no one else will do. I wish I could just be angry with him, but I can’t be. I never told you, but Rudolf asked me to marry him, and when he did, the very first thought in my head was of Albus, and of not seeing him. I think I will die loving him,” she said softly. “And be miserable until then, because it is impossible.”

“Have you considered leaving Hogwarts now? Getting away? Going back to the Ministry? Or even just doing your own work, your own research?”

Minerva shook her head. “I can’t do that; I have made a commitment to Hogwarts and to Albus. I can’t simply abandon it all. And Head of Gryffindor . . . that is not something lightly discarded, either.”

Egeria nodded. “I thought you would say that, but you might consider it, even if not in the immediate future, then later. There are other options in life, you know, sweetness.”

Minerva sighed and nodded. She opened her mouth to reply when there was a large flash, startling both witches.

“Fawkes!” Minerva cried, astounded by the bird’s sudden fiery appearance.

The phoenix landed on the bed beside Minerva and held out his leg, offering her a large rolled parchment. As soon as Minerva took it, Fawkes trilled happily, then disappeared in the same manner in which he had appeared.

“A phoenix!” Egeria said, having regained the power of speech.

“Albus’s phoenix, in fact,” Minerva said, looking at the scroll in her hand. She was apprehensive. There was clearly more than one parchment in the letter, if that was, indeed, what Fawkes had delivered. “I hadn’t known he used him as a messenger, though.”

“Are you going to open it?”

Minerva nodded. She broke the seal and unrolled the letter. She scanned it, then returned to the beginning and reread it. When she turned to the second sheet, she was trembling. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she had to wipe them away in order to finish reading.

“I have to go, Mother. I have to leave.” She stood.

“Minerva, wait –”

“I cannot wait. I have to leave now,” Minerva said urgently.

“Minerva, your nightgown may not be the best thing to be wearing if you are going to Apparate to the Hogwarts gates.”

Minerva looked down at herself, confused, then she tore the thin nightgown off, pulling it over her head. She opened her wardrobe, found some knickers, then a set of dark green robes, a bit heavy for that time of year, but Minerva wasn’t concerned with that. She didn’t bother with stockings, but shoved her feet into her slippers, grabbed the parchments, picked up her wand, then turned to her mother.

“Good bye, Mother!” And she Apparated to the Hogwarts gates.

As Minerva walked up the drive to the castle as quickly as she was able, wishing she had a broom with her, she tried not to think, but the words of Albus’s letter echoed in her head. The letter had been written with purple ink, likely the ink that she had given him weeks before.

_“Hogwarts  
“16 August 1957_

_“Dear Minerva,_

_“It is difficult for me to know what to say or where to begin. Please know that I never intended to hurt you, never, my dearest, rather to cut off my wand hand than to cause you pain._

_“My previous apology to you was incomplete and perhaps misleading. I apologise for having offended you with word or deed. Please know that nothing you did, other than be your warm, wonderful self, elicited my reaction to you, and it was horror at my own behaviour that brought about my apology and my subsequent departure from your presence. You did nothing, my dear, nothing that could offend me or cause me any grief._

_“In my previous letter, I said that a wizard’s physical reactions are not always in accord with his feelings. I said this in order that you might not feel uncomfortable in my presence and fear how I might behave toward you in the future. Those words, those infelicitous words, were not the full truth. The full truth is that my actions were in accord with my feelings. They were not the mere product of propinquity. I did forget myself for a moment, but I did not forget whom I was with._

_“I find it difficult to admit to you what my feelings are, not only because of embarrassment, but because words fail me. While you were at the Gamp Estate earlier in the summer, I found the parchments on which I had written my lists – do you remember the lists I made when I was trying to determine why you were angry with me? when you worried you did not have my respect? – as I wrote those lists, a silly bit of doggerel entered my head, a bit of whimsy, you might call it, and I penned them on the reverse side of one of the lists. Missing you later, I found them again, and that bit of foolishness, and I was moved to add to the few lines I had written the previous week. Perhaps if you were to read those lines, both the silly ones that I first wrote on that day that I discovered my neglect of you, and those expressing my feelings as I was missing your presence in the castle, you will understand what it is that I find so difficult to express to you otherwise. It is clumsy still, but perhaps it will reveal to you a reflection of a shadow of my feelings for you, my dear Minerva.”_

Minerva had turned to the second sheet of parchment, her heart hammering in her chest. She noted immediately that the first lines and the subsequent ones were written in two different colours of ink, and there was another note in purple at the bottom of the page. She read the words that Albus had penned weeks before.

The first lines were in bright blue ink:

_“How do I respect thee? May I count the ways?  
“Sweeter than any putrid potion,  
“More scintillating than Transfiguration class,  
“Of greater worth than any treaty,   
“Thus I respect thee.”_

The next lines were in deeper blue:

_“I respect thee as night respects the dawn, and day, the dusk.  
“Beyond twilight’s dim reach and unto the noon-day sun,  
“Thus do I respect thee.   
“How do I esteem thee? Shall I count the ways?  
“Unto heaven’s vast extent,   
“Far beyond the reach of phoenix’ flight,  
“Where no hoary mountain peak may grasp,  
“Beyond summer’s heat or winter’s rime,  
“Thus do I esteem thee.  
“I regard thee humbly,   
“As strength and will and hope,   
“Undulled by care of time   
“Or wear of woe, shine from thee._

_“I shall esteem thee more as life falls long,  
“As spark and breath, no longer strong,  
“Companion sun’s borrowed light,  
“Fading unto pale moon, and then to night.  
“Yet my regard for thee can but wax and grow,  
“An expanding passion to onward flow  
“And fill my heart, my mind, my soul,  
“With thoughts of thee and only thee again,   
“Turning once and always unto thee,   
“To find thee only ever there._

_“For thus I love thee, countless ways,  
“Far beyond death’s frail caul,  
“Unfettered by life’s scanty bonds,  
“Loving thee without beginning,  
“Loving thee without ending,  
“With all I am and have to give.  
“Thus do I love thee and thee alone,  
“My life, my hope, my dearest one._

_“I have loved and will love others, Minerva, but never as I love you. I cannot help myself. I know that our friendship must suffice, and so it will. But forgive me if I cannot always mask my feelings, for I am not always as strong as I wish; I find that I cannot bring myself to sacrifice what we do have simply by reason of what cannot be. Yet I will make that sacrifice, if you wish it, and I will not burden you with my grief at losing the friendship we have. Please forgive me for the hurt I caused you, but it was only an attempt to protect you from myself, and also, I admit, to protect myself from your inevitable rejection. _

_“Although your kindness may move you to show me compassion, please do not pity me, Minerva, or humour an old wizard. I could not bear it. Yet if, by some slim and barely conceivable chance, you should return these feelings in truth, then I will be the most fortunate of wizards, the most blessed of men, and I will hold you and love you, and treasure you and cherish you, for as long as you will permit me. Forgive me if my admissions embarrass or offend you, my dearest Minerva, but I needed to tell you, and perhaps you also needed to know, that what occurred between us, what I did, meant something to me beyond the physical, and that you are more precious to me than I can ever express._

_“I am sorry I have hurt you._

_“I love you._

_“Yours,_

_“Albus”_

Minerva pushed open the heavy oak door and entered the castle. She took the stairs two at a time, breathed the password to the gargoyle, then popped into her tabby form and raced up the moving spiral staircase. Reentering her ordinary form, she did not bother to knock, but opened the door to the office. It was empty, and she crossed to the brass stairs and trotted up them. She reached the door to his sitting room, and she knocked, but then opened it without pausing for a response.

Albus was standing in the centre of the room, completely still. The curtains were closed, and in the low lamplight, his robes shone and sparkled, but Minerva scarcely noticed his clothing. She held up the parchments.

“You wrote this,” she said.

Albus nodded, his face ashen.

Minerva took a step toward him. “Why? Why did you not tell me? Why did you instead say what you did?”

Albus swallowed. “I had no hope that you would, or could, accept it. I did not wish to burden you,” Albus said, his voice a near-whisper. “And I did not want your pity for an old fool, a wizard overreaching, entering his dotage . . .”

Minerva shook her head, confused, and tears swam in her eyes. “An old fool? The only foolishness was in not revealing the truth. And it was not yours alone.”

“Not . . . not mine alone?” he asked, uncertain what he was hearing.

“Not yours alone. Although I did try, but it seemed that every effort was met with ambiguity, at best, and rejection, at worst.” Tears flowed down her face. “I told you I love you. Why did you not believe me? Or what did you believe me to be saying? I tried, I did . . . I thought if you might be coming to feel the same, my own . . . my own vulnerability would allow you the occasion to tell me. At least to hint to me . . . and I would see a loving gesture, a romantic one, and would have no idea whether it meant what I thought it did or if it was the product of my own wishful thinking. And you kept turning from me . . . turning away, sometimes even acting as though you didn’t care about me at all.”

“You mean that you . . . you can’t mean that you welcome my feelings? That you . . .” Albus asked, his voice constricted.

“Why would you think that I wouldn’t?” She took another step toward him. “I don’t understand.”

Albus sighed. “I can see myself. I know that I am past my best years, that I have nothing to offer, that it would be unfair to attempt to sway you to feel anything for me beyond friendly affection, even if it weren’t pathetic enough to think I could court you, or any witch.”

Minerva felt as though her mouth was hanging open. “I must have lost your train of thought. It sounded as though you were saying you have nothing to offer and that, that you oughtn’t court any witch, let alone me.”

Albus nodded.

Minerva shook her head. “You _are_ a fool, then, Albus!” she chided gently. “How could you believe such a thing? Even if I were only shallow enough to look at you as the Headmaster of Hogwarts and hero of the wizarding world, that would be sufficient to give you legitimacy as a suitor. But I _know_ you, Albus. I know you and I love you, as I have said to you, as I have tried to show you. Why would you think that – I don’t understand. Why would I not welcome your attentions? . . . Is it your age?”

Albus had cringed inwardly when she had said that he was a fool, but her other words gave him heart. “Partly my age. Primarily my age, I suppose. And yours. I know that a vital young witch needs a vital wizard.”

“I know no wizard more vital than you are, Albus,” Minerva said, taking another step toward him. “And I love you. I am in love with you.”

“You are in love with me . . . ?” Albus whispered.

“Yes! That is what I have tried to tell you,” Minerva said urgently. “I love you, I adore you, I desire you, I want no other wizard. Though I have tried, nothing ever works because no other wizard is Albus Dumbledore. I love you, Albus.”

“Oh, Minerva,” Albus sighed. He closed his eyes, then opened them. He stepped closer to her. “You are not saying this only because you don’t wish to hurt me? Out of pity? Or compassion?”

“Oh, really, Albus . . . you know me! I may have compassion, and compassion to spare for you, but do you really, truly believe that I would say that I love you, that I want you and only you, simply out of some sense of pity?” Minerva asked sadly.

“I love you, Minerva,” Albus breathed, and it seemed to Minerva that the colour returned to his cheeks with those words, and as though the stars on his robes shone more brightly. He smiled in his relief and joy. “I love you, Minerva.”

He came to her and put his arms around her. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you forever, my dearest Minerva.”

She held onto him, and it felt as though she was melting into him, as though she was whole now in a way she never had been before. 

“And I love you, Albus Dumbledore. I love you, and you will find me difficult to be rid of now, so I hope you don’t think you are going to start playing hard-to-get again,” she said, smiling.

“I am right here,” Albus said with an answering smile, “very easy to get, my dear, here for you always, for as long as you want me.”

Minerva pulled back a little and looked up into his face. Although he looked better than he had when she entered the room, there were dark circles beneath his eyes.

“I see that you have not been taking very good care of yourself while I’ve been away.” She reached up and caressed his face. “Whatever will I do with you, Albus?”

There was a slight smile on Albus’s lips, and he whispered, “Perhaps kiss me?”

Eyes half-closed, Minerva reached up, pulling Albus down to her, and she kissed his lips lightly, feather touch of lip on lip, but she did not stop, kissing him softly several times, pleased when his arms held her closer as she kissed him. He returned her kisses gently until finally Minerva leaned against him and caught her breath.

“You know, Albus, I do enjoy your kisses, and you may kiss me more.” She looked up at him. “I never would have taken you for a shy wizard,” she said gently, caressing his cheek.

“I don’t want to push you, or rush you, my dear,” Albus answered, his voice low.

Minerva grinned at that. “I think I would rather enjoy it if you were to rush me. I doubt you could be fast enough, in fact.”

“I want you to be sure . . .”

“I am sure, Albus, very, very sure,” Minerva said before she kissed him again, this time, after kissing him gently as she had before, she took his lower lip between her own, and with a slight moan, she sucked it and ran her tongue over it. His answering moan encouraged her, and she deepened the kiss.

Albus finally broke away, gasping. He kissed her cheeks and her forehead, catching his breath between kisses. 

“I love you, dearest Minerva, and I am serious when I say that I do not wish to rush you. I want to be certain that you are certain.” He looked into her eyes. “Do you understand?” he asked softly.

Minerva kissed him lightly. “Not entirely, but I am content.” She looked up at him, smiling. “More than content, in fact. I think I will actually sleep well tonight. And you look as though you could use some sleep, too, Albus.” She caressed his face and the dark circles beneath his eyes.

“Yes, I think I will sleep tonight.” He kissed her forehead. “But I don’t want to let go of you yet.”

“You don’t need to let go, Albus.”

“Then let’s sit down for a while, hmm?” Albus suggested, leading her over to the sofa.

Minerva curled up next to him, relaxing into his embrace, sighing in pleasure as he kissed the top of her head. 

“I thought I had lost you completely,” Albus whispered after a few minutes.

“I was certain I had lost you,” Minerva said softly. “I felt as though a part of me was dying.”

“Are you all right?” Albus asked seriously. “Are you . . . well?”

Minerva laughed happily. “I am perfect. I don’t believe I have ever been this well in my entire life.” She sighed deeply. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t sent that letter. I could scarcely believe my eyes. And when I read your beautiful poem – no, it is beautiful, Albus! – in my haste, I almost Apparated here in my nightgown. Fortunately, my mother stopped me,” she said with a laugh, “but I will have to owl her in the morning, let her know that I am all right. I did leave rather hastily after having made an equally unexpected appearance in the library this evening.”

Albus kissed the side of her head. “You arrived and then left . . . yes, I am sure your parents will be wondering where you are.”

“Mother knows. She knows why I was upset and she knows where I went,” Minerva said.

“She knows?” Minerva could feel Albus shift uncomfortably.

Minerva nodded. “She was very understanding.”

“Egeria must be upset . . .”

“She was unhappy that I was unhappy, but I’m not unhappy now.” Minerva turned her head to look up at him, smiling, and she kissed his cheek. “Definitely not unhappy.”

“She must be angry with me,” Albus said softly.

“No . . . she doesn’t know exactly how you feel, of course, but she was convinced that you wouldn’t deliberately hurt me.”

Albus was silent for a minute, then he said, “I didn’t mean that, precisely. I meant . . . for hurting you, of course, but also . . . because of the way you feel. That I . . . they cannot be pleased with the thought of you . . . of you with me.”

“What? Why? I understand your worry, I suppose, but I had the impression that Mother thought it was fine. Or would be, if you returned my feelings. They both like you. And, well, this is embarrassing, but they had some suspicions about how I felt about you. They have for some time, apparently.”

Albus was quiet. Minerva said, “Something is wrong. What is it?”

“I doubt that I would be the first choice of a wizard to court their daughter,” Albus said softly.

“I don’t think that my parents have ever believed that they had any choice in what wizard I chose – is that what you are doing? Courting me?” Minerva asked with a smile.

“If you will allow me . . .” Albus whispered.

Minerva looked up at him with a wicked grin. “Allow it? Now that I know how you feel, I insist upon it!”

Albus couldn’t help but smile in response. “I suppose I have no choice then! I don’t want to stir your McGonagall ire!” 

Minerva laughed. “No, you don’t! I think the only one of us who doesn’t have it is Morgan. He takes after the Parnovons, I think. Always wanting peace and tranquillity, no strife, just . . . maintain an even keel, that’s their motto. And Mother, I think, is typical of her Egidius relatives. Cold steel. You might not even know she is angry, and then suddenly, there she is, still cool as can be, but, oh, my! You wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of her tongue – or her wand! The rest of us, though – a hot temper, but quick to forgive, as well.”

“Your father, too?” Albus asked, thinking of the scholarly wizard and trying to envision him in a rage. It was an incongruous image.

“Oh, yes.” Minerva nodded. “It does take a lot to rile him, but when he is, there’s no reasoning with him. He cools off quickly, though. Malcolm is the only one to . . . not to hold a grudge, precisely, but his anger doesn’t burn out as quickly.” 

“Perhaps I should warn Gertrude about that,” Albus said with a smile.

“So you know about them, then,” Minerva said.

“Rather difficult to see them together and not notice something, but she did tell me that she and your brother are friends.” Albus smiled. “More than friends.”

“Good. It would be awkward to talk about them with you, otherwise.” Minerva looked up at him curiously. “What did you think when you found out?”

“I was surprised at the rapidity with which they apparently entered the relationship, and its extent, but I think they are actually well-suited, although I hope that your brother doesn’t hurt her. Or she, him, of course,” Albus added.

Minerva nodded. “I had the same concern. But I am happy for them. And I never would have paired them together in my mind, but seeing them together, they seem to be natural . . . they seem a unit, somehow.” She grinned. “And now that I am so happy, I want everyone else to join my happiness. Love all around, please!”

Albus smiled at her warmly. “I am very glad you are happy. And I am very glad that it is being with me that makes you so.”

“Come to think of it, I may not sleep a wink tonight, after all,” Minerva said, her brow knit.

“Why?” asked Albus with sudden concern.

“Fear that I will wake up and this will have been a dream, that it never happened, or that you will change your mind or your feelings, or something, and that peculiar doppelganger will appear in the morning, the one who looks like Albus, but who doesn’t sound or act like him.” Minerva nodded in mock seriousness. “Yes, I believe I shall have to remain awake to ensure that the Albus-doppelganger doesn’t make an appearance and break my heart.”

Albus kissed her forehead. “He is gone for good, Minerva. Never to return. Your kisses have driven him completely away.”

“Hmmm, perhaps I ought to repeat the treatment, just to make sure,” Minerva said, smiling.

Albus bent his head and kissed her. When they finally broke their kiss, Minerva took a breath, sighed happily, then said, “So, do you think that we should continue those treatments? Indefinitely? It may be a challenge, but one that I am perfectly ready to accept. As a preventive measure, perhaps?”

“I shall demand that you do – if I may be so bold!”

“Please, be bold, Albus. Very bold.” She pulled his head down and kissed him again, turning in his arms to embrace him, lying across his lap. 

“I love you, Albus, I love you so very much,” Minerva whispered as he moved to kiss her throat. 

She sighed and laced her fingers through his hair. Albus moved up and kissed the side of her neck then moved to her ear. She moaned his name as he kissed her ear then whispered, “My love, my dearest love . . .”

He kissed her again, combing his fingers through her hair, then he kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips. Albus held her close, his breathing ragged.

“Don’t stop, please, Albus, don’t stop,” Minerva whispered.

Albus kissed her temple, then said softly. “I am not stopping . . . merely . . . pausing. For a while. I treasure you, Minerva. I wish to court you as you deserve. And I need to be sure that you are certain. And that . . . that the reality of it does not change your feelings.”

Minerva lay back in his arms and looked up at him. “You may court me as you wish and still . . . continue.”

Albus closed his eyes and kissed her forehead. “I need to give you time. I need to . . . I need to take time and know.”

Minerva sat up slightly. “You don’t believe me?” she asked, pain in her voice. “You don’t believe . . . how, why?”

“I do believe you. I believe your feelings are as you say.” Albus caressed her gently, her forehead, her cheek, her throat, her shoulder, her arm, then taking her hand and lifting it to kiss her fingers, one at a time. “And I will court you, and my love for you will never fade. But –”

“But? But what?”

Albus sighed and looked away.

“Is it . . . physical?” Minerva asked hesitantly. “If it is, we can . . . talk about it. And . . . that isn’t why I love you.” She rubbed his back, trying to think of the right words. “If you like, we could see a Healer –”

Albus chuckled unexpectedly. “No, no, it isn’t that kind of physical problem, my dear.” He hesitated, then said, some embarrassment in his voice, “It is not a functional difficulty. It is simply my . . . self.”

Minerva looked at him again, puzzled. “I don’t understand. Yourself? You haven’t taken some . . . vow, or something of that sort, have you?” 

“No, not precisely . . . but I will not use you.”

“Albus, you could not use me – not in the way you are implying.” Minerva sat up beside him and touched his face. “Unless, of course, we are speaking of different things.”

“I don’t want you to feel . . . obligated in the future, or now, simply because you care for me.”

“First, I don’t simply ‘care for you,’ I love you, Albus. And I still don’t understand.” Minerva was truly confused.

“You are happy now,” Albus said, avoiding her eyes, “but it may be the first flush of your happiness that brings you to . . . to accept my touch. I do not wish to overextend your good will toward me.”

This time, it was Minerva who laughed, though not long. “My ‘good will’ toward you? That is a most peculiar way of putting it, Albus! I love you. I adore you. I desire you. Accept your touch?” Minerva raised his hand to her mouth, kissing his palm then each of his fingertips, her eyes half-closed, then, sighing, holding his hand to her cheek, she said, “I long for your touch, Albus.” She looked into his eyes. She blushed, but continued, whispering, “I long for your touch . . . everywhere.”

Minerva saw Albus’s eyes darken as his pupils dilated. She said, “I hope you don’t think . . . that there is something wrong with that, or my saying it.”

Albus cleared his throat. “No.” He shook his head. “No, but . . . but I look at you, and I see such beauty, such youth, such vibrancy, and . . . you have to understand, I believe what you say, but I also know that I am far from being an attractive, vital, young wizard –”

Minerva interrupted him. “You are attractive and you are vital. As for being young, that you are not young is hardly news to me, Albus. I am in love with you. Who you are now and everything that you have become over the course of your life.” She looked at him, tracing his features with her finger and her eye. “You are so utterly attractive, it astounds me that you could believe otherwise. I know you to be modest, but this . . . this is beyond modesty.”

“I just . . . I . . . do you mind terribly if we just enjoy this time together right now? Could we talk about this later?” he asked, a pained expression on his face. He said softly, “I don’t want to avoid speaking about it altogether, I don’t think we _could_ do that, but it is such a relief, I am so glad to have you here, to know that I can love you, that I can say it to you . . . I love you, Minerva . . .”

Minerva nodded and kissed him softly. “Hold me, Albus. Hold me.”

Minerva rested in his arms, holding him herself, one hand rubbing his chest and shoulder, reassuring herself of his solidity, his presence, his reality. She watched as the stars twinkled in response to her passing touch.

“You are wearing the robes I gave you. Did you put them on thinking I would return tonight, hoping I would?” she asked.

“Alas, no. I wish I had. But I admit that I did not dare have any hope that you would accept my feelings, or even forgive me for my behaviour. No, I am wearing these because Wilspy insisted. She left me no robes but these this morning, and I was so . . . so very unhappy, I just put them on without protest. It actually made me feel worse, remembering that happy evening, remembering the cake, and my wish . . .”

“What did you wish? Oh, wait, they say it’s bad luck to reveal your wish. It might not come true,” she said with a teasing smile.

Albus smiled at her. “It already has. It already had. I just didn’t know it.” He kissed her forehead softly and whispered, “I wished that you would love me.”

“Yes, that wish came true a very long time ago,” Minerva said quietly.

“A long time ago?”

Minerva shrugged. “It didn’t suddenly happen this summer,” she said noncommittally. “But I saw you as unattainable and any wish for the future as unrealistic and impossible.”

“I feel now as though I have always been in love with you, Minerva . . . as you are now, of course, not, um . . .”

“I know what you mean,” Minerva said. “You needn’t explain. I could never not love you, never not fall in love with you. If ever I hadn’t met you, I would have spent my life looking for you, seeking you, and only you, and no one else would have ever suited me, and I would search until I found you, and if I did not, I would die knowing that I had not found you and I would seek you in the beyond, never ceasing until I found you.”

Albus’s eyes filled with tears and he held her close. As his tears overflowed, he whispered, “My love, my remarkable, most wonderful . . . my dearest Minerva.” He swallowed, trying to stop his tears. “I love you more than I imagined it possible to love one person. And I will do all I can to keep you and protect you, to protect your feelings, your life, your well-being.”

Minerva kissed him and he responded. The kiss grew in passion, and Minerva held him more tightly, her fists gripping his robes, trying to pull him closer; she caressed his face, his shoulder, his chest. She moaned and gasped. Albus kissed her cheek and held her to him, murmuring of his love and running his hand over her side and back up to her breast, where he paused.

“Albus . . . please, Albus, please . . .”

Albus gently caressed her. “My sweet darling, my dearest . . .” 

Caressing her still, he placed light kisses over her face, then kissed her throat several times softly, and Minerva moaned again. Albus, his breathing ragged, pulled her against him once more, cradling her to his chest, and Minerva tried to catch her own breath.

They sat together like that for a few minutes, then Albus drew back and looked at her. “I believe you are falling asleep, my dear. Perhaps it is time for me to walk you to your rooms.”

“No, please, Albus, not yet . . . I can’t leave you yet,” Minerva said pleadingly.

“All right, then, not yet . . . not yet.”

He held her, running his fingers through her hair, watching her face as his own eyes grew heavy. When Minerva’s breathing became soft and regular, Albus kissed her forehead and watched her a while longer. When finally he was unable to stay awake himself, he drew out his wand and cast a spell on the couch, enlarging it so the he could lie back fully with Minerva in his arms, his legs stretched out comfortably, then he Summoned a light blanket from the bedroom and covered them both. He rested his head on a cushion, and she rested across him, and they slept until long after dawn, dreaming of love, and of each other, which was the same thing.


	120. The Morning Beyond Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Albus spend their morning together.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore.

**CXX: The Morning Beyond Never**

Minerva woke to a sensation of utter peace and contentment before she was even conscious of what she was feeling. She took a moment to stretch and luxuriate in her growing awareness of Albus beside her. As she woke, she smiled at the thought that it did not even seem surprising to wake up in his arms, but natural and right. She hoped it was an event that would be repeated thousands of mornings. 

She turned slightly, opening her eyes to look at him. He slept still, and Minerva smiled happily. How wonderful to be here with him, to wake and see him, to see his face as he slept beside her. She gently brushed some stray hair back from his face. She wondered whether Albus normally did something to his hair before he slept. He had mentioned a Muggle hairnet once. She hoped that was not his choice for controlling his hair at night. She often braided hers before going to bed, though she knew a charm or two, as well. Smiling in amusement as she imagined braiding his hair like that of some ancient Viking, Minerva moved up a bit and kissed his forehead.

Albus let out a sigh, then stirred. Minerva kissed his cheek, then lay back beside him again. Bright blue eyes looked at her, and a smile instantly lit his face.

“Good morning, Minerva.” He raised a hand and caressed her cheek. “Better than any dream is waking here to see you. And you are real.”

“I know. That is how I felt when I woke and sensed you there, and then felt your arm around me. But it was not at all surprising, strangely enough. It was as though I knew the whole time I slept that you were there with me, and when I woke, it was natural that you were here still, holding me.” Minerva sighed happily.

Albus leaned toward her. “And not the doppelganger, either,” he whispered. “But I think I need a good-morning kiss to ensure he stays away.”

Minerva kissed him lightly on the lips, then as he returned her kiss, she felt a tingle of magic and a fresh, minty feeling swept through her mouth. She couldn’t help but laugh, breaking the kiss.

“What was that?” she asked.

“That was a good-morning kiss, my dear,” Albus said with a twinkle. “Don’t tell me that you have never received a proper good-morning kiss before?”

Minerva laughed again, then kissed him, much less shyly than she had the first time. As their kiss continued, becoming first languidly sensual and then hotly passionate, Minerva lay across him, rolling him fully onto his back. As she moved over him, placing one leg beside him, bent at the knee, and the other stretched long between his, Minerva could feel clear evidence of his arousal, and she shifted her weight to press against him. 

Albus broke the kiss and held her tightly, his eyes closed. “This is a wonderful way to wake up in the morning,” he whispered. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then kissed her temple. “And now there is tea waiting for us, I believe.”

“Tea?” Minerva asked. She pushed herself up and looked down at Albus. “You prefer tea to this?” She kissed him sensually.

“Mmmm, no, not at all . . .” Albus looked up into her eyes. “But we both need our morning tea, my dear. And as I said last night, I treasure you and I wish to court you properly. And . . . I do not know how to put this well. I love you, Minerva, I love you so much that words fail me, and I want to show you my love in every way that I can, but we need . . . I need to be certain at every step that . . .” He looked away a moment, then returned his gaze to meet Minerva’s and whispered, “I don’t know . . . if you ever were to shy away from my touch . . . I would rather know it before that could happen.”

“I am trying to understand, Albus. And I do appreciate and respect your desire to . . . court me. And if you wish to, um, avoid certain temptations because of that desire, I will abide by your wishes – as long as it’s that. But it also sounds as though you are afraid that I will reject you. I assure you, unless doppelganger Albus returns, that will not happen. I will try to understand, though, and be patient.” Minerva kissed him gently, then settled against him and closed her eyes with a sigh. “I feel as though I could lie in your arms forever.”

“And I could hold you forever. In spirit, at least, but we do have tea waiting for us. Wilspy must have brought it while we slept. And, although I hate to disturb the moment, the loo is calling, as well!”

“As long as you return and forever continues, I suppose I can let you up for a short while,” Minerva said teasingly.

“I promise. Besides, I do want my tea!” he added with a chuckle.

When he returned from his trip, Minerva was sitting on the restored sofa drinking her tea, the blanket folded beside her.

“Whatever happened to ‘forever continuing’?” Albus asked with a smile. “I leave the room and return to find you have Transfigured the sofa back.”

Minerva smiled up at him. “Don’t think this excuses you from holding me longer, Albus, although I suppose you may keep one hand free to hold your teacup! But, practically speaking, it is easier to drink our tea sitting up, and, I must confess, I am also rather hungry. And I will need to use your facilities soon, too.”

Albus sat beside her, one hand free to hold his teacup, as promised.

“I wonder what Wilspy thought when she saw the two of us here,” Minerva said.

Albus shrugged. “She told me repeatedly that I should write you. Just yesterday after we had our dinner, Wilspy told me I should write and tell you that I was sad without you, and you would be here ‘quick quick.’ She must have known something. She was surely unsurprised by your presence when she saw you here.”

“Is that why you wrote me?” Minerva asked.

Albus shook his head and set down his teacup so that he could put both arms around her. “No,” he said softly, “though I wish it were. I had another visitor yesterday evening. Your friend Quin – perhaps I should amend that to ‘our friend Quin.’”

Minerva tried to keep herself from betraying any emotion. Indeed, she was unsure what she felt at that news. “And what did he say?” she asked carefully.

“Among other things, he told me that I was a fool and I should tell you the truth. He also told me something that disturbed me greatly, and I was as relieved as I could be when I saw you walk into the sitting room last night, whole and uninjured,” Albus said quietly. “He said that you had gone to him when you left here, and that you had arrived injured.” He blinked back tears. “I cannot express how very sorry I am, Minerva . . . I wish that I had been less blind, that even if I were so blind, that I had nonetheless done things differently.” He couldn’t hold his tears back any longer, and they spilled freely to his cheeks.

Minerva wiped his tears. “I’m all right now, Albus. And we are together, and you wrote me the most beautiful letter and poem –”

“But I caused you harm, Minerva, just the opposite of what I wished to do.” He looked at her. “Are you really quite well?”

Minerva nodded. “Yes, I am fine. Quin took very good care of me. He was extremely kind. And what we hadn’t dealt with, my mother took care of when she saw me yesterday evening. So I am perfectly well.”

“How did you hurt yourself? Quin said that when he first saw you, he thought you had been beaten.” Tears flowed from his eyes again. “I am sorry, my dear,” he said, clearing his throat and wiping at his face. “It’s just the thought of that, and then to know I was responsible for it . . . and I am still not as well-rested as I might be.”

“It’s all right, Albus,” Minerva said, kissing his salty tears. “But I am fine now, just remember that.”

“How, though? How did you come to be so injured?”

“I was very foolish, Albus. I was very upset after I received your apology that afternoon. I didn’t think I could bear to be still one moment longer, and I ran out in my Animagus form. I just ran and ran, paying no attention to where I was or where I was headed. I ran deep into the Forbidden Forest. In addition to the underbrush slapping and scraping against me, I got a thorn lodged in my left front paw, then I tumbled down into a ditch, narrowly avoiding landing in a stream, but picked myself up and just kept running. I wasn’t badly injured, though I must have been quite a sight when I arrived on Quin’s doorstep, covered in dirt, blood from my hand on my clothes, and a black eye. I had bruises on every limb and over my entire left side, it seemed, probably from sliding into the brook. But I ran and just kept running, exhausting myself. And then . . .” Minerva hesitated.

“And then?” Albus asked, his voice tight and constricted with emotion.

“I fell asleep. Don’t tell me how completely mad that was; I am very well aware of that. And if I weren’t aware of it on my own, the visit from two centaurs certainly convinced me.”

“Centaurs? Who? Which ones?”

Minerva shook her head. “I don’t know. I am unacquainted with any of the centaurs, so even if I had seen them, I wouldn’t have recognised them, but I only heard their voices as it was. It was a father and son, I believe. They had a bit of a conversation about me – they recognised somehow that I wasn’t really a cat, though that surprised me – and they decided that they would make sure nothing ate me, but that if I didn’t wake soon and leave on my own, they would give me a good scare.” Minerva looked up at Albus. “Just hearing their conversation was frightening.”

Albus sighed and held her more tightly, then suddenly relaxed his embrace. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No, I am fine now, Albus; you’re not hurting me. And if you ever do, I’ll probably let out a squawk,” Minerva said with a small laugh.

“You said that your mother took care of something for you – you were still injured yesterday evening?” His brow was knit with worry.

“Yes, I hadn’t realised. I thought I only had a particularly bad bruise, though Quin had suggested it might be more, but I had cracked a rib. The potion that we used on it was for bruises, so although it helped, it didn’t fully heal it. My mother, obviously, found that easily and Healed it just as easily. So I am well now, Albus.”

Tears swimming in his eyes, Albus whispered hoarsely, “Please forgive me, Minerva, for what I caused, all the pain and hurt –”

Minerva stopped him. “I forgave you before I knew you love me as you do, and then after, aside from being somewhat . . . distressed that you hadn’t told me earlier and averted so much difficulty for us both, I still forgave you. And there really wasn’t much to forgive, after all.”

“Not much to forgive? But –”

“I am not going to argue with you about this, Albus. I am fine, you are fine, and we are together now. It was a . . . a misunderstanding. A rather thorough-going misunderstanding, but nonetheless, it is over and it was unintended.” She kissed his cheek then lay her head on his shoulder. “I do think there is another misunderstanding lurking here, but we’ll clear that one up together.”

They sat like that for a while, then Minerva stomach growled, and Albus laughed and said, “I think it’s time for some breakfast.”

Minerva sighed. “Breakfast together will be nice. Do you remember the breakfast we had together in my rooms after you overheard me in Poppy’s office? I enjoyed that so much, but I was very nervous, and, of course, I didn’t dream at that time that we would ever be together as we are now. Well, perhaps I dreamed it, but I thoroughly stomped on every hope that ever sprang up.”

Albus kissed her forehead then nuzzled her hair. “It is surprising that we are here together this morning, actually, given all of our efforts against ourselves.”

“I suppose we have Quin to thank for that – and not just for seeing you yesterday, but because he encouraged me in my hopes.” Minerva blinked back sudden tears. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what it is . . .” She wiped her eyes. “I just feel indebted to Quin. He has been a better friend than I could have wished for, and completely unexpected.” Minerva looked up at Albus. “He didn’t tell you, though, how I felt?”

Albus shook his head. “Although I doubt I would have believed him, and it was better coming from you, anyway. And it did cause me some anguish, sending you that letter, telling you the truth, and then waiting, uncertain how you would receive it, or if I would even hear from you any time soon. Which was one reason I was uneasy about sending Fawkes. I knew you would receive the letter within seconds, and I worried that you would hesitate and the waiting would be all the worse, knowing that you had it but did not wish to respond.” He sighed and held her more tightly. “And then, there you were, barely fifteen minutes later, asking me if I had written the letter, and I had no idea how you had received it, whether you were angry with me . . .”

“No,” Minerva answered, “although there was a part of me that was distressed that it had taken you so long to say anything, particularly given the apparent depth of your feelings. Here I had been, all this time, hoping that you might possibly be coming to see me in a romantic light, just a little, and your feelings for me already went well beyond that.”

“That they did,” Albus replied with a chuckle, continuing more softly, “and for some time, too. I don’t even know when I began to fall in love with you, it just grew. I loved you so for so very long, and then I began to realise that I was falling in love with you – no, not ‘falling,’ I _had_ fallen in love with you. I tried to ignore it, you know, I tried . . . diversions, but nothing kept my feelings for you from growing. And I think that is one reason I was avoiding you last term. That _was_ the reason. I thought, I don’t know, it wasn’t a conscious decision, but it seemed that I could survive having you here, close by, and not have to deal with the fact that I was in love with you, if only I could maintain my distance.” He sighed. “And that hurt you.”

“It probably wasn’t pleasant for you, either, Albus. But I understand,” Minerva said. “I tried to fight my feelings for you, but it simply didn’t work. And then Quin . . . after we met, he did a divination for me. It was supposed to be just a lark, and I was highly sceptical about it, not having much faith in any kind of divination, anyway. But all he did was touch me, close his eyes and take my hand, then I could feel his magic touching mine, and he knew – he didn’t know who you were, not then, but he tried to encourage me. He said . . . he said I had given my heart to you, and my joy would die if I did not reclaim my heart and give it to you again, freely and openly. I tried to behave as though it was only so much nonsense, of course, but it wasn’t, and I could feel the truth in what he told me, even then. He said that my love for you was the source of both great pain and great joy, and that eventually, the pain would come to outweigh the joy until my joy died utterly if I didn’t love you openly. I could certainly feel that happening. And I wanted to hope, Albus, I was just afraid to, so when he encouraged me, I let my hopes grow a little.”

“I am glad you did, my dear, for I don’t know as I ever would have, at least not this soon,” Albus replied. “But when he came to see me yesterday, Quin clearly knew that it was I whom you love.”

Minerva nodded. “He had already begun to suspect it, especially after seeing us together at Fortescue’s, and he tried to coax it out of me, but I didn’t want to discuss it where we could be overheard. Since he already seemed to have guessed, though, I did want to tell him. It would be such a relief to finally have someone know, and Quin was so kind . . . we had lunch at his house one Saturday, the day that I looked at flats with Melina, in fact, and he, well, he didn’t force me to tell him, but he did make me say it myself; he wouldn’t do it for me. And it was a relief, such a wonderful feeling after so many years of bearing it alone, of trying to pretend that it wasn’t so, to actually tell someone that I love you.” Tears came to her eyes again. “Quin was perfect at that moment, Albus – he actually had me almost convinced that it wasn’t hopeless to love you, and he gave me a perspective on it all that I hadn’t had before. I had some hope that I might be able to say the same words to you one day: I love Albus Dumbledore.”

He smiled and squeezed her. “Then we can both be grateful to him for that. And to Gertrude, who invited you to visit her, or you may never have met him.” Albus sighed then, somewhat unhappily.

“What is it, Albus?” Minerva asked.

“I don’t know what to tell Gertrude . . . I believe that she introduced you two as a bit of match-making. And she was here yesterday, asking about you, where you were, what had happened, and I essentially told her to mind her own business. But I think she suspects my feelings for you.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she did, actually,” Minerva said slowly. “But I think you’re wrong about why she introduced Quin to me. She was very concerned that he not . . . lead me astray, I suppose you might say. It angered me at the time, but when we had breakfast that first morning at the estate – not the day I arrived, but the next day, after I had met Quin – she said something about me being vulnerable and she didn’t want Quin to take advantage of me. I don’t think he would have, anyway, and I don’t believe he had been interested in any witches since his wife died, but she was nonetheless concerned – and it was partly my fault. I had thought it might be amusing to, I don’t know,” Minerva continued, embarrassed, “to lead Gertrude on, make her believe that there was something going on that wasn’t. But really, it was more for the benefit of someone else – Valerianna, actually. That witch was truly vile from the moment I met her. At any rate, I don’t think you need to worry that Gertrude will be disappointed to learn that I am unavailable to Quin.”

“And you are certain that is what you want, Minerva? That I am not keeping you from –”

“Albus Dumbledore! Not one more word! Of course that is what I want. Haven’t you been listening to me? I have loved you for years. There is no one to compare to you, no one I could possibly want more than I want you, no one I could love more, and no one who could be better for me. I know this, Albus. I know this.”

“You are too good to me, my dear.”

“No, not yet – just give me some time, though, and I’ll try!” Minerva said with a grin, and she kissed him, her hand straying down his chest, making its way lower, but Albus took her hand and stopped it in its path.

Still kissing her, Albus held her hand and used it to encourage her to lie back against the arm of the couch. He kissed her mouth, her face, her throat, his body warm and heavy resting on her. He looked at her, examining her face as if memorising it.

“I love you, Minerva.” He kissed her again softly, then said, “I think it truly is time for breakfast now. Or brunch. Or nuncheon. Or something of the sort.”

“Nuncheon?” Minerva asked with a laugh. “Let’s have that! It sounds like fun – but everything with you sounds fun.”

“Everything?” Albus asked, smiling, one eyebrow raised in amused scepticism.

“Well, not everything, I suppose, but at the moment, I can’t think of anything that wouldn’t be fun,” Minerva answered with a caress.

“Nuncheon it is, then!” Albus called Wilspy, who popped in looking very cheerful, indeed.

Wilspy agreed happily to provide “nuncheon,” but promised a “tasty tasty meal,” not just a “little bitty bite.” 

As they waited, Minerva stretched in Albus’s embrace. “Well, she seemed entirely unsurprised, and she didn’t scold either of us, so I would say that she approves,” Minerva said.

“Of course she approves, my dear,” Albus said, not able to keep himself from kissing her once more, this time just above her ear. “Wilspy wants only the best for me, and you are the best, without a doubt.”

Wilspy reappeared with their breakfast – or “nuncheon” – and Minerva excused herself to use the loo. When she reappeared, her hair was up in a loose twist, charmed in place. Albus held her chair for her, then he couldn’t resist bending over and kissing the nape of her neck several times, softly.

“Keep doing that,” Minerva said, inhaling sharply, “and – oh, my – we won’t, we won’t, um . . . mmmm . . .”

He kissed her shoulders, then he reached around, kissed her cheek, then moved to her ear. He kissed it softly then whispered, “We won’t what?”

“Nothing,” Minerva breathed, her eyes closed, hoping he wouldn’t stop.

He nuzzled her briefly before kissing the top of her head. “Sorry, my dear, I just couldn’t resist. I resisted too many times to resist this time.”

“You needn’t resist anything, you know, Albus,” Minerva said, her eyes shining as he took his seat beside her at the table. “As I have been trying to tell you.”

Albus was quiet for a moment, looking at her, smiling, then he poured their tea and said, “I do not want to . . . rush, my dear. I still amaze that you love me as you do. I wish us to take our leisure, take pleasure in this time.”

“So do I, Albus, so do I,” Minerva responded, reaching over and laying her hand on his. “And I am very glad that you did not say anything as you did earlier about my shying from your touch, which I hope you would see is patently absurd, given the way you make me feel when you touch me and kiss me.”

Looking serious, Albus turned his hand beneath hers and curled his fingers around her hand. “I will try to explain my feelings to you on that matter, but not now.” He smiled slightly. “But I am pleased that I needn’t resist kissing the nape of your neck any longer. You have no idea . . .” He raised Minerva’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, closing his eyes and relishing the feel of her skin beneath his lips, brushing her hand against them. 

“I love you,” he murmured before kissing her hand again. “I suppose you will become tired of hearing me say that.”

“Only after you have tired of hearing me say that I love you, my darling Albus,” Minerva said, bringing their joined hands to her mouth and kissing his hand. “And I hope that is never.”

“Beyond never, Minerva, beyond never.”

The two ate the omelettes that Wilspy had brought them, and the potato cakes with butter, and the grilled tomatoes, onions, and peppers, all of that followed by small fruit tarts topped with crème fraîche. There was also a small plate of ginger newts, which Minerva set aside for later.

“It seems that Blampa must know I have returned,” Minerva said with a smile.

“You have done very well with her, Minerva,” Albus said. “Hwouly reported to me last week that Blampa is very happy.”

“Hwouly reported about Blampa?” Minerva asked, puzzled.

“Yes, she reports to me on the state of all of the house-elves twice a year, with more general reports monthly, or more frequently if there are any problems either with house-elves or the castle, including whether there are any unhappy house-elves – difficulties she is unable to deal with herself, or which require my awareness, if not my attention – and Blampa, she said, is one of the happiest house-elves,” Albus explained. “You are the first individual whom she has served, you see, as she is very young and has only worked in the general areas before. She was having some trouble this winter and spring, apparently, but over the last couple of months, Hwouly reports that she is doing much better.”

“Oh! I had no idea that she hadn’t served anyone before!” Minerva felt guilty about her occasionally curt manner with the house-elf. “She was unhappy, then?”

“Somewhat. It didn’t particularly concern Hwouly when she first reported it to me in February, as she noted that many young elves have some difficulties when they begin to serve an individual staff member.” Seeing Minerva’s distressed expression, Albus added, “Part of Blampa’s unhappiness stemmed from the jealousy of some of the other house-elves, apparently, which you could have done nothing about. There were some who thought they should have been chosen to serve, as they were older. And it seems that you did not make use of her very often, and the other elves took that as a sign that she served poorly.”

“I wish you had told me, Albus! Or that someone had – I had no idea. She was a little annoying, and I was also unused to having a house-elf at my beck-and-call, since I never had one with me in London, but had I known she was so young and that she hadn’t served an individual before, I would have done things differently.”

“I thought that you and Blampa would work things out. Hwouly had assured me that it wasn’t necessary to speak to you about it, and she didn’t think that any intervention was necessary. That is rarely needed,” Albus explained. 

“I still wish I had known that I was the first individual she served. It would have made things easier on both of us, I think,” Minerva said, remembering the time that Blampa hadn’t cleaned her rooms or removed the dirty laundry for three days because Minerva had infelicitously told her not to return until she was called.

“All is well now, my dear. And Hwouly mentioned that Wilspy has taken her under her wing, as well.”

“That’s good. I think she seems happy, and she seems to worship Wilspy,” Minerva responded. “She brought a couple other house-elves along to help set up the Transfiguration classroom, so it looks as though she has some friends. I must say, I don’t understand house-elves very well, particularly any outside of our family.”

“They do have their own traditions and values, of course, and they seem to be born with a desire to serve. If they are happy in their service, they live long and they procreate, provided they have suitable mates. A family that treats its house-elves poorly will soon find themselves with dwindling numbers, regardless of the opportunities to serve,” Albus said. “And although bound to serve and obey, house-elves can interpret their orders and their service in ways that we might not imagine. That is how we learned of the situation with the family in the Lake District, the Troupels, the case that came before the Wizengamot a few weeks ago. The one remaining house-elf alerted his cousins, and they encouraged their family to visit the Troupels, who were _their_ cousins, and they made the grisly discovery. It was quite obvious that there was no keeping murder and torture within the family, and so they notified the Aurors.”

Minerva shuddered, remembering the article she had read in the _Daily Prophet_ , which she hadn’t finished, the details were so disturbing. 

“Do they know why young Troupel did what he did?” Minerva asked.

Albus shook his head. “He clearly was sick, sick in his mind and in his spirit. I do not think that his reasons were any that we could understand. I so wish there had been something we could have done with him other than send him to Azkaban, but a young wizard who murders his father and his younger brother, imprisons and tortures the rest of his family, and kidnaps, rapes, and murders random Muggle women . . . there was nothing else we could do with him.” Albus sighed heavily. “We did discuss sending him to St. Mungo’s, but they haven’t the facilities to contain him, and the Healers we spoke to said they could do nothing but keep him sedated. They can treat melancholy, mania, lethargy, those sorts of ills, and certain kinds of spell-damage, but their experience with this kind of madness – they really have very little, even the oldest among them. We even consulted a Squib who practises Muggle psychiatry, and he said that there are few treatments for Muggles with such severe . . . disease, and they are not particularly effective on Muggles. He feared that the treatments would make a wizard worse, even if he could be safely contained at St. Mungo’s. So, it was Azkaban.”

“I wish I hadn’t asked,” Minerva said, feeling sick. “But it is good that the house-elf was able to alert someone on the outside. What happened to him?”

“He is fine, returned to the service of the remaining Troupels, who are suitably grateful to him, I understand,” Albus responded. 

Albus stood and gave his hand to Minerva. She rose and leaned against him, his arms around her. Minerva smiled. 

“Your hugs are magical, Albus,” she said. “I don’t even remember what we were talking about now.”

“An Obliviating hug?” Albus said with a chuckle.

“No . . . it simply replaces everything else with warmth and joy, so any sadness or distress just fades away,” Minerva answered.

“Perhaps that should be my new profession then, Magical Hugger. I could pop about the country, dispensing embraces as needed!” he teased.

“No, I don’t think so!” Minerva said with a grin. “If anyone needs a hug, they can come to you, but I do hope that you will reserve most of them for me.”

“It would be difficult not to, simply because one of the most wonderful things about embracing you, my dear, is that I receive one from you in return! And your hugs are without substitute,” Albus answered, kissing the side of her head. “I do hope that you don’t grow tired of my embraces and my kisses. Now that I needn’t hide my feelings from you, I find it difficult to restrain myself from bestowing kiss upon kiss.”

“Then don’t expend the effort trying to restrain yourself, Albus.” Minerva looked up at him. “Indeed, you needn’t restrain yourself at all around me anymore.”

Albus smiled down at her. “It would be rather scandalous if I were to fail to restrain myself around you in public, however. I can see the horror on the students’ faces as the Headmaster apparently went completely mad in the midst of the Sorting Ceremony and leapt upon the Head of Gryffindor, kissing her passionately.”

Minerva laughed at the thought, but then said, “How would the Headmaster kiss the Head of Gryffindor, then? I believe I need a demonstration in order to fully appreciate the necessity for restraint in public.”

“Mmm, you do, do you?” 

Albus raised a hand to her face and caressed it, then his lips met hers as he cupped her cheek. His kisses were slow, gentle, languid, and very sensual, his lips repeatedly moving against Minerva’s, then pulling her lower lip between his and sucking it gently before his tongue tickled her lips then entered her mouth. With just the tip of his tongue, he teased hers, then his tongue stroked the roof of her mouth before he returned to the slow, sensual kisses. Albus eased them both to their knees as he continued to kiss her, his hands travelling over her back, then he lowered her to the floor, kissing her the entire time and coming to lie partially on top of her. His kisses grew more passionate, and he began to caress her from her hip to her breast. Minerva gasped as he broke the kiss and stopped, resting his hand on her breast and looking down at her with a smile.

Minerva opened her eyes. She moved her hand up to comb it through his hair. “And that is how the Headmaster would kiss the Head of Gryffindor during the Sorting Ceremony if he didn’t restrain himself?” she asked softly, smiling. “I do suppose it might disrupt things a bit. And I doubt I could pay attention to the Sorting, myself.” She sighed dramatically. “I guess you are right about restraining yourself in public!”

Albus chuckled, eyes twinkling, and he kissed her softly. “I am glad you see the wisdom of my position.”

“I rather like this position, actually,” Minerva said, pulling him to her and kissing him. She caressed him and tried to urge him to lie more fully on top of her.

“Mmm, my dear,” Albus said, “I think we need to . . . get up now.”

“It’s Saturday,” she reminded him.

“Yes, and it’s approaching eleven. We need to change clothes and such. Gertrude threatened yesterday that she would send Hagrid after me if I didn’t turn up for lunch.”

Minerva laughed out loud at that. “I can just envision that now. Although I think Hagrid would have trouble reaching you up here, unless you have charmed the stairs to recognise him.”

“No, but knowing Gertie as I do, she would not find it an impediment to carrying out her threat.”

Minerva kissed him. “It’s good to know that someone was concerned about your well-being.”

“Yes, well, she was not very tactful about it. She said I looked like hell, in fact,” Albus said with a short laugh.

“You _didn’t_ look well when I arrived last night.” Minerva caressed his face. “But you look much better now. Like yourself.”

“Good. I feel quite well. Better than I can remember feeling in many, many years.”

“Mmmm, I could make you feel even better, I believe,” Minerva whispered before kissing him. One hand insinuated itself between them, and she reached for him, for the delight that she felt pressing against her thigh, but Albus rolled away from her.

“Oh, Minerva, don’t test my restraint, please,” Albus said with a groan.

“As I’ve said, you needn’t restrain yourself in private, Albus,” Minerva answered, blushing. “I don’t want to restrain myself with you.”

“But I do, my dear,” Albus said. “I do, as I explained last night.” He sounded pained.

“You didn’t explain it fully, though.” Minerva sighed, closing her eyes, then said, “But I suppose it is adequate for me to know that you don’t wish to rush and you wish to court me.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Adequate for now, anyway.”

“Allow me to escort you to your quarters so that you can freshen up and change robes,” Albus suggested. “And then we can meet in the staff room for lunch.”

Minerva reluctantly agreed to have him escort her back to her own rooms as it did seem practical, but she said, “I don’t think I could eat lunch yet, though, Albus. I’m still digesting our nuncheon!”

“All right, then. Why don’t I meet you in your rooms later – if that is all right with you,” Albus said.

“That would be perfect. And I can write a letter to my parents reassuring them of my well-being.” Minerva hesitated. “Albus . . . would you mind terribly, that is . . . I would like to tell Quin, too. But I’d like to see him. If it would be all right with you –”

“Of course, my dearest. If you would like to see him today or tomorrow, that would be fine – it would be a good thing, in fact,” Albus said with a nod.

“Good, I will owl him, too, then.”

“If you could just be sure that you are available this evening?” Albus said.

Minerva smiled. “I will be entirely yours this evening, Albus.”

Grinning, Albus said, “I look forward to that, my dear! Very much.”

Minerva waved her wand to put her hair back up into a loose, Charmed bun at the back of her head. Her earlier charm hadn’t been sufficiently strong to hold it once Albus kissed her as he had.

At the door to her rooms, Albus stopped and looked at her long, caressing her cheek. “Thank you, Minerva.”

“For what?”

“For everything, for you, for your forgiveness, for your love,” he replied softly.

“No thanks necessary,” Minerva answered. “I am grateful myself, though. Grateful for you.”

He kissed her softly then said, “I will see you later, then.”

Minerva nodded. “If I’m not here when you return, or if I don’t answer the door, just let yourself in. I may be in the Owlery or dressing.”

“If the Knight will allow me entry,” Albus said with a smile.

Minerva shook her head in amusement, but she turned to the portrait. “Sir Knight, if ever the Headmaster – that is, Albus Dumbledore – requests entry, please do not deny him, and if he wishes to be announced, please do that, as well,” she said.

“I am your servant, my lady, and now I shall serve the lord and master of this castle for as long as he serves you,” the Knight said with a bow. He raised his visor and looked at Albus with surprisingly sharp eyes. “You serve the lady? She is yours?” he asked seriously.

Albus raised his eyebrows at the questioning, but answered, “Yes, I serve her. I serve her with my life, mind and body, heart and soul. But she belongs to herself and no one else.”

Minerva thought that the Knight smiled at that. “You are free, then, to come and go as you wish, my lord, and I will serve you. And I thank you . . . my geas is almost lifted. I can feel it. Soon, I, too, will be free.”

With that cryptic statement, the Knight lowered his visor and the door clicked open.

Minerva looked puzzled. “I did not give the password.”

“Forgive me my lapse, my lady. It was the excitement of the moment,” the Knight replied.

“I don’t understand, Albus,” Minerva said. “A portrait shouldn’t have that kind of lapse, whether it is harmless or not.”

Albus hesitated a moment. “I did not tell you this before, as it sounded absurd, but when he would not announce my presence to you earlier in the week, he actually drew his sword against me and said that he would die in your service.” Albus pondered a moment, looking at the painting. “We haven’t time now, my dear, but later, we will explore this phenomenon further.”

Minerva nodded. “Until later, then, Albus.”

Albus kissed her again and watched her enter her room and close the door behind her before he left to return to his suite.

Minerva took a very quick shower, did her hair, and dressed in her mossy green robes, then went into her study. It was nice to have a study, she thought as she sat at her desk and took out her quill and parchment.

The first letter she wrote was to her parents.

_“Dear Mother and Dad,_

_“I wanted to let you know that all is well with me here, and I shall see you at Melina’s wedding on the 23rd, if not earlier. Professor Dumbledore will be escorting me._

_“Love,_

_“Minerva  
“17 August 1957  
“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry”_

When she finished that one, she pondered for a moment before writing the next.

_“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
“17 August 1957_

_“Dear Quin,_

_“Could you meet me in Hogsmeade this afternoon? Perhaps for tea? I have some news for you._

_“Best,_

_“Minerva”_

Minerva assumed that he would know what her news was as soon as he received the letter, but she wanted to tell him herself. He must have somehow discovered Albus’s feelings for her when he visited him the previous evening, and that is why he told Albus to tell her the truth. Minerva felt that there was more to the story than that, but she wouldn’t press Albus about it. He had clearly suffered while she had been gone from the castle and had feared her response when she read his letter and poem. And she had had Quin, but he had had no one but Wilspy to look after him, really. And it didn’t sound as though Albus had confided in anyone at all about his feelings for her. He had suffered at least as much as she had, just differently.

Minerva left and ran up to the Owlery, hoping that Quin could meet her that afternoon. It was very short notice. She sent his letter off with the largest Eagle Owl available, and sent the one to her parents with a Scops, shrinking the letter a little first to make it easier for the bird to manage. 

As she walked back to her suite, she thought about Quin, and she began to get a pit in her stomach. He had been so good to her, so loving, and she had taken advantage of him and of the feelings she suspected he had for her. True, she had believed that all was lost between her and Albus, and she certainly did care for Quin – she loved him, in a way, and he was not unattractive – but that did not excuse her behaviour. It certainly did not excuse hurting Quin as she no doubt had. And yet Quin had come to see Albus, likely not long after she had left his house for her parents’. In addition to telling him her good news, she would have to apologise to him. It might be awkward, but she owed him that much, at least.

She settled in her sitting room, and time seemed to drag as she waited for Albus, but ten minutes after she had returned from the Owlery, the Knight entered the painting above her mantle and announced that the master of the castle was at the door. Without wasting time replying to the portrait, Minerva waved her wand and opened the door. Albus met her halfway across the room, shutting the door behind himself with a flick of a finger. He caught her up in his arms and kissed her, then held her close.

“Missed me?” Minerva asked.

“Very much . . . I do hope . . . this becomes . . . easier,” Albus whispered as he rained kisses upon her upturned face.

Minerva kissed him again, pulling him toward the sofa where they sat and kissed and caressed each other. When finally Albus lay his head on hers and they caught their breath, Minerva was sitting across his lap, reclining in his arms. She sighed happily.

“I won’t mind missing you so much if you greet me like that each time,” she said with a smile. She snuggled closer, breathing in his scent and enjoying the sensation of his beard against her skin. She could feel his answering chuckle vibrate through her.

“As long as we will not scandalise or startle, my dear, I will be more than happy to greet you like that every time,” he answered.

Minerva thought for a moment. “Obviously we would be discreet in public, and certainly around the students, and I do believe that such an enthusiastic greeting is best kept for private, but . . . how to put this . . . I don’t want you to be a secret in my life, as though there were something illicit in our relationship.” She could feel Albus’s own hesitation before he answered.

“I never want you to feel as though this, our relationship, were something illicit or genuinely scandalous, but I do think that it might be for the best if, for now at least, the only ones who know of it are your parents and Quin, of necessity, and those few others with whom we may choose to share the information at some point in the future,” Albus said slowly and carefully.

Minerva shifted and looked up at him. “You say that almost as though there were something scandalous about it, the way that you have qualified it so. I do think it best to be discreet, of course, but I really do not want to feel as though we are hiding our relationship as though there were something to be ashamed of.”

Albus kissed her temple. “Of course not, my dear, but it is somewhat . . . unusual for a Headmaster to be in a romantic relationship with a member of his staff. And it is most certainly unusual for a wizard of my age to be courting a witch of yours. That you were once my student . . . perhaps that in itself is not such an impediment, so many years have passed since you were in school, but you were, in a way, my protege, and your appointment as Transfiguration teacher and subsequent rapid appointment as Head of Gryffindor might be questioned if it were commonly known –”

“I am not speaking of making our relationship commonly known, Albus,” Minerva said, interrupting him. “And although I wasn’t thinking about those points at the moment, they are certainly true. In fact, I used to worry that if my parents were to learn of my feelings for you, they would think that you had done something to encourage them or had perhaps behaved inappropriately when I was a student – not that the latter would be credible, of course – but it did concern me, and it’s why I did my best to hide my feelings for you from them. My best was apparently not sufficient, however, since it seems they have suspected for years how I felt about you. But are we going to have to hide our feelings from everyone else around us? I have spent so many years doing that, and I don’t know as I can bear to do it any longer.”

“You needn’t hide your feelings from me, though,” Albus responded gently. “Surely that is the important thing.”

“Yes, of course.” But Minerva couldn’t help herself, and tears rose to her eyes. “I just wish we could at least tell the people around us so that I don’t need to feel as though I must constantly pretend to care for you only as a friend.”

“I think it is for the best at the moment, though, my dear,” Albus said. “But do not cry. Surely telling your parents and Quin, that should be enough for now.”

“If you wish, Albus.” She lay her head against his shoulder. “I suppose it might be for the best that the rest of the staff not know immediately. They might wonder about the things that you mentioned, and even if they didn’t, they might think that you would treat me differently from everyone else – you won’t, will you, Albus?” Minerva asked, lifting her head and looking at him.

“I will endeavour not to, my dear Professor. As I said at the beginning of the summer, we will try to keep Hogwarts business and personal business separate, and if there is ever any question about whether something is a Hogwarts matter or a personal matter, we will talk about it. All right?”

Minerva nodded. “I didn’t precisely tell my parents about us in the letter I wrote them. I just told them I was well and that you would be escorting me to Melina’s wedding – I thought that would tell them everything.”

“Very sensible, Minerva. And whatever else you wish to tell them is entirely up to you. I do hope that your father doesn’t come after me in a McGonagall rage, though!” Albus said half-jokingly.

“I highly doubt that. And given your differing skills, I do not believe you would have very much to worry about, even if he did,” Minerva said.

“Yes, but having to Stun your father would not be pleasant, to say the least. Besides, I have come to like Merwyn. I would dislike losing his friendship.”

“You won’t. He likes you very much,” Minerva said reassuringly. “He speaks highly of you, and given my parents’ suspicions about my feelings toward you, I doubt he would have done that if he disapproved of the idea of you reciprocating them.”

“You said that they suspected for some years. How long?” Albus asked.

Minerva swallowed, then answered truthfully, “I don’t know. My mother didn’t say specifically.”

“Hmm . . . you know, when I visited you there last time, earlier in the summer, your father showed me a letter you had written a long time ago.” Albus made a face. “I probably should not have said anything about that.”

“What? What letter?” Minerva asked, puzzled.

“I ought not have mentioned it. Please don’t hold this against your parents, my dear. I am certain that they would have said something to you eventually.” Albus took a breath. “Before you came to France to rescue me, you apparently had written a letter to be delivered in the event of your death. Somehow, the letter was inadvertently delivered some months after your return.”

“It was!? Oh, no . . . I thought the Ministry destroyed them! Although I do think I had said I would retrieve it myself, but with everything that happened and my leave of absence, I simply forgot about it. My parents must have been quite startled to have received it,” Minerva said.

“Very. Shocked, I believe was the word that your father used. He said that at first, it didn’t seem appropriate to mention it to you, and after that, there never seemed a need to. But he wanted me to read it. I was unsure why, at the time, but now . . . you had said some rather nice things about me in the letter. I suppose that he wanted me to see that you cared about me even then.”

Minerva nodded. “I can understand why they didn’t mention it when they received it, and how there would just not be an occasion to do so later,” she said, then she smiled up at him. “So you see, Albus, my father and mother want what’s best for me, and if I want you, that’s what they want, too. Just as you said about Wilspy wanting the best for you.”

Albus nodded. “Very well, my dear. And Quin?”

“I just told him I had news, although I am sure he can guess what the news is, since he saw you yesterday and I am here at Hogwarts today,” Minerva replied. “I believe he will be very pleased.”

“I was wondering, would you give him a message for me?” Albus asked.

“Of course. What would you like me to tell him?”

“I think I’ll just write him a little note. I simply wish to thank him.”

“What about Gertrude, Albus?” Minerva asked.

“What about her?”

“What will you tell her? Did she say anything at lunch?” 

Albus chuckled. “It seems that I was not fast enough to get ready for lunch, and at noon, while I was still in the shower, my charm announced that the gargoyle had let someone into the stairway. Just a few minutes later, I found out who had been admitted.” He laughed again. “It seems Gertrude was quite serious about having Hagrid drag me to lunch! I opened the door from the bedroom to the sitting room – not even properly dressed, mind, just my dressing gown wrapped loosely around me, my beard and hair still wet from my shower, not having had time to dry them – and who should I see but both Gertrude and Hagrid.” He laughed again. “Poor Hagrid! He kept telling me that Gertrude insisted I go to lunch, and he was there to make sure I didn’t ‘waste away to naught bu’ skin an’ bone,’ as he put it, but he was also clearly embarrassed at having interrupted my shower.”

Minerva laughed. “Hagrid is shy about things like that, I think. And Gertrude?”

“She said she was glad to see I was taking some care for my personal hygiene, but that I was late for lunch as it was now twelve-oh-four!” Albus laughed again. “I thanked her, assured her that I had, indeed, planned to come to lunch but that I was late because I had met with you earlier – I didn’t tell her the details, of course! Then I asked her how she managed to get Hagrid up the stairs.”

“Well? How did she?” Minerva asked as Albus interrupted his story to chuckle again.

“She rolled her eyes, much as you used to when you were a girl, and she asked me if I were really that half-daft, and when I only looked at her blankly, she said, somewhat indignantly, I believe, ‘I may be an Arithmancer, but I am still a witch and I have not forgotten how to perform a Levitation Charm when need be!’”

Minerva laughed loudly at that, laughing until tears ran down her face as she imagined Gertrude, wand out, Levitating poor Hagrid up the stairs to the Headmaster’s suite, ready to drag Albus down to lunch for his own good.

“Did she really think –” Minerva burst into laughter again, then finally, coughing, she asked, “Did she really think that the two of them could have wrangled you downstairs to lunch if you didn’t want to go?” She laughed, trying to imagine such a thing. “I can see it right now, the Headmaster, caught unawares, dripping wet, Stunned by Gertrude – only because she had the advantage of surprise, of course – then perhaps Petrified, and carried bodily down to the staff room, wrapped only in his dressing gown, by Hagrid, who would probably be weeping because of the necessity of having you Stunned and Petrified!”

Albus laughed with Minerva. “They did very kindly allow me to dry my hair and dress before I left.”

“I see that Wilspy restored your wardrobe to you – or are those the robes she left you for today?” Minerva asked. He was wearing the rose and gold robes that she liked so well on him.

“She did, indeed, restore my robes to me,” Albus answered, “and I was allowed to choose my clothes for the day myself.”

“Good choice. I have always liked these robes on you. They make your cheeks rosy and they bring out the colour of your eyes.” Minerva smiled to see Albus’s cheeks grow pinker with her compliments. “There is one set of robes, however . . . if I never see them on you again, I will be quite happy.”

“Really? Which ones?” Albus asked, surprised.

“The grey ones. Not the taupe and mauve, those are fine. But the grey ones should be turned into rags. Or burned, if I may be blunt. They do nothing for you, and although I am no slave to fashion and I think there is a great deal to be said for not discarding robes simply because they are not the latest style, those robes are awful. I hope you are not terribly fond of them and I have just insulted your favourite outfit.”

“Not at all, my dear!” Albus said, blinking, somewhat startled. “I am not particularly fond of them, myself, but I didn’t think they were so bad. They are one of my few sets of sensible robes, you see. I wear them when I don’t want to draw attention to my clothing.”

“Yes, well, they do draw attention, Albus, and not in a good way. Those ruffles – brrrr! They couldn’t have been a particularly attractive fashion even when they were stylish. It looks as though you’re wearing draperies – ugly draperies.”

Albus laughed. “Very well, I will instruct Wilspy to dispose of them in whatever way she sees fit. Unless you think that a trip to Madam Malkin’s –”

“A trip to Madam Malkin’s would be an excellent idea, but to replace them. I believe she would be insulted if she were asked to tailor those over for you. You aren’t destitute. We can find some other nice robes for you, well-tailored but conservative, if you feel you must have some conservative robes. I must also say that the navy robes don’t do anything for you,” Minerva said with a frown. “They aren’t terrible, of course, but you usually dress so well, it is always something of a shock to see you in something unattractive.”

“But the point has been to appear less . . . eccentric,” Albus said hesitantly.

“I don’t see why you should care about that – it’s to do with me, isn’t it?” Minerva asked, suddenly drawing the connection between his drab robes, his Glamour earlier that summer, and his surprising and uncharacteristic worries about being an “old codger.”

“Not – well, yes, I suppose so. But a wizard does need the occasional conservative robes. I do recognise that, despite my preference for more colourful clothing.”

“‘Conservative’ does not have to mean ‘ugly,’ though, Albus. The other day when Quin went to the Ministry, he was wearing conservative robes – in fact, I have seen him in conservative robes on other occasions, as well – but they don’t detract from his appearance –”

“That would be difficult, though, my dear. He is a strikingly handsome wizard,” Albus said, interrupting her.

“As are you, Albus. But even Quin couldn’t wear those grey, ruffly robes and not look awful.” Minerva giggled as an image arose in her mind of Quin wearing the ruffled robes. “No, you need to have them properly tailored, that’s all. And you can keep them the traditional style, if you like, but Quin also has some that look a good deal like a Muggle business suit. He wears starched white shirts with them.”

Albus shook his head. “I do like the more traditional wizarding look. And starched collars give me a rash after a while.”

Minerva laughed. “Very well. But let’s go to Madam Malkin’s and have her do some nice robes for you that are more conservative than your usual, but without detracting from your appearance as those grey ones do.”

Albus nodded. “But I can go on my own, Minerva.”

“I would like to –” Minerva began.

“No need to discuss this now – and there’s an owl at your window,” he said, opening the window with a gesture.

It was the same Eagle Owl that Minerva had sent off with Quin’s letter, and it was carrying his reply. Minerva didn’t stir from Albus’s embrace, but opened it and read it as she lay in his arms and the owl left the way it came.

_“17 August_

_“Dear Minerva,_

_“I would be pleased to meet you in Hogsmeade this afternoon. Shall we say three o’clock by the Quidditch shop?_

_“Best,_

_“Quin”_

“He suggests three o’clock,” Minerva said. She sighed. “I really do want to see him and talk to him, but at the same time, I don’t want to leave your arms.”

Albus kissed her forehead. “Our lives do go on, although I do admit that leaving you at your door this morning was difficult, and sitting through lunch with Gertrude, Hagrid, Malcolm, and Wilhelmina, who apparently returned this morning, was even more of a trial.”

“Hagrid must be happy Wilhelmina’s back,” Minerva observed as she played with Albus’s beard.

“I suppose he is. He seemed happy enough during lunch, at any rate.” Albus paused and looked down at Minerva. “Is there some particular reason he would be happy about her return, Minerva?”

Minerva stopped twirling her fingers in his beard and hesitated, holding her breath. “I shouldn’t say anything, I mean, if you haven’t noticed, and they haven’t told you –”

“Told me what?” Albus asked.

“Well, Hagrid and Wilhelmina are good friends. Very good friends.”

“Yes – wait, you mean – ?” Albus looked perplexed. “Surely not!”

“Yes, I do mean very good, very close friends. Very,” Minerva answered, amused by his reaction.

“But she’s – and he’s – and – I never noticed! Or I suppose I did, but . . . I just didn’t think . . . are you sure?”

“Absolutely positively certain, Albus,” Minerva said. “And do not ask me for the details about how I came to be so certain, please.”

“Hmmm. No wonder Hagrid was distressed earlier in the summer, after Wilhelmina accepted the job at the reserve. I thought perhaps he was envious of her opportunity, although it did occur to me that he would miss her. They seemed close. But not that close. And you’re certain?”

“Completely. Let’s just say that an Animagus sometimes sees things she wishes she didn’t, and leave it at that, shall we?”

“Oh, my . . .” A look of concern now crossed his face. “And do you know . . . is it fully consensual? What I mean to ask is, Rubeus is a good deal younger than she, and so eager to please –” 

“And he remains eager to please her, believe me, Albus, but I had a similar concern, and I talked to Wilhelmina about it. She assured me that it’s only been the last few years, and I believe her. It is sad for Hagrid, of course, since she will be leaving, but she never promised to stay with him forever, and he always knew it was a possibility that she would leave and he would stay. Not that that makes it easier for him, of course, but I believe she cares for him and that it has been mutually consensual and good for both of them while it has lasted.”

“I wonder what else goes on at Hogwarts that I don’t know about,” Albus said with a chuckle. “But you ought to send Quin a reply now.”

Minerva shook her head. “I don’t think that’s necessary. He’d scarcely receive the letter before he would have to leave, anyway. I imagine he expects to hear from me only if three isn’t a good time.”

“You just don’t want to get up,” Albus said teasingly.

“You are right about that, Albus.” And she demonstrated just how right he was, putting her arms around his neck and kissing him.


	121. The MacAirt Pledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva meets Quin for tea in Hogsmeade, and they each have good advice for the other.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Quin MacAirt, and Madam Puddifoot.

**CXXI: The MacAirt Pledge**

Minerva reluctantly left for Hogsmeade at two-forty-five. She was cutting it a bit fine, but she thought that if she Apparated from the gates, she would still be punctual. She smiled as she walked down to the gate, thinking of the nice time that she and Albus had spent in her rooms. She had moved only to avoid completely cutting off the circulation to his legs. It was wonderful that she could so freely express her love for him, and that he not only accepted it – welcomed it, in fact – but that he seemed to be as desirous of contact with her as she was with him. It made his shyness regarding further intimacy even more puzzling to her.

She had teased Albus again about being “kidnapped” by Gertrude and Hagrid and brought to lunch, then she had asked, caressing his face, “So, my darling Albus, when do _I_ get to see you fresh from the shower, dripping wet, with only a dressing gown wrapped loosely about you, hmm?”

To her amusement, Albus had actually blushed and stammered, but to her disappointment, neither did he provide a real response to her question. She had been teasing, but she had also been quite serious about wanting to see him like that – or, as she had emphasised, he could simply skip the dressing gown altogether. There was something bothering him beyond just shyness, reserve, or a desire to “court her properly,” as he liked to put it. But she would have to talk to him about it when neither of them had to be anywhere, and when he felt comfortable enough to discuss it. It would be difficult in the meantime, though; particularly knowing that it was not a physical problem or a lack of desire that was causing his restraint, Minerva thought she might burst with desire herself if his reserve lasted very long.

Minerva passed through the gates and immediately Apparated to a spot not far from the Quidditch shop. As she walked toward it, she saw Quin emerge from the shop with a parcel. She waved to him and he smiled at her.

“Ma grande dame de la Metamorphosis! Very good to see you – and to see you lookin’ so well, too!” 

Minerva couldn’t help the grin that split her face. “Very well, Quin! Very!”

“Tea? Madam Puddifoot’s?” Quin asked.

“I don’t know – a walk? Someplace with fewer people?” she suggested, leaning toward him and speaking softly.

“I think Puddifoot’s can accommodate us adequately,” Quin said, offering her his arm.

Minerva raised an eyebrow, but, trusting him, she took his arm and they proceeded toward the tearoom.

“Quidditch supplies, Quin? Planning another friendly pick-up game?” she asked, reminding him of their game at the Gamps.

He laughed. “No such thing. Just a few little presents for Alroy. I understand that he can’t be after tryin’ out for the team for another year, but if he’s allowed his own broom, I thought he might be needin’ some supplies. I bought him a broomstick maintenance kit, a new Snitch – his old one was slowin’ down – and a pair o’ regulation Seeker gloves. I’ll wait till next year to get him a new broom, though. There might be somethin’ faster than the Cleansweep Four by then.”

“You certainly are going all out for him – are you set on him being a Seeker then? What if he doesn’t make the team? Or if he does, but he’s a Chaser or a Beater?”

“Ah, if he doesn’t make the team . . . I’ll tell him to cheer his House team louder than anyone else and then try again the next year if he wants. And if he’s not a Seeker,” Quin said with a shrug, “we’ll equip him accordingly!”

“As long as you don’t become one of those awful parents constantly trying to push their children into things they don’t want to do or aren’t good at,” Minerva said.

“I hope not. But I do want Alroy to have the best. I don’t want him to be feelin’ second-class. Hearin’ from Mrs Manning’s boy . . . I just don’t want anyone to think of him as the son of a hedge wizard. He shouldn’t suffer ’cause his old man’s a peculiar one, if you see what I’m sayin’.”

“Mmm. You know, Quin, I do know that you mean well,” Minerva said, “and I think the broomstick kit and everything else you have there are just fine, but you also don’t want him to stand out and look as though he’s spoiled, either. I know that Alroy _isn’t_ spoiled, but not everyone at Hogwarts has the same financial advantages that he has had. Now I also know that you feel he’s lumbered with a peculiar old man, and you probably want to make up for Aileen not being here, as well, but don’t weigh him down too much with things. If there’s anything he doesn’t have that he discovers he needs after he arrives at Hogwarts, he can write to you. And if you have any doubts about whether it’s a necessity or it’s him just wanting to keep up with the Blacks – which I doubt you want to encourage, Quin! – you can ask me about it. I like Alroy, and I want to see him get off on the right foot, too, but don’t over-compensate for whatever you see his disadvantages being.”

“You are the wise one, ma grande dame,” Quin said, bowing as he opened the door to the teashop for her. “I shall guard against that. And you’re quite right. I don’t want to be spoilin’ him or havin’ him developin’ airs like the Blacks and such people, but I do want him to fit in.”

“Then buy him everything on his Hogwarts list,” Minerva advised, “and buy the very best quality you think he needs at his age, even buy him an extra school robe or two, but don’t go overboard buying him things that aren’t on the list. The shops will all have myriad things on display that Alroy will probably think he absolutely must have. Ignore him. Unless the request is truly reasonable! Otherwise, don’t give in. He’ll forget about it once he gets home and starts looking at his new textbooks and equipment, then he’ll be off at school and too busy to worry about whatever trinket you may have denied him.”

Madam Puddifoot herself came around and greeted them.

Quin gave her a charming smile. “Madam Puddifoot, a very good day to you! Would you have a spot where Professor McGonagall and I may talk privately?”

“Of course, sir!”

Madam Puddifoot led them to a set of stairs that Minerva hadn’t noticed before, they were so obscured by the pink flutterby bushes. Up the stairs, she showed them to a small tearoom with a single round table, marvellously flutterby-free, though still very pink.

“Would this suit, sir? Or would you prefer the one in the back?”

Quin smiled. “I don’t believe we need quite that much privacy, Madam Puddifoot. This will do very well. We will have a pot of Darjeeling and a selection of your cakes and tarts – unless you would like something different?” he asked, turning to Minerva.

“Actually, a sandwich would not be amiss. Cheddar and cress, please,” Minerva said.

“Very good,” Quin said. “And if we could be left undisturbed after they are brought up?”

“Of course, sir. Although you will be entirely undisturbed. Unless you would prefer more personal service, I can have the food delivered directly from the kitchen,” Madam Puddifoot said. She smiled. “I have found a house-elf.”

“You ‘found’ a house-elf?” Minerva asked curiously.

Madam Puddifoot blushed. “I s’pose I oughtn’t be saying this to anyone . . . but I found one. Been freed. He was wasting away. I can’t bind him, of course, but I gave him a new purpose in life. Took some weeks to bring him around, but now he’s as happy as a lark down in the kitchens and I have a bit of house-elf magic to add to my own.”

Minerva, despite thinking that it really wasn’t any of her business, said, “Yes, he’s happy, and you have house-elf magic, but . . . isn’t it, um, in contravention of certain, um, Ministry regulations regarding house-elves?”

“If you’re asking me if I’m breaking the law, Professor, that I’m not. I pay him!” Madam Puddifoot seemed indignant. “That was the hardest part of the whole business, getting him to accept payment for his service, but when I explained that he could only serve me if he accepted a wage, well, he agreed. Don’t rightly know what he’s going to do with it, but I pay him, and the going rate, too. And he’s clean and well-fed, not the pitiful thing I found shivering in my garden one cool June night.”

Minerva smiled. “That’s wonderful, then! It’s terrible what happens to house-elves sometimes.”

“Right you are! We never had any in my family,” Madam Puddifoot said, “but some folk treat them terrible. He was freed because the youngest child was struck down sick with something. As if he could have prevented it! Fools, some folk are. But they wanted to blame a body, and they blamed little Feego. He can’t ever see his family again, neither,” the witch said with a sigh and wiping a tear from her eye.

That all settled, Quin held a chair for Minerva then took the one across from her. As soon as Madam Puddifoot left, he closed the door with a gesture of his left hand as he drew his wand with his right. Minerva watched as first he cast a spell she didn’t recognise, then one she did.

“All right, the second one was _Colloportus_ , but what was the first one?” she asked.

He grinned. “You’re wantin’ to know all me secrets, are you? In business, it sometimes is wise to make certain there are no eavesdroppers. So although it is unlikely anyone might try listenin’ at the door, I thought you might feel more comfortable if I made certain no one could accidentally overhear us. If you like, I can hide us from view, as well,” he said, gesturing at the window.

“No, that’s not necessary. I don’t want people to think we’re up to something no good, after all,” Minerva said. 

“You know, I thought I’d buy two sets o’ school books. One for me. O’ course, I wouldn’t buy the second set with Alroy right there and embarrass the boy, but even though we did use books for spells and such, I didn’t have the same kind of instruction he’ll be gettin’. I want to know what he’s learnin’, be able to talk with him about it.”

Minerva nodded. “That sounds sensible. I will send you a list of the books for all the required classes right through OWLs, too, so you can get them, too, if you like,” Minerva said. “He doesn’t start Care of Magical Creatures until next year, as you probably noticed, but I spoke with the teacher for that class, and she would be happy to have him help her with things, though she will be leaving in December and can’t promise that he will be able to continue with the new one. And we will both work with him in his ability to speak with animals.”

“Thanks very much, Minerva. I appreciate that. And you know me, I could talk about me kids for the rest o’ the afternoon, but you had news for me,” Quin said, smiling broadly. “And I would guess it is good news. You look grand.”

Minerva smiled. “Thank you. I feel grand. I am sure you know what my news is.”

His eyes sparkled. “I have me hopes, but I would love to hear it from your very self!”

Her smile grew. “He loves me, Quin,” she said, wanting to shout it, but almost whispering it instead, almost in awe, like a sacred truth. “He loves me as I love him.”

“That is wonderful news, Minerva. I am very happy for you, love, very, very happy,” he said.

“Thank you, Quin, for everything. For being such a good friend, and for being more than that. There are no words to tell you how very much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” Minerva said, tears coming to her eyes even as she smiled happily at him.

“’Tis reward enough to see you happy,” Quin replied with a smile.

“Oh, and I have something for you,” she said, reaching into her pocket, “from Albus.”

Quin raised his eyebrows. “Should I be wary?” he asked.

“Hmm? No, it is just a letter, a note he wanted me to give you.”

Quin reached over and took it from her. “Um, hmm, I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just come out with it. I went to see him yesterday after you left. I talked to him.”

“I know. He told me. He said that was why he wrote me the letter he did.” Minerva felt as though her face would split, she was so happy. “It was a beautiful letter, Quin, and he still didn’t know how I felt, but he wrote it anyway, telling me how he feels, how much he loves me. I went to him as soon as I received it.”

Quin let out a relieved breath. “I was worried you might be angry with me for mixin’ in where I didn’t belong, but I hated seein’ you miserable.”

“No, I’m not angry at all, quite the opposite, in fact,” Minerva said. “I don’t know when – or even if – we would have discovered the truth without your help. Thank you.”

Minerva poured them both tea, then she picked up her sandwich. “You can read the note, if you like.”

“Have you read it?” he asked.

“No. But I’m sure it’s fine.” She bit into her sandwich as he slowly unfolded the letter.

Quin opened the final fold and took a breath, then read, acutely aware of Minerva watching him as she ate her cheese sandwich. His nervousness faded to nothing as he read the first words.

_“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
“17 August 1957_

_“Dear Quin,_

_“To simply say ‘thank you’ for all that you have done for Minerva and for me seems completely inadequate, yet that is all I can offer you, my very heartfelt thanks._

_“It cannot have been easy for you to have come to me as you did and to say what you had to say; I appreciate it more than I express._

_“Minerva tells me that you took care of her over the last few days, and I am grateful to you for that, as well. I know that if anything ever happens and Minerva needs help, you will give it to her if I am unable to._

_“I have not the Sight of the MacAirts, but I venture to say that your feelings for Minerva are stronger than you let on to me that day of your tour, when you sat in my office and tried to tell me that you were not taken with her, and that Minerva had had her sights set on a wizard who had given her no indication that he returned her interest. I see now what you were trying to tell me then, but that I was blind to. I rarely lack imagination, but my disbelief in this instance was the result of a distinct dearth of that particular quality._

_“Thank you, Quin, for waking up this old fool and helping him to see and to do what he had been unable to without you. A lesser man would have behaved quite differently, I am sure, but you are worthy of your name, Cormac MacAirt. I would be pleased to call you ‘friend,’ if I may._

_“You are welcome at Hogwarts at any time, and if there is ever any way that I can be of assistance to you, please do not hesitate to ask!_

_“Gratefully yours,_

_“Albus Dumbledore”_

Quin looked thoughtful as he refolded the letter. Minerva paused and put her sandwich down.

“Is everything all right, Quin?”

Quin shook his head. “Everything is fine, love. Just fine,” he said slowly. “Your wizard is rather remarkable. As I would expect of the one whom you loved so deeply, just as I told you when we were at the Gamps, even before I knew who he was. He would have to be worthy of you to hold your love.” He looked up at her. “That seems a very long time ago, Minerva. Has this been the beginning of a long friendship, or the beginning, the culmination, and the end of one?”

“The beginning, Quin! The beginning, surely, if you will forgive me,” Minerva said, reaching across the table impulsively and taking his hand. “Please forgive me, Quin. Please.” 

Quin raised her hand to his lips, but he did not kiss it. He closed his eyes and breathed out a long sigh. “I was after hopin’ for your forgiveness, Minerva. If you require mine, you have it, though I don’t know why you believe you’re needin’ it.” 

The room was quite still for a moment, as though time had stopped and nothing moved or stirred, and when he heard Minerva speak, Quin opened his eyes.

“I ask your forgiveness for what I asked of you,” Minerva said softly, tears swimming in her eyes, “what you were willing to give, but which you were wise enough to withhold. And for encouraging any feelings in you that . . . that I shouldn’t have.”

Quin did kiss her hand then, holding it briefly to his lips as he looked into her eyes. “No forgiveness required for that, and I should have been stronger for you, but I did want you t’ know that you are beautiful and desirable, and most certainly lovable, and I hope that it helped you to heal and did not harm you or our friendship. As for me own feelin’s . . .” Quin sighed. He looked at her with soft eyes. “They are complicated. You are truly as I said: beautiful and desirable, and I probably could have fallen in love with you had things been different. Indeed, I do love you. You are easy for me t’ love, Minerva, and the more I have come t’ know you, the greater me affection for you has become. And I hope you understand what I am about t’ say, at least a little, and are not offended by it, but I had me Aileen. If ever any wizard has a love as I had with Aileen . . . other love might be welcome if it comes along, but ’twould never be the same. Your appearance in me life was an unexpected blessing, Minerva, but you belong with your wizard, and I know that I am not he. And it’s all right. You have your Albus. Cherish every minute he is in this world with you. I would give me life to spend one more minute in a world inhabited by me Aileen, even if I were not with her durin’ that minute. Were it not for me children and their need o’ me, I would have left this world in hopes o’ findin’ her. But their need, and Gertrude’s steady presence, kept me here on this earth. And while I’m abidin’ here, I’ll do me bit. And I hope that bit includes bein’ your friend, Minerva.”

“Yes, yes, please, Quin. I would be honoured and grateful for your friendship. And Albus, too,” Minerva said, “I am sure.”

Quin nodded. “Very good, then. You shall be like me own, Minerva, and any who harm you will live to rue that day – and Dumbledore, too, on your account. Let none harm him an’ I learn of it! You have me, Minerva, an’ me son after, should I die aforetime. Alroy will grow to be a strong wizard, and I teach him his duty to family. You have the MacAirt pledge on that. You have a need, or your wizard has one, call, and we come.”

Minerva smiled. “Thank you, Quin. I appreciate that. Although it is rather an old-fashioned sentiment to offer your son’s assistance, as well, isn’t it?”

“The MacAirts don’t go by fashion, Minerva,” Quin said with a slight shrug. “We go by Right. The best we can, any road. The best any man can, wizard or Muggle. And ’tain’t only Alroy, though he is me first-born, ’tis also Aine, and any other o’ me close kin. You’re me own personal friend, Minerva, but you have more than that now in our friendship.”

Minerva looked slightly uncomfortable at those words. “Is it some kind of magic, then? Did you do a binding? I felt nothing,” she said.

“Not a bindin’ like you’re thinkin’. I bound me own heart,” Quin said. “And ’tisn’t the magic you practise here at Hogwarts; ’tis much, much older. Your wizard likely knows of it, though perhaps not of this particular MacAirt . . . tradition, I s’pose you might call it.”

“Am I supposed to do something now? Something . . . reciprocal?” Minerva asked nervously.

Quin laughed at that, a bright, light sound that eased Minerva’s mind. “Just t’ be your ain self an’ true, Minerva. That is all.” He grinned. “I do say that as though ’tis an easy thing, and ’tisn’t for many folk. But for you, especially now that you are whole of heart and have your wizard, I don’t know if you could be aught but true, Minerva.”

Minerva looked at him, shaking her head. “Sometimes, Quin, you seem so modern, so far ahead of any other wizards I know, with your telephone calls, your wizarding and Muggle businesses, your views on commerce, and your attitudes toward Muggles and Squibs, that I am astounded. Other times, it is as though you have just stepped out of the deepest past, and you are equally as astonishing to me.”

“A wizard out o’ time, no matter how you take me, eh?” He grinned. “That’s all right, Minerva. Although that is one of the things that worries me about Alroy comin’ here to your school. I have tried t’ raise him t’ be a respectable wizard, t’ teach him how things are usually done in this world, but without him losin’ his MacAirt heritage at the same time. I don’t know if it isn’t an impossibility, though. But whatever it is that Alroy chooses to do with his life, if it is honest, then he will have me blessin’, even if I woulda preferred somethin’ different for him.”

“Don’t worry about Alroy, Quin. I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’ll have problems, but so will every other student at Hogwarts. And there are older students he can talk to, as well as his Head of House, and Gertrude and I are both there, though Alroy seems fairly independent, and he will likely try to work things out on his own. Every student comes in feeling different in some way. I had no idea how to relate to other children my own age when I started at Hogwarts, I had spent so much time with adults. It was almost like being an only child, growing up with my three brothers so much older than I. My first year at Hogwarts was particularly difficult, but things got better.” Minerva smiled. “For one thing, Albus started teaching my second year and was my Head of House, and he made sure that I socialised more, and he also took an interest in me. It was what I needed, I was so used to having so much interaction with adults. He was very good to me.”

Quin grinned. “Even when talkin’ about me boy, we come back around to Dumbledore, don’t we?”

“I’m sorry, Quin, I just meant –”

“I know, love,” Quin said. “But your point is a good one. Every kid’ll feel different. I’ll remind Alroy o’ that, too. It’ll help him, I think, to remember that. But as to Dumbledore, ’tis hardly surprising that he had a hard time comin’ round, if he started off as your teacher when you were what, twelve? Thirteen? Even though you’re well an’ truly an adult witch, and have been for years, he also has his memories of you as a little girl. It must sometimes feel peculiar for him, disjointed, kinda, lookin’ at you now, talkin’ to you, attracted to you, lovin’ you, and then rememberin’ the little girl in pigtails. I can see how a man would be uncomfortable with that. It’d be like, twenty years from now, findin’ meself in love with one of Aine’s little friends, but worse – I don’t know them the way that Dumbledore knew you, day-in, day-out, takin’ care o’ you, teachin’ you.” Quin sighed. “I was hard on him, I was. Perhaps too hard. But I’d seen what it had done to you, his rejection, and me sympathy was with you. But then, that may be what he needed in order to tell you the truth. He doesn’t hold it against me, at least.”

“Well, aside from the fact that I haven’t worn my hair in pigtails since I was six years old, I think you have a good point.” Minerva furrowed her brow. “Perhaps that is what is still bothering him.”

“Still troubles, then?” Quin asked.

“I don’t know . . . I shouldn’t discuss this with anyone. It’s quite . . . personal,” Minerva said.

“Ah. The physical side o’ things.”

Minerva shrugged, blushing. Quin waited silently. Finally, he said, “He does touch you, doesn’t he?”

“Of course. And it is wonderful. He is very affectionate,” Minerva said.

“Affectionate is good,” Quin said.

Minerva nodded.

“But I gather that he is still uncomfortable with the more . . . passionate expression of his affections?” Quin asked.

“It’s peculiar, really, Quin. I understand part of it. He is . . . a gentleman. He doesn’t want to rush things. And I appreciate that he wants to court me, as he puts it. And I’m a little nervous about the entire, um, passionate side of things, myself, with just the ordinary worries any of us might have, I suppose. But there is something more with him than just wanting to court me or being ordinarily nervous at the start of a physical relationship. It could be what you just mentioned, about memories of me as a child conflicting with his feelings for me now. That would be awkward, certainly, to suddenly have a memory of me as a little girl as he’s, um, holding me now.”

“Could be,” Quin said, “could be. I . . . I don’t know how much Dumbledore told you about me visit to him.”

“Very little, actually. More or less that you told him I was upset and had injured myself, and that he should tell me the truth,” Minerva said.

Quin nodded. “When I went there, I wanted him to apologise to you properly, for him to understand the hurt he had caused you, and I had some hopes that I might . . . I don’t know, persuade him to consider takin’ his affection for you and his attraction to you an’ puttin’ them together, I suppose. You were so convinced that he had been horrified by his physical reaction and that he had no intentions toward you in that way, you had me almost persuaded of it; still, I thought it was worth tryin’. But then, when I was talkin’ to him, it got kinda heated,” Quin said, somewhat embarrassed. “I thought that he wasn’t listenin’ properly, and I reached out an’ touched him. His feelin’s were so close t’ the surface, Minerva, ’twas no avoidin’ them. I couldn’t believe it at first, an’ then I stretched out me magic, an’ there it was, clear as day. His love for you, to be sure, but his desire, too, and his pain. His pain was great, Minerva. Didn’t soften me heart toward him at the moment, though, seein’ as how his pain was of his own makin’, and I had just nursed your pain over more ’n two days. Later, I regretted some o’ me tone toward him. But I know Dumbledore is in love with you, and he does desire you. Give him some time. ’Tisn’t an easy thing to suddenly jump into a relationship with a witch after years o’ bein’ alone. Could be that’s part of it, too, combined with some residual unease with the idea that you were once one of the children he taught, and he was no young wizard even then.”

“That could be,” Minerva said slowly. “This summer, he kept going on about being an old codger, something I had never heard him say about himself before. Well, perhaps a few times, but it had always been more . . . more joking before. And Albus told me last night that one reason he hadn’t told me the truth about his feelings was that he knew that a vital young witch needs a vital wizard, as though he were some ancient shell of a wizard. You’ve met him, Quin, you’ve seen him over the years, do you think it reasonable of him to think of himself that way? Is it just me, seeing him through loving eyes, that I see a vital, virile wizard? Do others see him differently?”

“I never would have described him as such, as an ancient shell, meself. He has more energy than many wizards half his age, and he certainly seems hale and hearty t’ me. There was a summer, oh, must have been . . . six, seven years ago, now, when he played in our annual pick-up Quidditch game. Don’t know how much time he spends on a broom, likely not much at all, but he played Chaser, and he was quick and agile. Unfortunately for me, he was on Robert’s team, and he kept scorin’. We caught the Snitch, but Robert’s team still won by more’n ten points. And we play, as you know, with only two Chasers. ’Twas quite a feat, even in a friendly game. Tried t’ get him on me own team the next year, but he wouldn’t play again. So, I agree with you, love. He’s certainly not worn out yet . . . unless there’s somethin’ physical wrong with him that we don’t know about. But a visit to a Healer might cure that . . .”

Minerva blushed, but she said, “He said it’s not a physical problem of that sort. He said it was just him, just himself. He suggested that I might . . . find him attractive now, but that the reality of it would put me off, as though his actual touch would disgust me in some way. I wouldn’t discuss this with you, or with anyone, except that it disturbs me that he would think like this, and I don’t understand it at all.”

Quin sat and thought, pouring them each another cup of tea. After drinking some of his tea, Quin said, “I don’t know, Minerva, I may be entirely wrong in this, and it may be . . . unlikely. But . . . how many witches do you suppose Dumbledore’s been with since his wife died when he was barely growed?”

Minerva blushed. “I am sure I don’t know,” she said, remembering the story that Albus had told her of the time in his youth when he had slept with women in return for a warm bed, to “entertain” them and to forget his own troubles. She certainly wouldn’t be sharing _that_ with Quin. Although that might have had some odd effect on Albus, after all, especially since toward the end of that period, he didn’t seem to be at all discriminating about whom he slept with, and was entirely libertine, disgusting himself. “But,” Minerva added, “I do believe that when he returned to England after studying with his Alchemy master, he consciously chose to live a retired life and not become romantically involved with witches. That would have been around eighteen-seventy, I think. A very long time ago.”

“So, since he was a boy, or a young man, at least, he’s likely had only a handful of lovers, if that,” Quin said thoughtfully. “Do you know of any witches whom he’s seen over the past few decades? We know of one, definitely – Valerianna Yaxley-soon-to-be-Flint. And possibly Gertrude, though we can’t be sure o’ that. D’you know of any others whom he may have possibly, um, been close to?”

Minerva shook her head. “Every now and then, we would both be at the same Ministry function, but although he occasionally escorted different witches to them, they never seemed . . . together, if you know what I mean. As though it were a casual, polite thing for him to accompany them. I noticed this in particular, as you may imagine, since I had such strong feelings for him and I lived in dread that he would marry. But it was rare that we would attend the same parties, so there may have been some to whom he was closer. I just don’t know, but somehow I doubt it. Especially given that he did see Valerianna. It doesn’t seem that he would have been at all interested in her if he weren’t, well, not _desperate_ , but if he had had any other witches to compare her to, if you see what I mean.”

“So, Anna and Gertrude,” Quin said thoughtfully, nodding. “And if he ever was with Gertrude, it was likely at some time before he became involved with Valerianna and not after. Possibly when you were a student, certainly not before then, since her husband died only a few years before she started to teach at Hogwarts. If that is so . . . I don’t doubt that he and Gertrude, if ever they were together in that way, had a good relationship, since they are still close friends, and have been ever since I first came to know Gertrude back in forty-four, forty-five. So I can’t see that they ever had any serious disruption in their friendship.”

Minerva interrupted. “They have been friends for forty years, and I agree with you. Although I must say that I am glad they aren’t involved now, I doubt that any kind of relationship between them came to a messy end. But what are you driving at, Quin?”

“Valerianna is nasty, a piece o’ work, as a Muggle friend o’ mine likes to say. I only overheard part o’ what she said to you there on the balcony, but what I remember . . . Tell me, Minerva, what did she say?”

“I’ve tried to forget it. She suggested that Albus required sycophantic followers, and that I was one of them. And that I was repressed and cold.”

“I know it’s unpleasant, but what _exactly_ did she say? Can you remember?”

“Well . . . she suggested that the reason that I was alone was because you are a hot-blooded Irish wizard and you were looking for a, um, willing witch, and that I’m a cold fish. I have no idea where she got that . . . and she said . . .” Minerva stopped and thought a moment, recalling the witch’s bitter tone and her nasty words. “She said that a cold fish like me was perfect for Albus. Then she said that she had asked around about me at the Ministry and learned that I was nothing special, but that she had had to endure listening to Albus talk about me. I see now that she must have been jealous of me, although at the time that they were . . . together, Albus and I rarely saw one another. She said that the reason they weren’t together any longer was that she was too much witch for him.” Minerva snorted at that. “I won’t go into detail, Quin, but the real reason wasn’t that she was too much witch as that she enjoyed sharing herself with too many wizards. Albus was the one who broke it off.”

“I thought it was somethin’ like that. But when I was comin’ out onto the balcony, she was sayin’ somethin’ about Dumbledore, too –”

“Oh, yes . . . in our earlier conversations, she had kept emphasising his age, of course . . . and on the balcony . . . she implied something about the reason he would have me around was because I was, um, an icy, jumped-up Mudblood, or something of the sort, then she said something about him being pitiful.”

“‘Pitiful and dried-up,’ were, I believe, the words I overheard,” Quin said. “If she’d say that to you, can you imagine what she might say to him? If she was angry, a woman scorned? And if she was runnin’ around with a lot o’ young wizards . . . ’tain’t reasonable, not to us, not seein’ Dumbledore, and not knowin’ the nastiness that bears the name ‘Valerianna,’ but could be that Albus, with his years o’ scholarly near-celibacy, could be it hit home, if she said he was old and dried up, right to his face.”

Minerva blanched. “But he wouldn’t believe that, would he? Coming from her? Poppy told me – and I wasn’t going to mention this to you, and it’s not widely known – but he found Valerianna with another wizard in his own home. And that’s why he broke things off with her.”

Quin’s face was a thundercloud. “Under the man’s own roof!” He looked away, and Minerva could see his jaw working. Finally, he said, “Providence had better keep her from me reach until me anger cools – if ever it does.”

“Well, Albus found out about her and broke it off before it could get worse, anyway,” Minerva said, trying to soothe Quin’s mood. “That was surely a good thing.”

“Mmm. Sorry, love. But tryin’ to put meself in his place – unpleasant don’t describe what it musta been for him.” He let out a deep breath. “Still, he’s had little recent experience, and it seems that the last one was with a witch who not only two-timed him, but who likely told him he was old and dried-up – probably her excuse to herself, if not to him, for her own disgustin’ behaviour. Albus loves you and doesn’t want to lose you now, I’m sure. If he’s concerned about his age, he might worry that bein’ more demonstrative to you will somehow turn you away from him. ’Tisn’t reasonable, but the heart isn’t reasonable. If you want me advice, Minerva, be patient with him, and listen to everythin’ he says before reactin’ to it. ’Tis an embarrassin’ topic, anyhow, and if he feels you don’t take his feelin’s on the matter seriously, he might close up more. Not to say you should give them credence, if they’re unreasonable fears, but take his self seriously, if you see what I’m sayin’.”

Minerva nodded. “Whatever the reason is, aside from his desire to treat me properly and to court me, I will respect his feelings on it, though I will try to persuade him to abandon his fears about it.” Minerva closed her eyes and sighed, then she looked at Quin and said, “You would think that my own reactions to him would have convinced him already. But thank you, Quin. I don’t think I’ll mention to him that we talked about this – it would be even more embarrassing for him, I’m sure.”

“It will be as though we never spoke, Minerva,” Quin said with a smile. He paused, then continued, somewhat uncomfortably, “And I didn’t mention to him anythin’ about, you know . . . sleepin’ with you. And the other time we spent together. But he obviously knows you stayed with me.”

“I won’t tell him about that, either, then – not that I had considered doing that, anyway. At some point, perhaps, but I can’t see that there would be any good that could come of going into detail. If he asks, that is another thing entirely, and I wouldn’t hide anything from him, though I would be careful about how I communicated it.” Minerva patted his hand. “I will always think of you when I think of the lovers I had before Albus, Quin, even though we didn’t . . . I was more intimate with you than with wizards I have been more physically involved with. And I will always appreciate that.”

Quin quirked a smile. “Might be wise, love, not t’ be mentionin’ any other intimacies or any earlier lovers to your wizard, leastwise not until he’s settled more.”

Minerva nodded. “Unless there’s some reason for it, I wouldn’t anyway, even if the situation were less unusual than it is.”

“Have you had enough to eat, Minerva?”

“Plenty – and as my Grandmother Siofre always says, enough is as good as a feast!” she replied.

“Me own gran always says that, too. Nowadays, before I can get it out o’ me mouth, one o’ me kids says it, very disgusted-like, knowin’ they aren’t gettin’ anymore o’ whatever it is they think they want,” Quin said with a laugh.

“I would like to pay for tea today, Quin. I invited you, and after your hospitality, and your gifts, and your friendship, I would appreciate it if you would allow me,” Minerva said as they rose.

Quin hesitated. “That’s fine, Minerva, but there’s usually a charge for the room. I don’t know if she will levy it if you’re payin’ or not, but she never does with me. Just fair warnin’ that it may be a bit pricier than your usual tea.”

Minerva smiled. “Thanks, Quin.”

He laughed. “Thank _you_ , ma grande dame de la Metamorphosis! And I appreciate your advice about Alroy. I’ll try not t’ go overboard. Don’t want him developin’ airs or gettin’ acquisitive.”

After Minerva had settled the bill – and Madam Puddifoot had not charged her for the room, though Minerva believed that it was only because she was with Quin – the two left. 

“I’d like to spend more time with you, Quin, but I told Albus I would be back, and it’s beginning to get late,” Minerva said, turning to him.

“That’s fine. Me kids an’ I are Portkeyin’ home in the mornin’, and I need to get ready to leave. I hope to spend most o’ me time at home in Ireland for the next couple weeks, and just come over when I have somethin’ important scheduled – such as your niece’s weddin’ and the school shoppin’ trip with Alroy. He wanted to go with Ella last week, but I told him I wanted to go with him, make it a father-son time.”

“Enjoy your time with your family, Quin. And thank you again for all you have done for me.” Minerva took his hand, then stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “You may never find another Aileen, but I wish you happiness in your life.”

“And I wish the same to you,” Quin said, smiling. 

“’Bye, Quin!” 

Minerva held her wand to her and Disapparated. On arriving at the gates, she rushed up the drive. She hadn’t told Albus precisely when she would be back, but it was nearly dinner time, and he may have expected her sooner. Now, where to go – her rooms, where she had left Albus, or his office? His office. He likely returned there after she had left the castle.

She hurried up the stairs and gave the password to the gargoyle. He wasn’t in his office, but as she started up to his suite, she heard his voice call to her. 

“Minerva? Is that you?”

“Yes, Albus. I’m back!”

She trotted up the stairs and into his arms as he stepped out of his sitting room door.

He held her tightly, then he kissed her. He looked at her, his eyes sparkling, and said, “I had wanted it to be a bit more of a surprise, my dear, but time was growing short and I had to change.”

Minerva noticed for the first time that Albus was wearing Muggle evening dress. “We’re going out?” she asked. 

“Yes, my dear. If you could just change into some robes that might pass as a Muggle evening gown? We could be on our way.”

“Just like that? I need time – I need to do my hair, I need to take a shower, I need –”

“You need to change your clothes, and that is all, Minerva. You are fine. Don’t worry about your hair. It is lovely as always!”

Minerva let out a breath and looked up at him with a rueful smile. “All right. But I wish I had had more warning. Where are we going?”

“That shall remain a surprise, my dear,” Albus said with a twinkle.

“But how do I know what would be appropriate?” Minerva said, frustrated. “I appreciate a surprise, but –”

“But –” Albus interrupted her, “do you have the gown you wore the morning you Apparated to the Gamps?”

Minerva nodded.

“That would be perfectly appropriate, I believe!” Albus said.

“You remember what I wore that day, Albus?” Minerva asked, surprised but pleased.

“Of course I do! You looked lovely. You could use the same hair things, perhaps. They were very pretty,” Albus said.

Minerva smiled happily and let him lead her through his suite, though she did wish they could dawdle in the bedroom, and down his backstairs, then escort her to her rooms, where Minerva got ready to leave as quickly as she could. She didn’t know what to do for a purse. She couldn’t find her Muggle evening bag. Finally, she gave up looking for it, aware that Albus was pacing in the other room, and simply took her other handbag and Transfigured it. This was better, anyway. It now matched her gown perfectly. She charmed an evening wrap in a shade complementary to the colour of her dress, did the same to her shoes, then joined Albus in the sitting room.

“You look marvellous, Minerva! Absolutely beautiful.” He took her arm. “Now, I don’t normally do this, but I have created a Portkey for us – quite legal for me to do, if somewhat unorthodox, as I have not registered it – and we can leave from here.” He reached into his pocket and removed a broken button. “Ready, my dear?” At her nod, he said, “Andrew’s.”


	122. Another Date for Minerva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus brings Minerva out for an evening.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, and Melina McGonagall.

**CXXII: Another Date for Minerva**

A moment after their Portkey activated, Minerva stood, blinking and holding tightly to Albus’s arm, looking around her, not recognising where they were. Was Andrew a friend of his? She asked him that.

“No, no, not precisely,” Albus replied, taking her hand and leading her around a corner before turning her and gesturing at the large building they now faced. “St. Andrew’s.”

“St. Andrew’s? Glasgow?” she asked.

“Yes, indeed. We have a little time, now, but I would like to get our tickets. A friend of mine – I don’t know if you know him, Paul Armstrong – acquired them for me this afternoon,” Albus explained as they walked. “It was actually rather handy to have you leave so that I could make arrangements, although I did begin to worry that I should have been more specific about when I would have liked you to return. But I wasn’t entirely certain whether Paul could find us tickets for this concert, and if he couldn’t, I thought I would just bring you out to dinner somewhere nice,” he said as they walked across to the building, entered it, then went up to the counter where they could collect their tickets.

“I would have been happy to return earlier,” Minerva said. “Quin and I talked a lot, and about a variety of things, but I could have returned sooner.”

“Everything has worked out quite well, though,” Albus said as he put the tickets in the pocket of his jacket. “We have at least forty-five minutes before we need to be in our seats. The concert begins at seven-thirty. We could have a glass of wine somewhere, if you like. I thought we could have a light supper after the concert. I hope that is all right and you aren’t hungry now.”

“I’m fine, Albus. I had a sandwich and a tart with my tea, so I’m not at all hungry yet.”

“All right, then, let’s just step around this corner. Hold on, Minerva,” he said softly, pulling her into a shadow and holding her against him. 

Minerva didn’t have much time to realise that they were about to Apparate, but it was smooth and silent, and when Minerva looked around and realised that they were now in McTavish Street in Edinburgh, she laughed.

“Being able to Apparate silently certainly has its advantages,” Minerva said. “I never would have dared try to Disapparate from there. Muggles would have been running about, looking for the explosion! At least I’m not as loud as Melina. She is deafening. I have never known anyone who Apparates so loudly – coming and going!”

Albus chuckled. “I thought perhaps we might go to the same café we went to after the other concert, if that suits.” 

“That would be lovely, Albus,” Minerva replied. She took his arm and put her other hand on it, as well, but then she dropped one hand and moved slightly away from him, maintaining only a light hold on his elbow. “I’m sorry, Albus. I almost forgot,” she whispered.

“Forgot?”

“My brother’s shop is here, my friends and family are often here, and everyone in the world knows you,” Minerva said, “and we can be easily observed. I remember that you wish to be discreet.”

Albus smiled. “Yes, that is right. But you needn’t pretend you don’t know me, either.”

“I will try not to cling to you, though,” Minerva said softly as he held the door for her, “and a good thing, too, as here comes my niece now. I don’t know if she’s seen us, though.”

Minerva and Albus sat down at the same table they had had before, and Albus explained to the waitress they didn’t have very much time. She smiled and told them she would bring their wine immediately, and the bill with it. As the waitress left, Minerva pointed discreetly. Melina had come in and was looking around the room. She spotted them and waved as she approached.

“I thought I saw you! I didn’t know you were coming to Edinburgh today, Min! How are you, Professor Dumbledore? I wish I had known you would be in town. I would have had Brennan meet me here rather than at his shop.”

“We’re only having a quick glass of wine,” Minerva explained just as the waitress returned, “then we are leaving.”

“You look terrific, Min – Minerva,” Melina said enthusiastically. “You do, too, Professor! Nice evening dress. So you’re doing something Muggle tonight?” she asked as she pulled over a chair and sat down.

Albus chuckled. “Yes, we are. I am escorting your aunt to a concert in Glasgow this evening.”

“Oh, the one at St. Andrew’s? I saw that announced. Strange programme, though, I thought. But I think Swarowsky is going to work out well. What do you think, Professor?”

Minerva gritted her teeth and drank her wine as her niece chattered away about the conductor, and how she wished they had found a Scot to lead the Scottish National Orchestra for once, but for all that, Swarowsky was a good choice. Minerva had no idea who the man was, though it was clear from his name that he was fairly far from being a Scot, so she did agree with Melina on principle about that. She gathered from the conversation, though, that it was considered quite a coup for the orchestra to have attracted him. 

Finally, Melina stood and said, “Well, I suppose you ought to be leaving now! It was good to see you, Min!” She gave Minerva a kiss on the cheek then bustled out of the café. 

Minerva and Albus left with a little less speed, but Albus said, “I do believe that if we do not Apparate directly to the hall, we will be late. I am going to try a little trick, if you don’t mind, Minerva. I am not entirely sure how well it will work, but . . .”

“All right, whatever you like,” Minerva agreed.

Albus chuckled. “You do not even know what it is! I might have a hare-brained idea that will Splinch us both.”

Minerva smiled up at him, “I very much doubt that.”

They quickly stepped into the shadows next to the building, and Albus whispered, “Close to me, my dear, as is always so lovely. Good. Now, I have done this on my own before, but never when bringing someone with me, so if you could very specifically concentrate on our destination as we go, I believe that will help.” Unlike the other times they had Apparated together, Albus drew his wand, then slipped it up his sleeve, holding the end in the palm of his hand. “First, I am going to make us vanish, and then I will Apparate us, all right, Minerva?”

Minerva nodded against him, enjoying the vibration of his magic around her and the sound of his heart beating in his chest. A moment later, she felt a peculiar tickling, which was immediately replaced with the sensation of being wrapped in a soft, fuzzy cotton blanket infused with Albus’s magic. Remembering that she was supposed to be concentrating on their destination, Minerva tried to ignore the unusual sensations and to visualise the corner from which they had Disapparated.

“Now, my dearest,” Albus whispered, and Minerva could feel the sensation of Apparition.

When they arrived, Minerva felt only slightly disoriented, but fortunately not ill. She waited until Albus nodded and let her go before she stepped away from him.

“We are in luck,” he said softly. “There is no one nearby. Come, let’s find our seats.”

They sat and listened to the orchestra warming up, something that Minerva had always enjoyed, though she couldn’t say why. Looking at the programme, Minerva could understand what Melina had thought was odd about it. 

“Tchaikovky’s Nutcracker Suite in August?” she asked, puzzled.

Albus shrugged. “Perhaps it is one of the pieces that was easy for both the new conductor and the orchestra to get together for this concert. I do not know. But I do like it, so I don’t mind that it might be slightly unseasonable. I particularly enjoy the Arabian Dance.”

Minerva perused the rest of the programme. The overture to Tannhäuser. Minerva wasn’t overly fond of Wagner, but it was only one piece, and that overture wasn’t objectionable, from what she remembered of it. The remainder of the music appealed to her more, a Mozart piano concerto and then, after the interval, Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 in A major. Yes, other than opening with Wagner, and the fact that the Tchaikovsky seemed a slightly odd choice in the middle of August, which Minerva could overlook, it seemed like a nice programme.

Minerva looked over at Albus. “Thank you, Albus,” she whispered as the lights dimmed. “I was in such a hurry earlier, and then so surprised, I didn’t say thank you properly.”

Albus smiled at her and whispered, “You are very welcome, my dearest Minerva.”

In the dark Muggle hall, Minerva reached over and took Albus’s hand. He made a slight movement, as if startled, but then he closed a warm hand around hers. Minerva had never properly appreciated the Tannhäuser overture before, she decided as she sat there, holding Albus’s hand and feeling his magic flow with the music.

During the interval, Albus asked her if she would like anything to drink.

Minerva shook her head. “Do you mind terribly if we just stay here in our seats and talk?”

“Not at all. In fact,” he said, looking around them, “I can give us a bit of privacy so we can speak more freely.” He let his wand fall out of his sleeve and into his hand again. “Would you wave your programme about, my dear, as though there were a fly nearby?”

Minerva did as Albus asked, and he waved his hand in an arc over them.

“There we are!” he said, his eyes sparkling. “The fly is gone.”

“So . . . people will think we are talking about vegetables?” Minerva asked with a laugh as she settled back into her seat, placing her programme in her lap.

“This time, the peculiarities of weather and sunspots and such things,” Albus said with a chuckle.

Minerva smiled. “You never cease to amaze me, Albus.”

“I thought that the weather might be a more appropriate topic of conversation for a concert hall,” Albus said with a shrug, but he smiled, and Minerva thought she detected a slight blush of pleasure come to his cheeks.

“I enjoyed the first part of the programme,” Minerva said. “How did you think of doing this?”

“I knew there was going to be a concert here tonight, though I didn’t know what it was. Fawkes, being very long-suffering,” Albus explained with a chuckle, “consented to bring a letter to my friend Paul. He did answer with a more conventional Tawny Owl, though, since Fawkes apparently decided that he was done playing messenger bird for a while and didn’t wait for a response. Paul said that if I didn’t hear from him to the contrary, the tickets would be waiting for me. And here we are!”

“That was good of him to do so quickly,” Minerva commented. “I don’t know any Armstrongs. Wizarding Armstrongs, that is . . .”

“He’s a Muggle-born, married to a Squib – most unusual situation there – and he moves within the Muggle world very easily as a result,” Albus explained, “although he has quite a conventional wizarding job with Gringotts in their Glasgow branch, handling Muggle currency exchange.”

“It was a wonderful idea, Albus, thank you! I’m sorry about Melina, though,” Minerva said.

“Not at all, Minerva, she is a lovely young witch – _and_ your niece. I enjoyed seeing her. I must say, though, does she ever slow down?” Albus asked with a chuckle.

Minerva laughed. “We don’t think she knows how! Brennan is good for her that way. He’s much more relaxed, steadier, and less impulsive. He’s a good man.”

“And Friday is the wedding,” Albus observed. 

“Yes . . . you know, I had thought this even before, well, before yesterday, would you like to do something in the afternoon afterward, or do you need to be back at the school?”

“I would love to spend the afternoon with you, my dear, either at the school or elsewhere, and I do have the entire day free.” Albus blushed and smiled. “I must admit to hoping, even when I suggested I might escort you to the wedding, that we might spend the entire day together, so I cleared my schedule. The Wizengamot will have to do without me.”

Minerva smiled happily. “Wonderful. We can think about what we might do – unless you had an idea already?”

“I do . . . and I am fairly certain you would enjoy it. Do you mind another surprise, my dear?”

Minerva laughed. “I do love your surprises, Albus, especially when they are like this evening. What else did you do this afternoon while I was gone?”

“I did do some work, and Gertrude stopped by. Apparently Malcolm had to go help a friend with something, so she was at loose ends.” Albus smiled. “She really is in love with your brother, you know.”

“I thought she seemed to be. I hope everything works out – first I fear for her, then I fear for him – it just seems as though there are too many things that could go wrong between them. And especially as Malcolm is not known for his ability to make and keep long-term commitments, I worry about Gertrude.” Minerva smiled slightly. “I never thought I would worry about Gertrude, of all people!”

Albus raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Because she is imperturbable and unassailable, or because you didn’t like her?”

Minerva flushed. “Both, I suppose, although, obviously, she is not imperturbable and unassailable, though she certainly seems confident and self-possessed most of the time.”

“Do you . . . like her a little now?” Albus asked hesitantly.

“Yes, actually, I do, and more than a little – and a good thing, too, if she is going to be hanging about with my brother. But, seriously, Albus, I do appreciate her better than I did, and I find myself enjoying her company.”

Albus smiled. “I hoped that you would like her when you gave her a chance, Minerva. And I knew you would give her that chance.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “It’s one of the things I love about you, my dear, your open heart. I was confident you would give yourselves a chance to know each other better.”

Minerva nodded. “And it was good of her, too. She didn’t need to extend her hospitality, or a hand of friendship, particularly as I was . . . not particularly inclined to reach out my hand to her.”

“She was once . . . not more sociable, precisely, but more friendly, I suppose, more openly warm and obviously generous, with a sense of humour,” Albus said. “But after Reginald died, Gertrude just closed up. She had always been somewhat reserved and a bit shy, but she became positively taciturn and unapproachable for a long while after that. Over the years, as she has got on with her life and adjusted to her loss, she has mellowed, but I thought the witch whom I had come to know as a sweet young newlywed had disappeared never to return, though I still caught occasional glimpses of that person beneath the carapace into which she had withdrawn. Now, however, with your brother – it’s not as though she has returned to being the sweet young thing she once was, but she has a spark of life that had faded, and she seems more relaxed, more spontaneous. I hope it lasts.”

The musicians began to return to the stage and Minerva leaned toward Albus as he dismissed the privacy charm, and whispered, “I should have trusted you, Albus, and known that if you cared for Gertrude, and she for you, for all these years, she was all right. So if you love her, she must be a fine witch.”

Albus turned his head to respond, looking slightly surprised, but the lights came down and the conductor stepped up in front of the orchestra again. This time, Minerva wound her arm around Albus’s then took his hand. She felt him sigh and relax as he wrapped her hand in his.

Minerva had forgotten which symphony the seventh was, and it was beautiful. At one point during the second movement, as a theme was repeated and she felt Albus’s magic seem to reach out and envelope her, Minerva closed her eyes, oblivious to all else, and relished the sensation of Albus’s magic and the music surrounding her.

When the concert was over and the lights came up, Minerva and Albus filed out with the rest of the audience, and Albus fetched her wrap for her, then they walked down the street, arm in arm. 

“It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it?” Minerva said. “But it feels as though it might rain tonight.”

“Any evening spent with you is lovely, rain, shine, dark, light, warm, or cold, my dear! We have reservations for dinner in . . . about twenty minutes,” Albus said, looking into her eyes as though he could tell the time from them, or learn the secrets of the universe. “Would you like to find a spot and leave now or stroll a bit?”

Minerva smiled up at him. “Is it a place requiring your current manner of dress?”

“No, although this will be acceptable. I will no doubt appear even more eccentric than usual, though,” he said with a twinkle.

“Then let’s walk a bit here, where no one knows us,” Minerva suggested. 

Albus assented with a nod, and they began to walk down toward the Green in the direction of the river. A voice called out, and they turned toward it. Minerva smiled. 

“It’s the Gypsy! Isn’t it he, Albus? The same one?”

Albus smiled broadly. “It is, indeed!”

The short, dark-haired man was pulling a small cart behind him. He waved cheerily. “My friends! You enjoy the evening?”

“Yes, very much,” Albus said. “Have you any flowers left?”

“A few, yes, a few nice ones. My brother – ” Then he began to say something that Minerva couldn’t understand at all.

“I am sure that what you have will be fine, don’t you think, Minerva?” Albus responded, then turning to Minerva.

Minerva nodded. She had no idea what he had said, but she was happy to agree with Albus.

“I am sorry, my dear. He was just saying that his brother will be coming to meet him with their caravan shortly, and he has more flowers,” Albus explained. As Albus explained this to Minerva, the swarthy vendor had turned to his buckets and had apparently selected what he thought was the best flower.

“Red rose again, yes?” he said, offering the flower for Albus’s inspection. 

“Most definitely!” Albus replied with a smile, paying him, again giving the man a one-pound coin and refusing change. 

“I would like to thank you,” Minerva said, “for the nazar you gave me last time.”

“You see clearly now, eh?” the Roma said with a grin. “Good! Very good.”

The two walked for a few more minutes, quietly discussing the concert they had just attended, Minerva twirling the rose lightly between the fingers of one hand. Of the second half of the concert, Minerva had most enjoyed the symphony’s final movement, with its lively, dance-like feel, whereas Albus said that he had most enjoyed the second movement, with its unusual poetic repetitions of the theme. Minerva had also appreciated that movement, finding it sombre and evocative, but she still preferred the lighter parts of the piece. Finally, Albus said that it was time to leave for dinner, and he pulled her into the shadows, out of the view of any Muggle eyes. 

“Where are we going, Albus?” Minerva asked.

“You shall see very soon,” he said in a whisper, putting his arms around her. Instead of preparing to Disapparate, however, he kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then her lips, repeatedly. Finally, he sighed and held her close to him, cradling her head to his shoulder. “I love you, Minerva McGonagall,” he whispered. 

They stood there for a moment, hearing the Muggle traffic in the distance, until Albus said with a slight sigh, “We must go now, my dear, or we shall be late. Are you ready?”

She nodded, and just a moment later, they were in an alley off of Diagon Alley. He offered her his arm, and they set off. It was warmer there than it had been in Glasgow, and Minerva let her wrap fall from around her shoulders. 

“Is Delancie’s all right, Minerva?”

Minerva laughed. “Of course it is! You know, the entire time I was there with Filius, as much as I enjoyed his company, I wished that you were there, too.”

Albus smiled happily. “Very good, then! I asked Delancie to have some nice little things for a late supper. He promised me he would have something special to offer us.”

Minerva looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Aren’t you afraid someone will see us there, sharing an intimate late night meal, and wonder?”

“If anyone asks, we are celebrating your being made the new Head of Gryffindor. But I doubt anyone will notice us. I did ask for a secluded table, as well – but in the main dining room,” he added hastily, sensing a change in Minerva’s mood. “We won’t hide . . . but I thought a little quiet would be welcome.” 

“It is lovely and romantic, Albus,” Minerva said. “Thank you.” She wouldn’t let the fact that they were being “discreet” ruin the romance of the setting, and she wouldn’t let Albus think that she was in any way disappointed.

They were seated immediately at a small round table set off to one side, a half-wall with cascading plants providing some privacy, though they could still see part of the dining room. Since many of the tables were similarly situated, however, only a handful of diners were observable from their vantage point; Minerva wasted no time looking to see who else might be there, turning her attention only toward Albus.

Mr Delancie himself came out, carrying a bottle of champagne for Albus’s approval, then he poured them each a glass. 

“I have taken the liberty of having my chef prepare several plates sampling some of our most popular dishes, if that would meet your satisfaction,” Delancie said.

“That sounds wonderful to me. What do you think, my dear?” Albus asked, turning to Minerva.

“I would enjoy that very much, I believe. Thank you,” she said, smiling at the genial restaurateur. 

He gestured, and a waiter came from somewhere, presenting them with their first plate of tidbits. The waiter uncovered it with a flourish, revealing four escargot with garlic butter; four broiled mushroom caps stuffed with chopped walnuts, mushrooms, and herbs; and four tiny but perfect triangles of puffy pastry filled with Gorgonzola and pine nuts. Minerva wasn’t fond of escargot, but she ate both of hers, anyway, and was pleasantly surprised that they weren’t as slimy as she remembered.

Minerva laughed when butter ran down Albus’s beard as he tried to put a snail in his mouth that was absolutely drenched in garlic butter. She took her own Charmed napkin and dabbed at it, but then shook her head, still chuckling.

“You still have parsley stuck in your beard, I’m afraid,” she said, and Albus waved his hand to clean it off. 

They agreed that all of the tidbits were wonderful, but if they had to pick a favourite, they both liked the mushrooms the best, though the Gorgonzola pastries were a close second. Scarcely had they finished the final morsel when the waiter reappeared, this time with a selection of bright-coloured vegetables. There were long, thin, crisp green beans that had been steamed then chilled in a marinade of a fruity vinegar and mild herbs, radishes cut into delicate florets, and warm, cooked cauliflower with a simple garnish of parsley, butter, and fine bread crumbs. These bright vegetables cleansed their palates for the next platter of food, which consisted of a variety of smoked, cured, and fresh-poached fishes. Minerva smiled with delight when she saw that plate uncovered. 

Albus grinned. “I thought that perhaps the way to this witch’s heart might be via the sea! I asked that Delancie not neglect a fish course.”

“Growing up with my father, you either came to love fish or hate it, I suppose,” Minerva said, trying very hard to take only half of each type of fish. She tasted a forkful of something the waiter had described as poached halibut with “Delancie sauce.” “Oh, my, Albus! Try the halibut! It’s perfect! And the sauce . . . oh, I would die for this recipe. Not that I could make it, but Fwisky could, and Blampa would probably be happy to be of service!”

Albus agreed that the halibut was excellent, as were all of the other fish dishes. As he poured them both more champagne, Minerva put her hand on his knee. 

“This is wonderful, Albus. Thank you very much. I was right about your surprises being fun. It’s both fabulously ordinary, being able to sit here and share a meal with you, and very special, too. It’s perfect,” she said, giving his leg a little squeeze.

A smile lit Albus’s face. “I am very glad. I think any meal taken in your company is special, particularly when yours is the only company, but I always have wanted to have a romantic meal at Delancie’s with you.”

“Always, Albus?” Minerva asked, a mischievous grin on her face.

“Perhaps not always,” he responded, blushing, “but for a while, anyway.”

Minerva didn’t press him on the issue – after all, she wasn’t prepared to tell him she had fallen in love with him while she was still his student. She doubted very much that his own feelings for her had developed that long ago, and it sounded from what had he said that it had been a slow process over years. It did make her wonder about Valerianna, and perhaps answered the question of why he had ever bothered seeing the witch in the first place. Albus had said that he had tried to divert himself from his feelings for her. Valerianna was no doubt a part of that attempt, and somehow she must have sensed it. Minerva couldn’t bring herself to pity the witch, however, remembering that everyone who had told her anything about the relationship made it sound as though Valerianna had actually made the first overtures, thinking that Albus was a promising prospect for Minister for Magic. Minerva was glad that she had never stooped as low as to date a wizard-equivalent of that cow. The worst she had done was date Jean-Paul, the French envoy, immediately after the war, and the worst that could be said of him was that he was boring. 

The waiter brought out a Merlot to accompany the next course, which consisted of a variety of meats and fowl and didn’t appeal to Minerva as much, though the bit of duck in gooseberry sauce was nice, as was the steak, which the waiter had said was from Hereford beef, and had been marinated and rubbed with coarsely ground black pepper, then grilled and thinly sliced.

“I will have to tell Mother about the duck,” she said. “She has a few grozet bushes, and she and Fwisky usually just put them up in preserves. They make a nice sauce for duck, though! I always associate duck with orange sauce.”

Albus nodded. “Delancie tries to use native ingredients in his cooking, as far as he can. He brings British cooking to new heights,” he said between bites of pork, which had been roasted with turnips and rosemary. Minerva liked the turnips and rosemary, but didn’t touch the morsels of pork. 

“He’s a Muggle-born,” Albus continued, “and his family were in the restaurant business. He saw the need for a high-quality restaurant in Diagon Alley, and the wizarding world is the richer for it. There were two others here, before your time, of course, but Fortescue converted his to an ice cream parlour, which he does extremely well, and the other one – what was it called? – Turleigh’s, I think. That one closed up a few years after Delancie’s opened, and Delancie has set the standard ever since. I would say that even the quality of the food in the Leaky Cauldron has improved by necessity, despite the obvious differences between the two establishments. But wizards – and witches, of course – have learned that a meal eaten out in Diagon Alley doesn’t have to be bland, overcooked, or fried to death.”

“Too bad that Johannes hasn’t eaten here,” Minerva said. “He thinks English cooking is terrible. He did enjoy our tea, though – Mother saw it as a point of Scottish pride, I think, that he liked it.” 

Albus laughed. “It would probably just go further to convince him that ordinary English cooking isn’t very good, if he were to eat here.”

“I had not remembered Hogwarts food being bad – and it isn’t precisely – but it is rather monotonous during the year, and fairly heavy. Mother says it’s likely aimed at the appetites of the students and not the tastes of the teachers.”

Minerva had thought she couldn’t eat another bite when the next course was brought out, but the creamed spinach with sorrel, tomato aspic, and thin-sliced pickled potatoes were all lovely and light, and she had some of each. The dessert course was likewise light, a fruit soup of mixed berries served with heavy cream over it, and thin, crispy biscuits, and two cups of coffee. Albus loaded his coffee with sugar and cream, and Minerva just added a dollop of cream to hers, knowing she wouldn’t drink much of it anyway.

As they sat enjoying an after-dinner cognac, Minerva sighed in contentment and reached under the table to take Albus’s hand and give it a quick squeeze. 

“This has been absolutely lovely, Albus. It’s funny, everything we were served was fairly simple, but each thing was done with care. Not one wrong note. It’s a pity that the rest of life can’t be more like that,” she said.

Albus, gazing at her warmly, agreed, and said regretfully, “If only we hadn’t hit so many wrong notes this summer, most of them – perhaps all of them, in fact – by me.”

“That’s not true, Albus. Perhaps my wrong notes were not as loud as yours,” she said with a smile, “but I am sure there were things I could have said or done differently, for the better. But you know, Albus, I think that I would like to take a different perspective on it all. I have always enjoyed the sound of an orchestra warming up. It’s discordant, and no one’s in tune yet, and everyone’s playing something a bit different, but without it, the orchestra could not come together to play the beautiful music they do.” Minerva smiled and took his hand again. “Why don’t we look at that time this summer as our warm-up, Albus? And now, we’re in tune, hmm?”

Albus’s smile was happy, and he leaned toward her and said softly, “That is a beautiful way to think of it, Minerva, and one more example of all that I love in you.” His eyes twinkled as he added, “And I am looking forward to playing with you for a long time to come, my dear.”

Minerva shivered pleasurably as his low voice in her ear raised goose bumps over her entire body, and his mention of playing with her brought to mind specific ways in which she would like to play with him, and she grew warm. She turned her head and looked into his eyes. 

“Let’s go home now, Albus, please,” she said huskily.

Albus nodded, but then he hesitated slightly. “I had something I had wanted to tell you this evening, but there never seemed an appropriate moment.” He swallowed, and Minerva thought he looked a bit nervous.

Her heart began to pound in her chest. What bad news was he going to break to her now? It didn’t seem there could be any, but she nodded and said as calmly as she could, “You would like to tell me now, then?” 

Albus seemed to gather himself together, then he said, “I know that we agreed that we would be discreet, and it was my own suggestion that we not inform anyone but Quin and your parents about the new state of things – ”

“The ‘new state of things’?” Minerva asked.

“That you and I are, um, that I am paying you court,” Albus said awkwardly. “But I do have to confess to you that that small circle has already grown beyond those original three.”

Minerva, relieved that it was only that and nothing more serious, asked, “So you discussed this with Gertrude?”

“Yes, how did you know?” Albus asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Well, aside from your friend Paul and Mr Delancie, who would scarcely care, the only person you mentioned speaking to this afternoon was Gertrude. And she obviously does care. I may be completely overjoyed that we have surmounted our misunderstanding, so to speak, but even in my haze of bliss, I am still capable of making that rather elementary deduction,” Minerva said with a grin. “So . . . already expanding the list of people who will be told, hmm? What did you say to her?”

Albus blushed darkly. “I hardly had two words out of my mouth, not even intending to tell her anything other than that you had returned to the castle and we had spent some time together, when she said, ‘Finally! I was beginning to despair of you both!’ She evidently had been aware of our feelings and had been trying to get us to do something about it, but being ‘bloody stubborn Gryffindors,’ as she put it, we seemed to be determined to ignore or misinterpret every one of her hints. And I do admit, looking back on it now, that Gertie had tried to get me to talk to her about you, at the very least, and I did turn away every opportunity she presented me, and she had also encouraged me talk to you directly, to spend time with you and such, but again, I did not heed her, not in the way that she had hoped, anyway.”

“So she knew all the time?” Minerva asked, unsure whether she was surprised by that or not.

Albus shrugged. “We have known each other for forty years, and Gertie has come to know me and my moods very well in that time. Apparently, she began to suspect some years ago that I was, um, becoming enamoured of you,” he said, lowering his voice, “and she didn’t know whether anything would ever come of it or not, but she believed we would be well-suited to one another, if you returned my feelings. Then, three or four years ago, Gertie did some Arithmantic calculations, which she says she has never before done on friends without their knowledge and consent, but she made an exception this time. She said that she didn’t possess enough of the variables to be able to say with very great certainty, but that each calculation she performed pointed to our being ideally matched. One reason she didn’t tell me about this – and I agree with her now, although I wish it weren’t true – is that she believed that if she had, I would have worked even harder at ignoring and diverting my feelings. Gertie had apparently even done a set of calculations in which she intervened and encouraged me, but regardless of how she performed the calculation or what interventions she proposed, the results were always unsatisfactory. Until you came to work at Hogwarts. Then she had hope that we would simply . . . find each other. That I would wake up and tell you. As for you, she was unsure of the nature of your feelings toward me, though she became persuaded that they mirrored mine. That is one of the reasons she invited you to the Gamp party. She wanted to see if she could determine the direction and strength of your feelings. Apparently a confrontation you had with Valerianna Yaxley decided it for her – probably the one in which you shrunk her shoes – and that was when Gertie decided that she could try encouraging me more. Not that I was very receptive. But she did try.”

“I see.” Minerva sat and thought about these revelations for a moment. Then she smiled at Albus. “Another reason for me to get to know her better and develop more of an appreciation of her. Shall we go?”

It never would have occurred to Minerva to use Arithmancy to analyse her relationship to Albus and the possibilities for their future. She certainly was aware of variables that Gertrude likely wouldn’t be. But her own skill in Arithmancy was adequate to her purposes in developing new Transfiguration spells – and barely adequate for that – and Minerva doubted she would have been able to do such a thing even if it had occurred to her. And now, she didn’t want to know anything that Arithmancy might have to say about their relationship. It was enough to know that Gertrude’s calculations had seen that they were well-suited to one another. 

Albus passed his wand over the bill that the waiter presented, then Mr Delancie was at the door, bidding them good-night. It was well after midnight, but as it was a Saturday, the Three Broomsticks was still open for a while, and the two agreed that it might be best to Floo rather than to Apparate after the champagne, wine, and cognac they had imbibed.

“I would have loved another Side-Along with you, Albus,” Minerva said, “but I think that as we are both tired, using the Floo from the Leaky Cauldron would be wise.”

“You enjoy those?” Albus asked with a smile.

“That is an understatement. They are wonderful. Though in a different way from when you take the wards from me using your wand.” Minerva blushed, hearing a double-entendre where she hadn’t meant one. 

“Really? We will have to experiment more with those, I believe,” Albus said, his eyes twinkling. “And you still need to be introduced to Hogwarts, of course.”

The two Flooed back to Hogsmeade, Albus’s unconventional dress drawing many stares that it hadn’t in London, where it was more common to see a wizard wearing trousers or Muggle evening dress. 

“Would you like to stay for a drink?” Albus asked. 

He didn’t seem very enthusiastic about the idea, and neither was Minerva, who wanted to have Albus to herself, and certainly away from the eyes of everyone in the Three Broomsticks. They walked toward the edge of town, and Albus turned to her and said, “You know, my dear, I do believe I could manage a short Apparition to the gates, if you would like a little Side-Along?”

“That would be very nice, Professor Dumbledore. Thank you,” Minerva replied, restraining an inappropriate laugh, given that there were people in the vicinity.

“Not at all. My pleasure entirely,” Albus said. “Let us just step over here . . .”

Albus led her into the darkly shadowed doorway of a closed shop, unilluminated by the street lamps. Without saying another word, he enfolded Minerva in his arms and nuzzled her hair as she rested her head against him. Minerva was scarcely aware of arriving at the gates, and Albus did not release her from his embrace immediately. She relaxed against him, relying on him to hold her.

“Mmmm, I could stand here forever with you in my arms, my dearest Minerva.” Albus kissed her head. “And I love to smell your hair,” he said in a low voice, “and to kiss you so freely.”

Minerva raised her face to look up at him. He wore a look of utter contentment. She lifted her left hand to caress his cheek. “I love you so very, very much, Albus. This was a wonderful evening. Thank you.”

She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him, feeling as though she would simply melt away as his lips moved against hers, soft and supple, and his arms held her so securely. He moved his lips to her forehead, where he brushed them over her skin, seeming simultaneously to kiss her and to breathe her in. Finally with a sigh, he laid his cheek against her forehead.

Albus whispered, “We should go up to the castle now, my dear.”

Minerva nodded but did not loosen her embrace until he did. Albus opened the gates for them and they slowly walked up the long drive to the front doors.

“I shall escort you to your door, Minerva,” Albus said quietly.

Minerva opened her mouth, unsure of what she wanted to say, but knowing that she didn’t yet want the night to end.

“Would you prefer to Floo from your office or to walk, my dear?” Albus asked.

“Take the stairs . . .” Minerva wanted to stay with him as she had last night, but she wanted more. She wanted him to undress her and make love to her. But she knew that Albus did not want to rush, and that whatever his reasons, this was not the time to press him. Still, she would put off their parting for as long as possible.

They took the stairs slowly, Minerva, her hand lightly on his arm. Sometime, she would have to ask Albus why she was so aware of his magic, how she came to be so sensitive to it, but for now, she simply enjoyed feeling it coursing through him, glad that such slight contact could bring her to feel so close to him. It seemed that they reached her door in no time at all, despite their pace.

“Good night, my dear. Thank you very much for the pleasure of your company this evening,” Albus said softly.

“Could you come in? Just for a minute?” Minerva asked.

Albus shook his head slightly. “It is late.” He reached up and cupped her cheek warmly. “But I hope we will see each other tomorrow.”

Minerva nodded. “Breakfast? May I invite you for breakfast?”

Albus smiled. “I would love that. Thank you. What time?”

“Er, eight? Or is that too early? It is, as you say, late now.”

“Eight-thirty, perhaps? I would like to see you as soon as possible, but we both do need our rest.”

Minerva couldn’t help herself, and she said impulsively, “You could stay, and then you would see me when you wake up.”

Albus closed his eyes, still smiling, but he shook his head again. “That image is a lovely one, but I think not.”

“Last night – ”

“Was different,” finished Albus for her. “Quite different.” He paused, then said very quietly, “Please do not make this difficult for me, my dear.”

Minerva smiled ruefully. “I had to at least try, you know. Thank you, Albus. This was wonderful, everything was. I enjoyed my surprises very much.”

“I am glad. Good night, Minerva.” He bent his head and kissed her very softly and sweetly on the lips, but then stepped back and said again, “Good night.”

Minerva wanted to reach for him, pull him to her, and kiss him with vigour, but she simply nodded, feeling that doing that would be making it difficult for Albus, and it wasn’t yet time to press him. She gave the password, and the door clicked open to her.

“Good night, Albus. I will see you in the morning.”

As soon as the door had closed behind her, Minerva called Blampa and asked her to bring breakfast for two in the morning, telling her to decide what to serve, and that if she were uncertain, to ask Wilspy. 

Minerva was exhausted, and she washed and got ready for bed as quickly as possible. She was sure that if Albus were there, she would find him too much of a distraction to sleep, though, particularly if he slept nude. Minerva blushed. Given his current feelings about “rushing,” she was certain that even if he were to have relented and stayed with her, he would have Transfigured something into a nightshirt for himself. Sleeping in one’s clothes, though handy when getting up in the morning, she thought with a smile, was really not particularly comfortable.

As she slipped into bed, though, Minerva couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like to have Albus lying in bed beside her, sleeping, and without the benefit of a nightshirt. She closed her eyes and imagined what it might feel like to snuggle up against his bare skin. Best if she, too, were not wearing anything at all, she thought. Soon, perhaps, she would know. With that thought, she drifted off to sleep.


	123. Love Beyond Disbelief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus and Minerva spend the morning together, and he plans another romantic surprise for her. Minerva works to help Albus understand how strongly she feels for him.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore.

**CXXIII: Love Beyond Disbelief**

Minerva awoke and immediately rolled from her bed and headed for the bathroom, stripping off her nightgown as she went. After a quick shower, she selected her tartan and grey robes. She hoped that they were something that Albus liked. She would have to ask him whether there were any robes of hers that he found ugly, as she did his grey, ruffled ones. Those looked like one of her grandmother’s dressing gowns. If her grandmother had the bad taste to wear something that ugly. 

As she put her hair up in a French twist, Minerva thought that she really oughtn’t have said what she had about those robes, but he had been wearing them in public. She couldn’t let him go out looking like that. If it were just that they weren’t to her taste, that would be something entirely different, but she was sure that no one who saw Albus in those robes could help but notice how ugly they were. She wouldn’t even dress a child in something with such a big floppy collar. 

She wondered about jewellery, almost selecting her silver jonquils, but she remembered that the last time she had worn them was the night she had stayed at Quin’s and had returned the next morning to doppelganger-Albus. It was highly unlikely that seeing the jewellery on her would incite a reappearance of the doppelganger, she thought with a smile, but there was no point in reminding either of them of that occasion. Instead, she chose the amber necklace she had bought for herself when she was living in Germany. As she fastened it around her neck, Minerva thought that it must have been jealousy that had caused Albus to be so cold to her that morning she returned from Quin’s. He had wanted to apologise, though – that very day, even – but events had conspired to prevent his letter from reaching her and then to prevent him from apologising in person, and then the next day . . . Minerva sighed. Now she understood the horror on his face better. He had believed that he had overstepped some invisible line he had drawn for himself, and that he had mistreated her and she would be upset with him for that. So when she left the castle, Albus no doubt believed it was because of what he had done, and that she had been unable to accept his apology. 

Minerva had found the crumpled letter the previous day. She had thought to destroy it, but then instead, she had smoothed it out, though she had not reread it – it was too soon for that – and she had put it away with all of his other letters. Someday she might want to read it again, as a part of her history with Albus. Even that letter, as devastating as it had been, had played a role in their overcoming their misunderstanding and becoming . . . whatever it was they were becoming. Minerva still didn’t know. A couple, at any rate. She wondered whether he had kept the letter that he had originally written to apologise for taking her to task for not returning to the school until morning. She would ask. If he had it, she would like to read it and keep it with the others. 

It was eight o’clock when she stepped into her sitting room. Minerva still loved the furniture and the colours. It was hard to believe that the wizard who had orchestrated the decoration of her rooms was the same one who thought the grey ruffled robes were in any way sartorially acceptable. She laughed to herself. Perhaps they were some kind of peculiar penance for him. 

Albus had done so many wonderful things for her yesterday; having him to breakfast prepared and served by her Hogwarts house-elf seemed puny in comparison. He had done such lovely little things for her all summer, when doppelganger-Albus hadn’t interfered. The special torte from Madam Puddifoot’s . . . the huge vase of flowers he had brought with him to breakfast that first time . . . the fresh flowers awaiting her when she had returned from her parents . . . the picnic overlooking Hogwarts . . . the rose for her hair. She couldn’t think of how she had repaid him at all – of course, she had celebrated his birthday with him. And given him those robes he looked so wonderful in. Minerva chuckled, thinking of how Wilspy had left him only those robes to wear. The ways of house-elves were mysterious, but it had been nice that Albus had been wearing them that night when she had come back to the school. Still, she would have to think of nice things to do for him, too, though they would, of necessity, be somewhat different from his gestures toward her. Perhaps one of the things she could do would be to convince him that she would never shy from his touch in some kind of disgust. Surely, he must be able to see how much she enjoyed his kisses and what few caresses he had bestowed on her. 

Minerva shook her head. Quin was probably right: his time with Valerianna Yaxley must have something to do with this peculiar attitude. It was one thing to worry about the age difference between them _before_ she had demonstrated her interest in him, but for Albus to worry that she would dislike the “reality” of his touch, as he had put it, that was something entirely different. For such a normally confident and powerful wizard, it was sad to see. She would have to do all she could to ensure he realised how very attractive she found him.

Minerva hoped that Albus would be on time that morning – she didn’t think he would be late if he could help it, but he might oversleep if he were very tired. Time would go very slowly until he arrived, though. She sighed and tried to relax on the settee, imagining Albus, in his tower above her, getting ready for their breakfast together.

Albus rose shortly before seven-thirty, accepting his first cup of tea from Wilspy and sitting on the edge of his bed, sipping it. He was looking forward to breakfast with Minerva, but he was nervous, too. The previous afternoon as he had waited for Minerva to return from Hogsmeade, he had been nervous, as well, but he had busied himself in his office and with the arrangements for their evening out. There was no reason to believe that Minerva wouldn’t enjoy going to a concert and then to dinner, and little that could go wrong, really, but he had been slightly worried, nonetheless. This morning, though, he was even more nervous than he had been while waiting for Minerva the day before.

Albus was not generally prone to nervousness. He did worry about things, of course, but this general, vague nervousness was unusual for him. He wondered briefly if it indicated that there was something wrong with him courting Minerva if it engendered such nervousness in him, but he quickly dismissed that notion. If there were anything wrong with his courting her, his nervousness was no barometer of it, he was sure. No, his nervousness stemmed from his uncertainty about how Minerva would feel about him today, how he should behave around her, what he should say and what he should do. He had been nervous before Minerva returned from Hogsmeade, he reminded himself, and the evening had turned out quite well despite that. 

Albus smiled, thinking of how lovely it had been to hold Minerva, knowing that he could continue to hold her and that if he let her go, he could hold her again. And he didn’t need to chide himself for it, as he had done in the past, nor for enjoying the feel of her soft, feminine curves as he held her. The night when Minerva had returned to the castle, his letter and poem in her hand, even after she had said that she loved him and he felt relief wash over him, he had worried that her feelings for him did not approach the strength of his for her: it seemed impossible to him that she could love him with the degree of ardour that he held for her. He did not disbelieve her when she said that she loved him, and there was such joy in her eyes when she looked upon him with the realisation that he loved her, that Albus could only believe that she was, indeed, in love with him, just as she said, and not merely fond of him and humouring him out of that sense of fondness. And when she told him how much she enjoyed his kisses, his heart had beat faster, both from excitement and anxiety. 

Why should it cause him anxiety if she enjoyed his kisses and wanted more of them? Albus had thought that his demonstration of how the Headmaster would kiss the Head of Gryffindor was certainly a test, and not of his restraint, but of whether he could please Minerva, at least with his kisses. Oh, how he loved to kiss her, and how he loved seeing that she enjoyed it when he did!

But would she still want him to kiss her in a day or a week or a month? Albus could not help but see that she seemed to feel passionately for him, that she appeared to desire him physically, but would that outlast the first flush of happiness that she felt now? If he had ever wondered about whether Minerva had ever had a lover – and he had wondered occasionally whether any of her romances had become that intimate – he no longer did. It seemed clear that she was not inexperienced in that way. He certainly could not hold it against her, of course; she was an adult witch. It would be unreasonable of him to expect her to have remained . . . he disliked the term “pure.” Minerva was pure, certainly, in all the ways that mattered to him. But celibate, perhaps that was a better word. No, it would be unreasonable of him to expect celibacy of her, and he didn’t. If she had been romantically involved with a wizard, he could certainly understand her engaging in the intimacies that might naturally arise between a man and a woman under those circumstances. And she was independent. It was one of the things he valued in her. 

Albus sighed and put down his teacup. He wouldn’t lie to himself. He was unsure whether it would have been better for him if she were inexperienced. Perhaps not so inexperienced that she might be . . . frightened by intimacy, of course. But she would now have a basis for comparison. And he very much doubted that, unless she had a peculiar fetish for ancient wizards, Minerva had ever been with a wizard as old as he. And yet so pathetically, woefully lacking in recent experience, himself, despite his age. Or even very much experience at all, really, aside from the period in his youth that he had shut off from his mind – what he could have remembered of it, anyway.

There had been Gertie, Albus reminded himself. And they had made love both tenderly and passionately, and he had believed at the time that she had enjoyed it. But even if she had . . . there was still the matter of his age. Of course, it wasn’t as though Gertrude was as old as he. She had been quite a young witch when he had first met her, and he was well past middle age at the time – he had been seventy-six, almost seventy-seven at the time, and she, only a girl of twenty. Yet they had known each other almost a quarter of a century when they first became lovers, and at that time, Gertrude was older than Minerva was now by a dozen years or so. And he had only become older in the intervening time, and no more attractive, nor more experienced. Not that he would wish to have taken lovers during those years simply to have gained skill in bed, of course. That was a ridiculous notion, and he certainly would not use women in that way. But it still meant that in the years during which he was becoming older, less attractive, and less virile, Minerva was making love to strong, attractive young men at their peak. He could scarcely imagine that she was attracted to him at all, even now, and he couldn’t think what it would be about him that attracted her. Perhaps she did feel some . . . duty or obligation to engage with him physically if they were to be romantically involved. She could surely feel the indications of his own desire. It could be that she felt she had to provide him with physical intimacy. Perhaps she wasn’t truly attracted to him at all, but it was merely out of a romantic love that she wished to make him happy. 

Albus had made himself well and truly depressed by the time he stood up and went into the bathroom to take his shower. Either she truly believed she was attracted to him, but would be disgusted once she was confronted by his ancient body and his withered touch, or her desire for him was based only on her love for him and her wish for him to be happy, but not on any true physical yearning. As he showered, Albus told himself that it was all the more reason for him to maintain a chaste romance for now, and to remind Minerva that he would not hold her if she desired someone else. But at the thought of her turning from him and going to some other wizard, his stomach clenched in knots.

This was ridiculous, Albus told himself as he stood beneath the spray of warm water and began to wash. He was creating problems that were not there – not yet, anyway. He should allow himself to enjoy this time with Minerva, and to do all he could to have her enjoy it, as well. And even if he were rather pathetic in the sexual arena, he could still do what he could for her, be mindful of her and of her needs. As long as those needs didn’t involve another man. He clenched his teeth. No, even if she needed someone else, someone different, he would let her go. He didn’t think he could bear it, but he knew, too, that Minerva was honest, and if she wanted to be with someone different, she would tell him and break it off. She would not pretend to him that she still was in love with him, that he was the wizard she wanted, and then run after another wizard. Albus was absolutely certain of that much, at least. He had known Minerva for so long and knew her so well, he could trust her in that. She might still break his heart in leaving him, but she wouldn’t discard him carelessly, nor would she have an affair behind his back.

Albus sighed and turned on the wall jets. It was a sigh of relief. Minerva was Minerva and would remain so. And he would do all he could to bring her pleasure and happiness for as long as she wanted him. If eventually that meant making love to her . . . not just making love as he had done with his kisses and tentative caresses, but if it meant more than that, he would try to go slowly and please her, and hope that he would not see a shadow of disgust cross her face or feel her shy from his touch. She hadn’t pulled away from his touches and kisses up till now, and he was sure that she had enjoyed it when he had kissed the nape of her neck the previous morning. But she hadn’t seen him. Still, the sensation of his lips hadn’t repulsed her, and she had seemed to enjoy the few more passionate kisses they had shared. 

Albus looked down at his body as he washed. It wasn’t what it had been when he was a young man, of course, but still, at least his stomach was relatively flat, though perhaps not as taut and muscular as it had once been, even a dozen years ago. Too many years of sitting behind a desk, now that he spent most of his time at the school or the Ministry. But his legs, he thought as he soaped them, they were still muscular and fit. The many stairs at Hogwarts helped with that, although he probably didn’t walk as much as he should. His chest was more spare than it used to be, less well-muscled, but still as broad, and at least he hadn’t gone all to fat or bone. Perhaps he should be more attentive to his physical fitness. Remembering his Vitamin Potion every night would be a good start.

Washing his hair and his beard, Albus thought again about whether he might not look younger without them, but Minerva had seemed shocked when he had used the Glamour, and had said that she had always liked them. He would simply ask her what she thought, he decided. If she thought he would look younger and more attractive with short hair and a well-trimmed, short beard, then he would make the change. But it could be that she genuinely liked his hair and beard for some reason, and he wouldn’t want to do anything to make himself less attractive to her!

He put a little shampoo in his palm and washed himself; even without imagining her or what it was like to hold her, thinking about Minerva had begun to give him an erection. As he washed, he took a frank look at the growing appendage he held in his hand. It seemed the least changed of any part of him, oddly enough, and Albus knew that one reason that witches had enjoyed having him in their beds was that they found him perfectly adequate in that area. And he had known what to do with it, Albus remembered with a slight smile. Perhaps his behaviour had not been anything to be proud of, but at least he had done it well. He wondered, though, whether seeing this erection of his, now very large in his hand, whether that would seem absurd or bizarre as it emerged from his old body. The thought of Minerva seeing his erection both unnerved him and excited him. He remembered that Gertrude had liked to see him naked, that she enjoyed watching him undress and come to her, his erection already full and needy.

Albus closed his hand around his cock and remembered how Gertrude would stroke him as she pulled him to her, and he wondered whether Minerva would want to touch him there, and what her hand would feel like if she did. She had reached for him more than once, but he had never let her fingers even graze him. It was embarrassing to think that she felt his desire pressing against her as it had, and yet he hadn’t wanted to hide his desire from her, either. And how he desired her! Albus had never wanted any woman the way that he wanted Minerva, and it wasn’t just that he wanted to have sex with her, he wanted to have her love him as they made love . . . he was unsure whether that made any sense at all, but his mind was a haze as he stroked himself and thought of Minerva and of her desire and of his wish to please her. He allowed himself the release that he had been denying himself for so many months. Every time in recent months that he had felt his erection grow, he had thought of Minerva, and he had sickened himself. Even now as he let the shower rinse him clean, he felt mildly disgusted with his actions. But better to do that there in his shower than to have to struggle with unseemly desires when he was with her, Albus told himself. And he should try to rein himself in more. He shouldn’t in any way make Minerva feel that she was obligated to satisfy his physical needs.

Eventually, of course, Minerva’s own physical needs would raise the question of further intimacy. While he desired her passionately, he believed that if she wanted a chaste relationship, he could quite easily accept that. In fact, it might be a relief if she did – she couldn’t compare him negatively to other lovers if they were to remain chaste. But that in itself would be unfair to her. If she had had other lovers, then surely that indicated she had the needs of a healthy young witch, and, as he had said to her, a vital young witch needed and deserved a vital wizard.

Albus stepped out of the shower and dried himself off. He felt as though he simply kept moving in circles. The only thing to do was dress and go to breakfast and try to behave normally and not be obsessed with all of the ways in which he might fall short of what Minerva needed or deserved. If he were to think of that, he shouldn’t stop at worries over physical intimacy, but go on to worry about the normal family life that every young witch deserved and which he could not give her. He didn’t even really have a home to bring her to, just his tiny cottage on its rocky island. While he had always found it pleasing, it was not the sort of place that he would envision bringing Minerva. He wished for the first time in over two years that he had kept the other cottage rather than giving it to his brother. It was, of course, still somewhat isolated out on the Dales, but it was larger, more comfortable, and it had a certain charm to it. He had lived there for many years before coming to Hogwarts; it had been his home for decades. But he hadn’t used it very much since he began teaching, and so even aside from the fiasco with Valerianna, it made much more sense for his brother to have it. Aberforth had even connected it up to the Floo Network, something that Albus had never done, and he went home to his goats and few sheep every night. Wilspy reported that they had done a lot of work while she was with Aberforth and Albus was on his holiday. His brother was happy there and taking good care of the place. No, whether it had been an ill-considered decision or not, he had given the cottage to Aberforth and now it was his.

Albus went to his wardrobe and looked through his robes. He had once again managed to demoralise himself, and he was dispirited as he pulled out the sky blue robes he had worn to breakfast several weeks before, with the over-robe with its puffy, floating clouds. He should be looking forward to breakfast with Minerva even more than he had on that earlier morning, but he only felt inadequate and nervous. That was a miserable combination. 

He dressed methodically, remembering that Minerva was likely looking forward to seeing him – he hoped she was, though of course, she could have had a change of heart overnight – but nonetheless, he should not arrive looking as though he were attending a funeral. He pulled on a pair of short, soft leather boots, breathing a charm as he did so, making them match the blue of his under-robe. Hat or no hat, he pondered. None. It was more modern and stylish to go without. Although it would cover some of his grey hair . . . that thought, however, made Albus chuckle at himself. He really was being ridiculous. If that were a concern, why, he could just put a sack over his head and cut a few holes so he could eat and see! He laughed to himself. 

What he really needed was Fawkes. A few minutes with Fawkes, and he would be himself again, or at least he would have a brighter outlook on things. But Fawkes had taken off for a bit of adventure after delivering the letter to Paul the previous afternoon, and so he would just have to cheer himself up. He certainly did not want Minerva to think that he didn’t want to have breakfast with her. No, he did. It was an opportunity to court her, even though the invitation had been hers. Albus wished he had flowers to bring her, or something else, but he had nothing but himself. Not even sweets.

At that thought, however, he remembered the large hamper that Quin had sent him for his birthday. The hamper was charmed to keep the contents fresh for months, and it had only been a couple of weeks. Albus hurried into his study where the large basket sat beside the small desk. After looking through the various sweets, he selected a small box of truffles that looked rather nice and as though it might be something that Minerva would like. He was just about to close the lid when he saw something else: dark chocolate-covered cherries filled with cherry liqueur. That seemed even more like something that Minerva would enjoy, and he picked that up, as well.

Despite having taken his time getting ready and being preoccupied by his worries, Albus found himself ten minutes early as he stood outside Minerva’s door. He hesitated. She might still be dressing. Arriving earlier than one was expected was generally not a good idea, but to do so first thing in the morning could be quite rude. As he considered what to do during the ten minutes that remained, though, the Silent Knight spoke.

“Good morning! You are here to see my mistress? Would you prefer to be announced?” he asked.

“I am early,” Albus explained. “I thought I would come back – ”

“Nonsense! I shall announce you straightaway! My lady will be pleased with your arrival, I do believe.” Without waiting for a response from Albus, the Knight strode out of the portrait. Fidelio sat and grinned at him with a happy doggie smile, his tail thumping, a far different animal from the one who had snarled at him just a few days before.

Albus had barely time to ponder the idiosyncrasies of Minerva’s door portrait when the door opened to him. Minerva was crossing the room to him, a bright smile on her face. Her smile was infectious, and her pleasure at seeing him lifted his spirits immediately. As he stepped into the room, Minerva put her arms around him.

“I am so glad to see you! You probably think me very foolish, Albus, but I have missed you terribly, even though it’s only been a few hours since we saw each other, and I was asleep for most of them.” She settled into his embrace and sighed. “I am very glad you are a little early, too. I thought I would go mad watching the clock move more and more slowly as I waited for you!”

Albus chuckled and nuzzled her hair. “And I am very glad to see you, my dear. Especially to see you looking so happy.”

“All due to you, Albus, all due to you,” she said. She ran her hand down his back feeling the silky material of his over-robe. “And you are wearing some of my favourite robes, too. I shall quite enjoy looking at you if I can ever manage to let go of you long enough to do so.”

Albus’s heart sang. He didn’t need Fawkes to cheer him up. He had Minerva, and her embrace, her words, her mere presence were enough. He could almost forget his worries and his nervousness about being with her.

“And you are looking very pretty this morning, too. I like this grey and tartan robe. I remember you wore it to lunch the day of the staff meeting earlier this summer. I wanted to tell you then how pretty you looked in it, but sitting there with Professor Dustern on my other side, it didn’t seem appropriate.”

Minerva leaned back and smiled up at him. “Do you remember every robe I own and every time I’ve worn it?”

Albus laughed at that. “I doubt it. But I do notice when you are looking particularly lovely, although that is often, and I have enjoyed seeing you looking pretty even when I felt constrained from telling you.”

She stroked her fingers over his cheek and down over his beard. She smiled, looking into his eyes, and she said, “Will you give me a good-morning kiss, Albus? A proper good-morning kiss? I enjoyed the first one yesterday morning very much.”

Albus leaned in and kissed Minerva’s lips lightly, allowing the minty-fresh charm to tingle across his lips to her mouth. He had been going to pull back immediately, but Minerva’s hand went to the back of his neck, her fingers combed through his hair, and she prolonged the kiss, her mouth moving against his, her breath on his face, her lips meeting his again and again, and he let out a soft moan. Forgetting all of his resolve, he embraced Minerva more fully, pulling her against him.

Finally, Minerva gave him one more gentle but sensuous kiss, then rested her head against his chest. She sighed and turned her head, kissing his chest through his beard, then she said, her voice muffled as she nuzzled his beard, “I think our breakfast has arrived.”

Albus softly kissed the top of her head, then looked over it and saw that the table was laid and breakfast was served.

“Your house-elf has become quite efficient,” he remarked. “Barely a sound made.”

“I will tell her that the Headmaster was pleased,” Minerva said, reluctantly stepping from his warm embrace, but not entirely letting him go. “She will appreciate that. She’ll probably bounce up and down on her toes.” Minerva laughed, a light sound that brought another smile to Albus’s face. “She is actually quite cute when she does that,” she added.

Minerva stood back and looked Albus up and down. “I do love those robes. I remember when you wore them last time, how I could scarcely keep myself from staring at you, they are so attractive on you.” She looked back up and met his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind my saying things like that. Perhaps it isn’t very ladylike. But you have such a fine figure,” she said with a slight blush, “and these robes certainly do allow me to appreciate it, especially with the cummerbund.”

Albus could feel the warmth rising in his own cheeks. “No, um, of course not, I don’t mind,” he said, trying to sound less embarrassed than he felt. At the same time, his heart beat faster as the confused thought went through his mind that Minerva found his figure attractive.

“I must also admit,” Minerva said, looking away quickly, then back up at him, as if embarrassed by what she was about to say, “that when you fell asleep on my couch, I took the opportunity to admire you. I never dreamed then that I would ever be able to do anything other than admire you from a distance.” She reached out and touched his shoulder then ran a hand down over his chest, all while looking into his bright blue eyes. “Or receive anything more than a brief, friendly embrace. Each time you held me, I told myself that it was the last time for a long while. And every time that you held me again, I would pray that you might begin to feel for me the way I felt for you, that you would come to love me, but then . . . we would part, and I would not know whether my hopes were foolish and in vain. It still seems incredible that you do love me. I . . . I don’t feel as though I deserve you, Albus. You are so much more than any witch could deserve, and I don’t know how I could be the one to be this lucky. You seemed so far beyond my reach. It seemed very presumptuous of me to even entertain the notion.”

“Beyond your reach? Presumptuous? I . . . I would think just the opposite,” Albus said, surprised. “You are so young, with such a bright future ahead of you, and so beautiful, and witty, and attractive . . . with so much vitality and intelligence. Surely any wizard would be thrilled and consider himself the most fortunate of men if you wanted to spend any time with him at all.”

“But you aren’t just any wizard, Albus. You are the one I love,” Minerva answered, leading him over to the breakfast table, “and you are so much more powerful than I am, and I may be bright enough, I suppose, but you are brilliant. Not to mention how very attractive you are. I am grateful, though surprised, that you are even available. I can’t believe that you aren’t already with someone, that some wonderful, warm, elegant, and very lucky witch didn’t find you before I could.”

Albus shook his head. “I think . . . I think I was waiting for you, Minerva,” he said very softly. “For years. Before I even could have had any awareness that you might exist. Even before . . . well, a very long time ago. I think that you were always the one, always. And even if you no longer loved me, or wanted me, you would still be the one. But I will never hold you too tightly, I promise you.”

Minerva put her arms around him again and said with a grin, “You could never hold me too tightly, Albus. Although if you do, all I will do is let out a little squawk. I promise you that. You will never lose my love. Never.”

Albus rested his head on hers, closing his eyes. “You do not know what you are promising, my dear. But I do love you.” He held his breath, waiting for her response. 

“You have no idea how happy I feel when you tell me that you love me, Albus. As for what I know and do not know . . . I am too happy now to be upset with you for thinking as you do about that. But someday you will understand how I feel and you will believe my promise. Indeed, you will see that my promise is superfluous, as I speak only of what will be, of what must be. I will just have to be patient in the meantime.” She raised her head and looked at him, a soft smile on her face. “You do know, though, that I love you.”

“Yes,” Albus whispered, “I do know that. And I do believe it.” _I believe despite myself,_ he thought. _I believe because you look at me as you do and because your despair met mine when you fled the castle. And I believe because not to believe would be too painful._ “I do believe you.” He kissed her softly on the forehead. 

Minerva brought her hands to his face, caressing him gently. “I am glad of that. And now for breakfast?” she said with a smile.

Albus grinned and said, “Yes, breakfast. You did invite me to breakfast, after all. I suppose I should be a well-behaved guest and eat!”

“Only if you want to, Albus. I would not be a very good hostess if I were to force you to eat when you did not want to,” Minerva said as she sat in the chair he held for her.

“That reminds me!” Albus exclaimed. “I am a negligent guest, after all.” He reached into his pockets and drew out the two small boxes of chocolates, one in each hand. “For you, my dear. From my birthday basket. I thought these might be some that you would enjoy.”

“Thank you, Albus! But you didn’t need to bring anything – ”

“I felt badly that I didn’t have any flowers or anything else, and then I thought you might like these. Not for breakfast, obviously.”

“Chocolate liqueur cherries! I do like those, and the truffles look lovely, as well. But you mustn’t go about giving away all of your birthday sweets and not enjoy them yourself,” Minerva said.

“I have enjoyed some of them already, but there is enough there to make me quite fat and indolent, if I were to eat them as freely as I might like. And as a certain special person has told me, I must look after myself,” he said with a smile. He sat down and patted his stomach. “And now knowing that she believes that I have a fine figure, I suppose I should try to actually work on it,” he added with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Minerva laughed. “I hadn’t intended those two remarks to go together, you know, Albus. I think you look fine, and if you weren’t already very fit, you would have made yourself quite sick, the way you work so hard and neglect your health. I hope you don’t mind my fussing just a little. I can’t seem to help myself.”

“No, Mother McGonagall, I am happy to have you fuss – a little!” At her smile, he added, “As long as you don’t try to ration my sweets!”

“Never – I assume you are quite capable of doing that yourself. Although I think that if you get enough sleep and eat well, perhaps you won’t feel quite as inclined to indulge,” Minerva said as she passed him a bowl of fruit.

“You actually are right about that,” Albus answered, helping himself to some of the fruit. “I do have a sweet tooth, but I find it is worse when I am overtired and I feel I need to have a little boost to get through the day. Or through a particularly trying session of the Wizengamot.”

They had a very pleasant breakfast, and Minerva told Albus more about her visit with Quin the previous day, saying that Quin had appreciated his letter and mentioning that he planned on buying a set of schoolbooks for himself. She also told him about the unusual pledge that Quin had made, and the reference to “binding his heart”; Albus looked serious for a moment as he thought about what Minerva said, but then his face softened as he smiled, saying that he knew Quin to be a gentleman, and that they should both be honoured by the pledge, and that he was pleased to know that Quin would be her friend and support if he himself were unavailable. As they chatted, Albus relaxed and enjoyed himself, forgetting his nervousness. This was Minerva, his dear Minerva, and she loved him. It had been silly to have such jitters, he thought. And she hadn’t pressed him about anything physical, but she had been demonstrative, nonetheless, still welcoming his kisses and embraces and initiating some herself.

They moved over to the sitting area, bringing their teacups with them, and she curled up on the settee next to him.

“You know, Albus, I’ve been thinking . . .”

“Yes, my dear?” he answered, taking a final sip of tea before setting down the cup and saucer on the table beside him and putting his arm around Minerva.

“If Gertrude knows now, and my parents, and if Malcolm will be teaching here this year – if he actually follows through with a written application – I think it might be wise to say something to him. I don’t know what, precisely, but it just seems that it might be odd for Gertrude, if she thinks she can’t say anything to him about it. Or she may not even realise that we are being cautious about whom we tell and mention it to him, anyway. Then he will think it strange that I haven’t said anything to him, particularly since we both obviously know about his relationship with Gertrude.”

Albus nodded. “If you would like, Minerva, you may say something to him. I think that is fine, very sensible.”

Minerva let out a breath and relaxed against him. She must have been concerned about his reaction to her suggestion, he realised. He kissed her temple.

“I do wish to be discreet, Minerva, but not completely secretive with those who are closest to us. I hope that you understand.”

“Of course,” Minerva answered. “And that’s fine. It is probably best for me to continue to behave as I always have around you when we are in public. And although I think that it would be nice if we could tell all of our friends and family right away, that can wait. I am just so happy to be with you, I sometimes wish everyone could know, that’s all.”

Albus gave her a squeeze. “And I do appreciate that, but . . . aren’t you . . . don’t you . . . that is, do you, would you be embarrassed? Particularly if it doesn’t last?” he asked quietly.

Minerva sat up and looked at him, an expression of concern on her face. “What do you mean, ‘if it doesn’t last’?” she asked. “You just told me this morning that you love me and that you always will. I feel the same. We may have problems at certain points, or disagreements, but we have only just begun to see each other and you are already concerned that it might not last? And as to being embarrassed . . . are you embarrassed, Albus? Embarrassed to be seen with me? Is that the actual problem?”

“I just . . . it is still hard for me to believe the reality of it all, I suppose. It doesn’t feel as though I deserve this happiness. I believed it all too late for me, that any time for me to have this kind of happiness had long since passed me by. And as to being embarrassed . . . I am not embarrassed the way that you might think. It is not on your account, not being with you. But – and not that I particularly care what people think, of course – people might feel sorry for you and believe me to be a foolish old man – ”

“Oh, Albus! I do wish you could see yourself as I do, and such thoughts would never enter your head. And of course you deserve this happiness!” Minerva put her arms around him and leaned against him. “You know that I love you. I feel very lucky to be with you. It is not at all foolish for you to want to be with me if you love me, too. And as to your age, you are as old as you are, with all the life lived that goes with that age, but you are far from being a decrepit old codger, as you sometimes speak of yourself.” Minerva rubbed her hand over his chest and shoulder. “You are strong, vital, attractive, and very much alive, my darling Albus. Don’t feel you can’t voice any of your worries to me, but do expect me to give you an honest response. I can understand that you might be concerned about the age difference, but my mother once said that it wasn’t the differences that mattered as much as what two people have in common and how they work out their differences.”

Albus sighed. “Thank you, my dear. I will endeavour to keep your words in mind.”

The conversation turned to other topics, then Albus finally said, “I do dislike leaving you, Minerva, and I wish we could remain here for the rest of the day, but I probably ought to get back to my office.”

“But it’s Sunday,” Minerva began, protesting.

“Yes, but I did almost no work at all last week, and it didn’t take care of itself,” Albus replied.

“Can we take a walk first, though? Spend the rest of the morning together, then work in the afternoon?” Minerva suggested. “I have some things I need to do, myself, actually, some letters to write, and I want to finish my plans for the start of the year.”

Albus nodded. “Very well!” He smiled. “You are very persuasive.”

“It didn’t take much to change your mind,” Minerva said with a smile. “Let me get my cloak, then we can go out.”

Later at lunch, Minerva was uncertain whether she was disappointed or not that Malcolm wasn’t present. It had seemed lately that whenever Gertrude was at a meal, Malcolm was, as well. Of course, Minerva had been gone from the castle for a while. Perhaps things had changed between the two in the meantime. But Albus had said the previous evening that Gertrude was in love with Malcolm, so any changes couldn’t be dramatic. It wasn’t as though he were a member of the staff yet, and he did have things to take care of, Minerva was sure, though she had no idea what those might be. He did have his own flat, too. 

After lunch, Albus walked Minerva back to Gryffindor Tower and left her at her door.

“I look forward to seeing you at dinner, my dear,” he said. “I hope that you have a good afternoon.”

Minerva smiled. “It won’t be as nice as my morning, but I hope I will get a few things done. I feel as though I have been away for a long time.”

Albus touched her chin, tilting her face up toward him, then he leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. His whisper met her lips as he said, “I had a most lovely morning, Minerva. Thank you,” then he kissed her again lightly.

He looked at her with warmth in his eyes. “I love you, my dear.”

Minerva scarcely had time to respond to his words when Albus backed away, then he smiled at her, gave her a happy wink, and was on his way, leaving Minerva feeling warm and happy.

The afternoon passed more quickly than Albus had anticipated, and he was pleased to be able to get through all of the work that had accumulated over the previous several days. He had chuckled when he read the letter that was waiting for him in the centre of his desk. He thought that Gertrude must have left it for him in the morning while he was with Minerva. This was one letter that he would have to share with Minerva. It certainly was the most interesting one he read that afternoon.

Albus met Minerva as she came down the stairs from the first floor, where she had apparently been working in her classroom office before dinner.

“How was your afternoon, my dear?” he asked as he waited for her to catch up with him.

“Productive,” she answered with a smile. “And yours?”

“The same,” he said.

“So . . . are you available this evening after dinner?”

Albus nodded. “In fact, I was rather hoping that you might join me for dessert this evening.”

“In your suite?” At his nod, Minerva smiled and said, “I believe I would enjoy that very much.”

The two entered the staff room to find Wilhelmina, Hagrid, and Gertrude already there. Johannes came through the door a few minutes later, and he quietly took the chair beside Minerva and began to help himself to some mashed potatoes. Minerva smiled at him.

“Did you just get back from Cardiff, Johannes?” she asked.

The German nodded. “It was a good week. Very pleasant. Some rain, of course, but generally nice weather.” He glanced over at Gertrude. “The company was pleasant, as well, although I am happy to be returned. Jack and his mother are good company, but five days can be a long time, and Jack’s . . . girlfriend was with us the last few days. A nice woman, but I do not know her well, and I sometimes felt as though I was intruding on their time together. I am returned a day early, in fact.”

“What of Jack’s mother?” Minerva asked, remembering that he had spoken of her several times.

Johannes shrugged one shoulder. “They have been making holiday there for many years, and she knows people there. She was not often with us. She took me with her sometimes . . . they had suggested I bring another friend, but there was no one available with whom I would care to spend such time,” he said. Minerva thought that she detected a movement of his head, as though he had been about to glance at Gertrude again, but had restrained himself.

Minerva held back a sigh. It was a pity that Johannes was unhappy about Gertrude’s relationship with Malcolm, but if they had taught side-by-side for over a decade and Gertrude still only wanted friendship with him, Minerva doubted that Malcolm’s entrance into the witch’s life had changed anything for Johannes except to make it completely clear that Gertrude would never be interested in anything more with him. She could see why, too, if Gertrude liked Malcolm, if he was her “type.” Johannes was warm, steady, highly intelligent, and quite handsome, too, with his high forehead, long, sandy hair, and grey-blue eyes, but he wasn’t at all like Malcolm temperamentally. He was certainly friendly and open, but in a much less brash manner than Malcolm was, and Johannes certainly was not prone to the kind of flamboyant story-telling that Malcolm was, let alone the kinds of activities that gave rise to Malcolm’s tales.

After dinner, which was less awkward than Minerva had feared it would be when Johannes had sat down next to her, she and Albus left the staff room together, he holding the door for her then shutting it quietly behind them. He offered his arm, which Minerva took, and the two walked up the broad staircase to the second floor. As soon as the gargoyle had admitted them to the stairway and had closed the door behind them, Albus put his arms around her as she stood on the step above him. Minerva smiled and gently touched his cheek, putting her other arm around his waist.

“You are looking very handsome this evening, Headmaster,” she said with a smile. She traced the line of his lips with one fingertip. “And very kissable.”

“Am I really?” Albus asked with a shy smile, his cheeks pink. It was both embarrassing and reassuring each time she said something like that. He looked into her eyes. In a low voice, he asked, “And how kissable would that be?”

Minerva’s answer came as her lips met his. She kissed him softly, pulling on his lips gently, then kissing first his top lip then his bottom lip, then turning her head and repeating her kisses again. She hummed in satisfaction as she took his bottom lip between her own and sucked it, tickling it with the tip of her tongue, then she parted her lips further and flicked her tongue between his lips as they arrived at the top of the stairs. She backed up, bringing Albus with her, never breaking her kiss, though now his head was above hers.

Albus opened his mouth further and tentatively met her tongue with his own; as he did so, he felt a jolt of pleasure pass through him, and he barely restrained himself from pressing Minerva hard against the door and thrusting his hips against her, displaying his desire for her. And so when Minerva pulled him closer and, on noticing his erection, she held him more tightly to her, Albus was surprised. His mind was a fog of love and desire, but he kept his hands where they were, at her back, not allowing them to roam as they wished. He broke from the kiss to draw a breath, then he let his lips press against her forehead as he struggled to remain in control of himself.

“Quite kissable, you see, Albus,” Minerva whispered. “Quite kissable.”

They stood there for a few more moments, then Albus looked down into her eyes. “I do believe I invited you for dessert, however, and this is not the most convenient or comfortable place for that.”

Minerva smiled. “Rather nice for a kiss or two, though, isn’t it?” she asked as she ran a hand up and down his back, skimming his buttocks and upper thigh.

Albus drew in a sharp breath as he felt her hand travel over him, then he swallowed and said somewhat huskily, “Yes, rather.”

He blinked. He did not want to let her go, but he took one step back. With a wave of his hand, he opened the door, which swung open just a few inches.

“After you, my dear,” he said softly, returning Minerva’s smile as she slowly let him go.

They went up the brass spiral staircase, Albus opening the door at the landing for Minerva. As they entered his sitting room, he said, “I thought that we might take our dessert elsewhere this evening, as the weather is so fine.”

He grinned at her confusion, but before she could ask why they had gone all the way up to his suite if they were having dessert elsewhere, he placed a gentle finger on her lips and said, “Follow me, then, Minerva?”

Minerva kissed his fingertip and smiled as he took her arm. “Anywhere, Albus, anywhere at all.”

Albus grinned, his eyes gleaming, “Anywhere?”

“Anywhere – always, Albus.”

He chuckled and gave her a peck on the cheek, then led her across the room to the bedroom door. Rather to Minerva’s disappointment, however, they merely passed through it quickly, though remaining there would not fit with what he had suggested about the weather.

Albus sensed some hesitation on Minerva’s part as they crossed the bedroom, but did not know what to attribute it to. Perhaps she was just nervous about the dark, narrow stairway. As he opened the door to his backstairs, he said, “We won’t be going down this time, my dear, so do not worry.” He closed the door behind them, then said, “It is just as narrow going up, but it is not quite as closed in. Would you prefer to go first or to follow me up?”

Minerva turned to him happily. “Whichever you prefer, Albus.”

“Why don’t you go first, then, and I can catch you if you trip – not that you will,” he added hastily.

Minerva just laughed and started up the stairs. When they reached the top of the tower, Minerva turned and took Albus’s hand.

“I came up here, you know, looking for you. On Wednesday. I looked everywhere for you. It was as though you had vanished. That seems so long ago now, but . . .” She trailed off and looked away, off toward the Forbidden Forest, turning from him, and he could no longer see her face.

“But it still hurts, the memory is still painful for you,” Albus said softly. Minerva did not respond, and he put a warm hand on shoulder. “I am more sorry than I can say.”

“I know that, Albus,” Minerva replied, turning her head slightly toward him. “As am I. But I wish I had found you, that I hadn’t given up looking. Perhaps I would have found you and you would not have written that apology, perhaps we could have cleared things up sooner . . .”

Albus, standing slightly behind her, pulled her to him, one hand still on her shoulder, the other holding her from the front, resting on her stomach.

“I don’t know, Minerva . . . my state of mind then . . . I was scarcely able to think. I was so convinced that I had done the unforgivable, I don’t know . . . Even if you had found me, I don’t know if I could have heard anything other than my own guilt,” he said softly. “And it is not your fault. None of it is. Truly, my sweet love. Truly.” He nuzzled her hair.

Minerva leaned back against him. “Where did you go, Albus? Where?” she asked in a whisper. “That was the most dreadful part of all, even worse than the note, or the look on your face . . . that you disappeared and I could not find you. I thought I had lost you completely.”

“As I said, I was not thinking. I simply . . . left. I found myself at my old rooms in Gryffindor Tower, the ones I had for so many years. That is where I wrote the note,” he explained. “I was not intentionally hiding from you, although I was afraid of your gaze, of your censure and your disappointment. It was simply force of habit that carried me there.”

“So close. You were so close.” Tears came to her eyes, and although Albus could not see her face, he could hear them in her voice.

“Hush, hush, my love, my darling Minerva, my dearest,” he murmured. “I am close now, closer, closer, my love.” He wrapped both arms around her and rested his head on hers, pleased when her hands came up and pulled his arms closer about her.

“Yes, yes, you are,” she said with a relieved sigh. She turned in his arms and kissed him softly on his cheek, putting her arms around his neck. “But you did say something about dessert and I’m sure you brought me up here for something other than my foolishness.”

He smiled, but said, “Not foolishness, Minerva, not if you are sad.”

“But I am not sad, not now, here with you. What a romantic idea, Albus, to take our dessert up here.”

Albus grinned happily. “I am very glad you think so, my dear. And I hope it will be more romantic in just a moment, if you would indulge me and close your eyes briefly.”

Minerva laughed, but she closed her eyes, taking the opportunity to nuzzle against his beard. She could feel his wand arm moving and his magic rippling against her as he cast several spells. 

“No peeking, now!” Albus said as he felt her giggle into his beard.

“No, no peeking! But your magic is tickling quite nicely,” she said with another laugh as he cast an additional spell.

“Hmmph,” he said in mock disgust. “Here I am, expending my energy trying to create a romantic setting for you, and you’re giggling about my magic tickling you!”

Minerva just laughed harder at that and was pleased with his answering chuckle rumbling in his chest. Albus took her by the shoulders and turned her around. 

“Open your eyes, Minerva, my dear,” he said softly.


	124. Courting Minerva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva enjoys Albus's romantic surprise. They make progress in the relationship.
> 
> Minerva reads Malcolm's quirky letter of application for the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor.
> 
>  
> 
> **Beginning of Part Nineteen.**
> 
>  
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore.

**PART NINETEEN**  
 **CXXIV: Courting Minerva**

Minerva opened her eyes and her smile grew to one of pleasure and admiration. “It’s beautiful, Albus, just beautiful!” She turned back to him and pulled him down into a kiss. “You really are wonderful.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he replied, blushing with pleasure.

He had conjured a cushioned seat for two and a small oval table covered with a colourful cloth, an oil lamp sparkling at its centre, and there were now several large, columnar candles, three or four feet high, set at intervals about the tower roof, each a different colour and each with flowers at its base. The crenellations were also draped with brightly coloured cloths. In the gathering twilight, the candles flickered against the multicoloured fabrics and lent a warmth to the cold stone of the tower. Minerva thought that no place could be more romantic at that moment.

Albus snapped his fingers, and Wilspy appeared, plates, bottles, carafes, cups, and glasses floating in her wake. She wished them both a good evening and a good night after settling everything on the table, then she winked away with a mild snick.

“I thought something simple, my dear, if that suits you,” Albus said, leading her to the settee. “Vanilla ice cream, from Fortescue’s, with blackberries and a blackberry cordial drizzled over it, and a bit of sponge cake. There’s also coffee and cognac. Does that suit?” he asked, slightly worried that what had sounded perfect to him hours before as he made his plans was now totally inadequate for the vision of loveliness that now sat beside him, so wonderfully warm and close.

“It is absolutely perfect, Albus! Absolutely,” she said, taking his hand and smiling at him, her eyes bright. “There could be nothing better. Thank you!” She leaned over and kissed his cheek, then said, “Thank you very much, Albus. You are always so thoughtful. I never know how I could possibly repay all of the wonderful things that you do for me.”

Albus smiled warmly. “Your company is more than sufficient, my sweet Minerva. It is more than I could ever hope or wish for.” He was so close to her. He could smell her hair and her skin, and he could not resist leaning closer and kissing her lips lightly, moving his own lips over hers very gently, then drawing back and whispering, “Now for dessert, yes, my love?”

Minerva looked into his eyes, seeming not to hear him at first, then she blinked and replied, “Yes, dessert . . . of course.”

They ate and talked and kissed, rocking back in the glider and watching as the first stars began to appear overhead. Minerva remembered the glider that he had conjured when she was a student, but she did not mention it to him, remembering her conversation with Quin and how it might make Albus uncomfortable to think of that time when she was a student in his care. She tucked her feet up under her and rested her head on Albus’s shoulder.

“You know, Albus, I was wondering whether you still have that other letter you wrote me, the one that never was delivered,” she said.

Albus’s eyebrows rose at the question, but he said, “Yes, I believe it is still in my study.”

“Do you suppose . . . that is, if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to read it. And keep it, if I may,” she said.

His hesitation was barely perceptible, but he nodded. “Yes, we can retrieve it when we leave here tonight. But why?”

“I have all of your letters, Albus, all of them together. Knowing that there is that letter, too – it seems my collection is incomplete, that’s all. And I would like to read it, in any case.”

“ _All_ of my letters?” Albus asked, remembering the parchments he had seen Minerva gather and close into a small wooden chest, and wondering whether those were all his letters.

“Yes, well, all since I began to keep them, anyway. From before I even fell in love with you,” she said. “You have always been important to me, Albus. I have loved you for a long time.”

“Well, then, we must find that letter to add to your collection.” He paused, thinking. “Were those the letters I saw in your sitting room that day that I came to apologise?”

Minerva nodded. “Yes. I was . . . remembering and trying to understand, so I took out my box and began reading them all from the very first ones.”

“What are the first ones you have?” Albus asked, thinking they were probably ones he had written when she had begun working at the Ministry after leaving Hogwarts, or perhaps the ones he had sent when she was so far away during her apprenticeships.

Minerva squirmed slightly, then she said, “The first ones aren’t really even letters . . . I started keeping them before my feelings for you developed as they did, you understand.”

Albus knit his brow. Not letters? “Yes, I understand, you said that.”

“I have some notes you wrote me during my fifth year when I was working late, in case I met a teacher or a prefect on my way back to Gryffindor Tower,” she said, “and, of course, I have the letters you wrote me before I began my Animagus training. That sort of thing.”

“You kept the passes I wrote for you?” Albus asked, unable to hide his surprise.

Minerva was glad it was getting dark and he could not see her blush. “Not intentionally, not at first, anyway. I just put them in my Transfiguration textbook. And once I had kept one, well, I just began keeping the others, as well.”

Albus kissed her forehead. “Sometime, I would like to look at some of those letters – if you don’t mind. I realise it’s a personal collection –”

“Yes, of _your_ letters. Of course you may, if you like,” Minerva said. “Sometimes, when I was missing you, I would take them out and read them. Or not read them, just touch them and remember . . . it probably sounds silly to you.”

“Not at all. And I know that there were times when I was not very good about maintaining contact with you, when I didn’t make the time to see you even when I was in London. I am sorry, my dear,” Albus said with genuine regret, thinking particularly of a period during which a very selfish witch had taken whatever free time he had when he was in London for the day.

Minerva shook her head. “I understand. You do have your own life, then and now. And actually . . .”

“Yes?”

Minerva hesitated. “It’s just that I found myself pulling them out more often after I began teaching here. You were so close, and I saw you frequently, but it felt as though you were very far away from me.”

“Ah, Minerva . . . I hope you have forgiven this old wizard his faults and his blindness.”

“Of course I have! That is why I was hesitant to mention it. I didn’t want you to feel badly about it,” Minerva said. “And please, I do hope you are not about to begin calling yourself an old codger again.”

Albus chuckled. “No, I won’t, my dear. However, speaking of letters, I have one that I think would interest you to read. I have it with me, but you are lying on top of the pocket it’s in.”

Minerva reluctantly shifted so that he could reach into his pocket and pull out the folded parchment. He handed it to her, then waved his hand and the candles nearest them burned more brightly so that she could see to read.

At the top of the page was a seal that Minerva didn’t recognise. Properly speaking, it didn’t even seem like a traditional wizarding seal, but it was an interesting symbol, nonetheless. There was a flame that actually flickered in red and gold, an olive branch superimposed over the flame, but unconsumed, and both seemed framed by the open maw of some beast, its tongue hanging out beneath the flame and its fangs, top and bottom, framing the flame on either side. Most peculiar, she thought, and somewhat unsettling. Threatening, with the fire and the fangs, and yet the olive branch was a traditional symbol of peace. Then she saw the handwriting. Of course. She should only expect something peculiar, she supposed.

_“Aberdeen  
“17 August 1957_

_“Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_“I write this in formal application for the position of instructor in the subject of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School._

_“My experience includes the capture of thirty-two Dark Wizards during the period from 1941 through 1945. As a reference, I have attached a list of names of those captured wizards who remain in the custody of the British Ministry of Magic and who are now domiciled at Azkaban. If they are capable of coherent speech after their many years on that miserable isle, they will be able to confirm that it was I who captured them, using only the measures necessary to do so, and no more. I also offer yourself, Albus Dumbledore, as a reference who can verify my abilities in curse-breaking, also witnessed during the aforementioned period._

_“In addition, I have ridden dragons (though I have slain none), out-smarted a Nundu (living to tell the tale, obviously), and, more recently, banished troublesome ghouls, tamed a banshee (you may meet the banshee at the home of Mr and Mrs O’Leary, County Sligo, where she now baby-sits their grandchildren and prevents the clauricorns from turning the milk sour), and bagged a buggane. You may also contact Signore Pietro Giannelli of Venice, Italy, who can confirm that I eradicated an infestation of Nifflers from that city several years ago. Other references are available, if you wish. I am, of course, also quite capable of dealing with other minor irritants such as Boggarts, Doxies, and Cornish Pixies. Gropius and Columbine Gamp would be pleased to offer confirmation of my recent work for them in relocating some Pixies which had become troublesome in their area._

_“I am not all work and no play, however, and in addition to riding dragons, I enjoy singing, playing the penny whistle (very handy when dealing with Nifflers, believe it or not!), Apparition-by-Broom (not nearly as dangerous as folk make it out to be), skinny-dipping (which can be unexpectedly perilous in certain waters), and table tennis (a most enjoyable Muggle pastime)._

_“As I mentioned in our discussion, I prefer to offer my services for no more than a year, as I am afraid that one of my vices (few though they may be!) is that I grow bored quickly. I am sure, though, that your students might find me both amusing and instructive during that year, and I will doubtless find them the same._

_“Most very sincerely yours, truly,_

_“Malcolm Mercury McGonagall”_

By the end of the letter, Minerva didn’t know whether to laugh or to be utterly mortified that she was related to this bizarre person.

“Erm, so this was his letter of application, then,” Minerva said hesitantly, wondering whether Albus found it completely bizarre, too.

Albus chuckled. “Apparently so. I did tell him I needed a letter of application from him. This is what he submitted.”

“It’s even more bizarre than the one from Clarissa Quaffenbush for the Magical Creatures position, although at least he appears qualified. He didn’t say very much about spell-work, though, aside from his mention of curse-breaking and the capture of Grindelwald’s wizards. I am sure he is quite adept, but –”

Albus laughed again. “I am certain he is, as well. However, I do intend to have . . . an extended interview with him, if I may put it that way. I did the same with Robert before hiring him.”

“What do you mean by an ‘extended interview,’ Albus?” Minerva asked, suspicious of his tone of voice.

“I think a little demonstration of his talents is in order.”

“A demonstration?” Minerva asked.

“Yes, a few obstacles for him to overcome, a little friendly duel, that sort of thing,” Albus answered.

“A duel?” Minerva said, sitting up straight. “With Malcolm? Are you out of your mind, Albus?”

“Possibly. But I think this could be quite fun, and instructive, as well,” Albus said with a grin.

“But a duel –”

“A friendly one, Minerva. Honestly, I have no intention of maiming or otherwise injuring your brother.”

“And what about you?”

Albus just chuckled again. “I am sure I will be fine. There will be rules, you know, Minerva. This is something quite different from an honour duel. In fact, Filius can referee.” Albus nodded to himself, pleased with that notion. “Yes, he can tally points and call out any fouls. Yes, that would work quite well.”

Minerva shook her head. “I do hope you will both be careful, Albus.”

“Of course, my dear,” he said, patting her hand. “As careful as one can be during something like this, anyway. And as I said, there are certain rules, though I think that I will go over the standard sporting rules and make a few special changes in this instance.”

“Oh, Albus . . . what is it with wizards and duelling? But, of course, it is a test of competence, I suppose. And in real life, a Dark Wizard or a dangerous creature is not going to sit down and discuss the rules to be followed.” Minerva sighed, resigned. “It is an odd letter of application, though, don’t you think?”

“It is idiosyncratic, to be sure,” Albus said, his eyes twinkling, “and I imagine that your brother’s teaching methods would be equally idiosyncratic. He will be a breath of fresh air at Hogwarts. It will also allow him and Gertrude to be closer, at least for this year.”

“So you are fairly sure you will hire him, then?” Minerva asked.

“Yes, almost certain. Of course, if his practical skills fall short . . .”

“You have more experience and knowledge than he does, not to mention raw magical power. Surely you will take that into account,” Minerva said apprehensively.

“Don’t you worry, my dear. Let’s talk about something different for a while, hmm?” Albus suggested.

“As long as we’re discussing our correspondence, I will mention that I received a letter from my parents this afternoon. I was going to wait to say anything to you, but there seems little point in that.” Minerva could feel Albus stiffen next to her.

“It was in response to your letter?” Albus asked, a slight strain sounding in his voice.

“Yes. They have invited us for dinner. For Wednesday. They would like us to come out in the afternoon, actually, and stay through the evening.”

“Really . . . Wednesday . . . I am not sure –”

“I think we should go, Albus. I don’t doubt that you are nervous about it, but waiting will only make it harder for you, and you will see them Friday at the wedding, anyway. It will only be the two of them and us, no one else. Mother was quite clear about that. I am sure it’s all right, really, Albus.” 

Albus could feel a tightness in his chest and he realised he had been holding his breath. He let it out slowly. He had had dinner at the McGonagall home before. He liked both Merwyn and Egeria. Egeria was very kindly taking care of Thea, at no charge, despite the amount of time she was spending. And he was . . . taking their daughter. He had promised them long ago that he would take care of her for them; he doubted that this was what they had in mind. But that was long ago. Minerva was no longer a child, though she was still their daughter. Minerva had said that they had suspected her feelings for him for a long time and yet they had still invited him into their home, they had spoken well of him to her.

Albus nodded. “All right,” he said. “Wednesday. I will make sure that there is someone to stay and look after the castle – perhaps Gertrude will do that, or Johannes. Tell them that I am pleased to accept their invitation.”

“Thank you, Albus!” Minerva said happily, putting her arms around him and kissing his cheek.

Albus smiled. “I am happy to be able to please you, my dear.”

“You do, very much, and in more than just that,” Minerva said, running her hand over his chest. She sighed and lay her head on his shoulder. “I love being close to you like this, and having you hold me . . . and kiss me,” she said more softly. “And I very much enjoyed your demonstration yesterday of the scandalous kiss the Headmaster might give the Head of Gryffindor House if he didn’t exercise restraint during the Sorting Ceremony.”

“You did, did you?” Albus asked in a low voice. He could feel a new tightness in his chest, and elsewhere, and it was not unpleasurable. 

“Mmhm, very much. I particularly enjoyed the accompanying caresses,” she whispered. “They left me wanting more.”

Albus swallowed. “I . . . I am very glad of that, Minerva.”

Minerva was quiet, running her fingers gently through his beard, then she said, “There is something that bothers you, Albus, something that you haven’t talked to me about. But you did imply that you thought I might not like you to touch me. You seem to think that I might pull away from your touch. Albus, I welcome your loving touch. I welcome it and desire it.”

“I know. You have said that, but still . . .” Albus shifted uncomfortably, and Minerva moved, maintaining her contact with him, but looking up at him.

“What is it, my darling Albus?” she asked softly, touching his cheek with her fingertips. “What do you fear, and why? You know and believe that I love you. You see how much I love to snuggle close to you, to kiss you, to touch you. What is it, then?”

Albus shook his head. He felt foolish. There was a part of him that recognised his trouble lay not in his decrepitude, his aged body, or his withered touch, but lay rather in his fears themselves, and that they were irrational. But he could not verbalise any of that, though he normally was not at a loss for words. This was too difficult, too embarrassing, even to speak of with Minerva. _Especially_ to speak of with her.

“Please share it with me, Albus, whatever it is. If you trust me . . . can you trust me?” She looked up at him, but Albus avoided her eyes. “You have said that you believe that I need a vital wizard, as though you were not such a one. You are, Albus. You are more vital and more alive than any other wizard of my acquaintance.”

“I am no longer young,” Albus said softly. “And I know you do not believe it matters, but it does.”

“I do not believe that I have said that, precisely,” Minerva said. “But only that it is not an impediment, it should not be an impediment, to our being together. There are differences between us, and you will always be older than I, and always stronger, wiser, more respected. And some of that is because of your age, but some of it is simply because of who you are. We did grow up in different worlds, but in some sense, that is true of many of us. You have often pointed to Quin as a model of a good catch. But surely there are more differences between Quin and me than between you and me. His upbringing, his family traditions, his entire life are all so different from my own. And yet we are friends, and he had a wonderful marriage with Aileen, who was far more like me than she was like Quin, no doubt, simply by virtue of having attended Hogwarts.”

Albus could feel Minerva examining his face for a reaction as she spoke. He did not know what to say. What she said was true, but it didn’t go to the heart of the matter. As he thought of what the true problem was, Albus could again hear Valerianna’s voice ringing in his head, almost as though she were physically present. His lips were withered, and his touch turned her cold; he could not satisfy any witch, and his attempts were pathetic. He made her ill. And no witch would want his ancient penis in her when she could have a young, strong, virile wizard. Albus shuddered involuntarily.

“What is it, Albus?” Minerva asked softly. “Please tell me. Whatever it is, you can tell me. Truly.”

Albus shook his head, not denying her, but simply at a loss for words. He _wanted_ to talk to her; he didn’t want this to come between them. His inadequacies . . . his fears . . . his ill-considered relationship with Valerianna . . .

Minerva sat back and took his hands in hers. “I love you, Albus, and nothing you can say to me will change that. Surely you trust in that.” She raised one of his hands to her mouth and kissed it, then let them go. “Perhaps . . . perhaps it would be easier like this?” she asked, drawing her wand. She waved it and dimmed the candles and the lamp, their glow still warm and welcoming, but not as bright.

Albus shrugged. It might be easier if he weren’t sitting so close to her. He shifted in his seat. Minerva was silent, waiting patiently and calmly. Finally, he cleared his throat.

“I believe you are aware that I, um, for a while I escorted Valerianna Yaxley to various functions. And I, um, well, I suppose you might say that I attempted to court her.” Albus could feel his cheeks grow warm. This was far worse than admitting to Minerva all of the follies of his youth. But Minerva only nodded at him, and he continued, “I knew her husband, you see. He was a good man, a fine wizard. It was partially my fault that he died. Over the years, I saw Valerianna occasionally, usually at Ministry events.”

Albus shifted in his seat again, then he stood. He stepped over to the wall a few feet away and looked out over the Hogwarts grounds. 

“I did not know her well, but she was bright, that much was clear. And she seemed . . . interested in me.” Albus cleared his throat again. “She joined the Board of Governors. Shortly thereafter . . . we had both been invited to a dinner party thrown by the Minister for Magic. I was inclined to send my regrets, but I hadn’t yet when she suggested that we go together. She made it sound . . . fun. After that, I began to escort her to various functions, then to bring her to dinner and on other outings. I do not know why, precisely, except that . . . I was used to being alone, and being with her was something different. I tried to please her.” Albus sighed. “Perhaps it was entirely wrong of me to have done that, unfair to her, I do not know.” He sensed Minerva moving on the glider behind him, but she said nothing, and he continued. “But although I tried, I found it difficult to warm up to her, and I felt that she was not warming to me. I persisted, though, and this despite dear Gertrude’s warning that Valerianna was interested in me only for my position and my potential.”

Albus stopped, unable to continue. What could he say now? How could he tell Minerva how terribly foolish he had been, and how hurt, how angry, and how unfairly he had treated Gertrude? That was, perhaps, the greatest disgrace of the entire affair, how he had turned from Gertrude, causing her pain, despite all of their years of friendship.

“I have met Valerianna,” Minerva’s voice came softly in the dark behind him. “She is quite an elegant witch, but manipulative. I understand that she can be very charming, although I personally saw no evidence of that charm. I saw only her nastiness. But I can understand how you might find it enjoyable to escort an elegant witch, and how she might have turned out to be something other than you had hoped. You are a very generous-hearted wizard. It would be like you to give her the benefit of the doubt, to want to believe the best of her.”

Albus nodded. “Yes, I did. But also . . . this shames me, Minerva, but I did not believe Gertrude because I imputed selfish motives to her. And I was very, very wrong.” Albus sighed. There would be some other time to tell Minerva about Gertrude. “Valerianna . . . we were to meet one evening at my cottage, at my home. I had given her leave to come and go as she pleased. I had wards, of course, but they were not meant to do anything more than deter casual thieves and snoops, and the few I had, I set to recognise her. I arrived early, anticipating a romantic weekend and a time to improve our relationship. I discovered that Valerianna had arrived before me, and she had brought someone with her.” Albus’s voice dropped. “I walked into my bedroom, my own bedroom, to find her with a wizard. A young man whom I had taught not many years before. He fled, quite sensibly. But Valerianna, she who had seemed so shy, so demure, so modest, too modest to allow me anything beyond certain liberties, she had been . . . with that wizard in my bed. And she told me precisely why.” Albus’s eyes were closed. He tried to pretend that he was unaffected by what he was saying. But he could hear her voice in his head. “I am old,” Albus said in a monotone. “My touch is disgusting. It made her ill. My withered lips were scarcely to be borne, and the thought of them on her body sickened her. I am a pathetic, dried-up wizard. A vital, passionate witch needs a young, passionate lover. I could not satisfy her or any other witch. Intimacy with my body was revolting even in thought. No witch wants a pathetic, disgusting, aged wizard; no witch wants me to touch her,” he ended in a whisper.

“Oh, Albus,” he heard Minerva say softly behind him. She had risen and was near. He could feel her standing just inches away. “Albus . . . I see that you believe her, but I do not. Not in the least. She was a woman scorned, a witch scorned. She had just betrayed you in a terrible way, and rather than blame herself, she came up with excuses. She wanted you to blame yourself for her own disgusting behaviour.”

Albus felt Minerva’s touch, her hands lightly on his shoulders, then rubbing his back very gently. 

“I do not know why you would believe her and not me, my dearest, most wonderful Albus,” Minerva said softly. “Perhaps, in her anger, her words had the force of a spell of some sort. Tyree witches used to cause men impotence with just a look, they say, if they were angry. I do not know how much truth there is to that tale, but . . . for you to have carried this with you as you have, and for me to know how wonderful it is when you kiss and caress me, how you can excite me with your touch, bringing me pleasure just with your voice . . . I do not understand why you would believe her nasty, vindictive words, Albus, when they are so very far from the truth.”

Albus bent his head. Minerva’s words were delivered gently and lovingly. His reason recognised the truth to what she said, but there was still a knot in his stomach when he considered that he might reach for her, touch her, caress her, and she would withdraw from him involuntarily. He could not bear that. He would rather continue in a chaste relationship, as chaste, at least, as it had been until now, than to risk her shying from him.

“Believe me, Albus, believe me,” Minerva said softly, still gently running her hands over his back. “You are extremely handsome, immensely attractive, and your touch warms and excites me. I love to hear your voice, to feel your hands touching me, to feel your lips on mine, your lips over my skin, your tongue touching mine, and,” she continued even more softly, “feeling your desire for me, your very physical desire, it quickens my own need and desire. Touch me, Albus, touch me, and you will see and feel how much pleasure you bring me, how you awaken my desire, and how my desire is for you and for you alone.”

Albus consciously relaxed and allowed himself to enjoy the sensation of Minerva’s soothing hands rubbing his back. He put all thought of Valerianna’s words out of his head, thinking instead of Minerva’s quiet acceptance of his admissions. She had no censure for him, only caring words and a loving touch. As if she had noticed that he was enjoying her touch, Minerva began to gently massage his shoulders, and he relaxed more, then she put her arms around him and leaned against his back.

“I love you, Minerva,” he whispered.

“And I love you, Albus,” she answered, giving him a squeeze. “I love you so very much.”

They stood like that for a few minutes, not speaking, Albus simply enjoying the feeling of Minerva at his back, her arms encircling him. He raised one hand from where it had rested on the stone rampart and placed it on her hand. She turned her hand over and held his, then placed her other hand on top of his.

“Your hands are cold,” she said softly. 

“I’m sorry,” he replied. He felt her shake her head slightly against him.

“Here, give me your hands,” Minerva said, and Albus turned around as she took hold of his hands. Rather than using a common warming charm, as he might have expected, had he thought about it, she took his hands between her own, brought them to her mouth and breathed on them, then she brought them to her chest and held them to her warmth, gently caressing them. “A little warmer?”

Albus nodded, very aware of Minerva’s soft breasts beneath his hands. “Yes, a little warmer,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Good, very good,” Minerva said, still rubbing the backs of his hands. She smiled up at him when he began to move his thumbs gently against her breasts.

He bent his head and kissed her forehead, then her mouth. He didn’t break the kiss as Minerva brought one hand to his face, caressing his face and jaw. He moved his hand on her breast and her slight moan sent a frisson of pleasure through him. Her other hand went to his hip, and he enjoyed the feel of her breasts beneath his hands. Even through her robes, he could feel her nipples peaked from his stimulation, and he cupped her breasts and brushed his thumbs across her nipples. She pulled out of the kiss with a gasp, clutching at his robes, and Albus kissed her exposed throat, very aware of her rapid pulse and her sharp intake of breath as he softly moved his lips over her skin.

Albus turned, bringing Minerva with him, so that now her back was to the battlements; he put one arm around her, still kissing her throat and the exposed area below her collarbone, caressing her breasts more boldly as she leaned back against his arm, opening herself to him. He kissed the soft skin of her neck and chest as his hand wandered lower, down her abdomen then returning to caress her breast again. As his hand travelled down her body again and began to caress her from her stomach to her hip and back again to her breast, then lower again, Albus moved his lips up her throat to her jaw, then to a spot just behind her ear, where he gently kissed and nipped. Minerva’s mews of pleasure caused his own excitement to grow, and he took her delicate earlobe between his lips as his fingers tentatively sought her crux through her robe. She moaned and pressed into his hand, clutching blindly at his robes.

“More, Albus . . . oh, please, don’t stop,” she gasped, then she moaned again as she felt Albus’s tongue caress her ear as he began to rub her more vigorously. 

Involuntarily, Minerva opened her legs further to his stimulating touch. Her head lolled back, resting against the top of the wall, and her weight was supported almost entirely by Albus’s left arm around her. Minerva couldn’t think, only feel, though if she had any thought, it would have been the astonished awareness that no man had ever before brought her such pleasure without removing her clothing, or at least moving it aside, but she did not think, her mind fully occupied with the feel and sound of Albus’s mouth and breath in her ear and the throbbing where he was stimulating her through her robe, his hand moving rapidly against her, applying precisely the amount of pressure needed to bring her pleasure, and in precisely the right place. Then, as she breathed his name, she felt an explosion within her, and wave upon wave of intense pleasure flowed through her.

“Oh, gods, yes, Albus, oh, my love, Albus!” she cried weakly, arching her back as he held her securely. Then she was limp and exhausted, and Albus brought his arm around her and held her close to him. Minerva was glad for his support; she was certain that her legs would not hold her up at that moment, but she brought her arms up and draped them about him. “Oh, Albus . . . that was . . . that was simply . . .” She sighed and settled her head closer to his beating heart.

As she returned to herself, Minerva realised that she had done nothing at all for Albus, and she brought one hand around between them and began to seek his erection, but Albus caught her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each finger. Minerva tilted her head to look up at him questioningly. He was smiling softly.

“I am happy you found that . . . acceptable, my dear,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

Minerva swallowed, then blushed, suddenly feeling somewhat embarrassed at the way that she had simply let go as she had. But then she reminded herself quickly that at least now, Albus could not possibly believe that his touch would leave her cold or disgust her, and she returned his smile. 

“It was far more than ‘acceptable,’ Headmaster. I do believe I would give you an ‘Outstanding,’ with extra marks for efficacy and style,” Minerva said, a slightly naughty grin crossing her face, pleased when he returned her smile. “Perhaps we should see how well I do,” she said with a whisper, moving her other hand between them, but Albus caught that one up, too.

He kissed her hands, then her forehead. He rested his cheek against her forehead, then whispered, “Another time, I think, Minerva.”

Minerva struggled for words, “But, I am happy to, I would like to . . .”

“Mmm, yes. But not now. Please, my dearest love,” he murmured. He let out a long, happy sigh, releasing her hands, resting his head on hers, and putting his arms around her again. “Now, just this, just . . . this.”

Minerva nodded. She relaxed against him. This _was_ nice. Very, very nice. Now, if they only had her wizarding wireless with them, they could have music. But this was lovely. More than that.

Albus moved them to the glider, and Minerva settled into his lap, resting her head on his shoulder. The night was fully upon them now, and the stars were a shining host in the clear black sky. Minerva let her head fall back so that she could look up at them.

“Did you arrange all of this, Albus? Tell the clouds to leave this corner of Scotland for the night so that we could see all of the beautiful stars?” she asked.

Albus smiled at her little joke and shook his head. “No, for the only light that interested me tonight was the light in your eyes. I love you, my dear Minerva, my sweet love.” He kissed her forehead. “But I am glad that my little rooftop haven pleases you.”

“It is very romantic, Albus. Perfect, in fact.” She put her hand at the back of his neck and drew him down for a kiss. After she had kissed him – a few times, finding it difficult to stop, her lips returning to his for just one more kiss and then another – Minerva looked into his eyes and said, “I am the luckiest witch in all the world, in all of history. Thank you, Albus, thank you for making me so.”

“It is the least I can do for the witch who has made me the happiest, most blessed of all men,” he said, his voice a low rumble against her. His lips brushed her hair. “I am more happy than I thought possible.” His sigh of contentment was a warm breeze over Minerva. “Would you like more cognac? Or I could reheat the coffee,” Albus suggested.

Minerva shook her head. “I think what I would really like – other than you,” she said with a small chuckle, walking her fingers up Albus’s chest, “is a cup of tea.”

Albus nodded. “That can be provided,” he said. “I can call Wilspy now. Would you like anything else?”

Minerva said, “No, just the tea, I think. But we could go down and have some in my suite. I often make tea for myself.”

Albus hesitated slightly, then he said, “Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you.”

“I noticed that you don’t have a kitchen, Albus – when I was looking for you on Wednesday,” Minerva said. “I’m sorry, Albus. I didn’t mean to snoop, I was just frantic, trying to find you.”

Albus chuckled. “You have free access to my suite, my dear, because I trust you. You could not snoop, because you are welcome. Anywhere, all right, my love?”

Minerva nodded. “Thank you.”

“And I do not have a kitchen because Headmaster Dippet did not have one, nor did Headmaster Black, before him. I believe that Phineas Nigellus had it removed, in fact. He found it plebeian to have a kitchen in his suite,” Albus said with amusement. “I did not have one in my earlier quarters, either, simply because it did not occur to me that I could have one, and by the time I realised I could, Wilspy was on very good terms with the Hogwarts house-elves and I did not want to deprive her of her social contact by having her believe that she had to use a kitchen in our suite. Now, I am simply used to it, and I doubt I would ever use it myself. But I am very glad that you like yours.”

Albus moved forward in the seat, and Minerva sat up, sliding off his lap. Albus put his arm around her shoulders and they moved toward the stair. 

“Should I go first, my dear?” he asked.

Minerva laughed. “That would be fine. If I can put my hand on your shoulder, as I used to.”

“I would hope that you would do that,” Albus said with a smile.

He led her down the narrow stairway, and Minerva put one hand on each shoulder. When they reached the bottom, she squeezed his shoulders in a gentle massage, stopping him from moving any further. Some slight pressure, and Albus turned to face her. Minerva smiled down at him and combed her fingers through his hair. 

“You are so . . . gorgeous, Albus, so wonderful, and looking at you is such a pleasure, and touching you, an even greater one.” She kissed his forehead, then looked into his eyes again.

Albus smiled brightly up at her, and said in a low voice, “And you, my love, are my sun and my stars, the wave that lifts me, the fresh breeze that invigorates me, the very rhythm of my heartbeat; you, my sweet Minerva, are the passion in my life, that which animates my very being, the pinnacle I never hoped to attain. You are the light beyond the clouds, the joy on the far side of sorrow: you are my love.”

Minerva leaned forward and kissed his cheeks. Tears entered her eyes. She whispered, “I wish I could say to you anything at all as beautiful as your words to me.” 

Albus pulled her toward him, down one more step, and held her close. He turned his face into her hair and took a deep breath and let it out.

“Your words are beautiful to me, my dear Minerva. Very beautiful, words of love. Your presence in my life, even more so,” he said softly. “And the words that you uttered, that brought me beyond my fears . . . they could not have been more beautiful.”

“You are very sweet, Albus,” Minerva said with a sigh. 

“Now, what about that letter?” Albus asked, pulling back slightly.

“We don’t have to get it just this minute . . . though I would like to read it.” Minerva was torn. She wanted to read the letter, but she didn’t want to have anything interrupt the moment.

“I think I know where it is,” Albus said thoughtfully. He flicked a finger, opening the door to his bedroom, flicked it twice more, though Minerva couldn’t see to what effect, then he whispered, “ _Accio_ letter,” beckoning the letter to him. A moment later, it sailed through the door and into his hand.

Albus turned to her, his eyes sparkling, and said, “Here you are, my dear. Your post.” He handed her the letter, sketching a slight bow. “Do bear in mind as you read it, however, when the letter was written. It was before . . . all the confusion.”

Minerva laughed lightly. “In the midst of the confusion, I would say. Right approaching the peak of confusion, actually.”

Albus nodded. “Indeed. Shall we?” he asked, gesturing toward the other stairs.

“Let’s,” Minerva replied, stepping down the final step. 

Albus placed his hand on the old, scarred door and said, “Peppermint Pillows.”

It glowed and swung open. “Shall I go ahead again?”

Minerva smiled and nodded, then placed her hands on his shoulders as they stepped into the narrow, torchlit stairway. 

“Mmm,” Minerva said as they walked down the stairs, “I do love to feel your magic, Albus. It feels somehow especially nice here, in your shoulders, and in your chest.”

“You really are very sensitive to my magic in particular, Minerva?” Albus asked, his voice echoing slightly against the high stone walls.

“Yes, very. Much more so than anyone else’s. Sometimes . . . sometimes, particularly when you are casting a spell, I can even feel it when I’m standing a several feet from you and not even touching you,” she replied. “I have been aware of it for a very long time, and my awareness grew as I got older, and it hasn’t faded at all, in all the years I’ve known you, even when we were apart for long intervals.”

“Hmm, that is interesting. It is likely related to the phenomenon that drew us both to the mated wands, or drew them to us.”

“Do you – do you notice mine, Albus?” Minerva asked hesitantly.

“I am somewhat aware of almost anyone’s magic,” Albus answered. “Occasionally, I will even pass a Muggle family on the street, and I can tell that one of the children will be receiving a Hogwarts letter. Not always, of course, and occasionally . . . very occasionally there is a Muggle, someone who is very thoroughly and obviously a Muggle, who seems on first glance to have a magical signature, though a weak one, and, on the other hand, there is sometimes a wizard or a witch who is quite well-endowed with magic, but whose magic is practically undetectable to me unless I cast a diagnostic spell or am touching them as they cast a spell. When I am somewhere such as the Ministry, or in the middle of Diagon Alley, or at Hogwarts, when it is in session, everyone’s magic tends to seem to blend together, though.”

“Oh, so my magic just . . . blends in,” Minerva said, feeling somewhat disappointed. 

“I was just getting to that, Minerva,” Albus said before he paused and opened the door at the bottom of the stairs, then led her into the side corridor. He continued, “Your magic has always been somewhat . . . lighter, somehow, if that makes any sense, distinguishable from the others, or distinguishing itself. Even years ago, in a roomful of students, I would know where you were and feel your magic. It was as though . . . as though it sang a descant above all the others, beautifully and unmistakably Minerva.” He stopped, blushing.

They had not yet quite reached the end of the short hallway, but Minerva held onto his arm and turned him toward her. “That was a lovely way of putting it, Albus,” she said, smiling. She looked up into his eyes and rubbed his upper arm. Noticing that his blush had not faded and that he was having trouble meeting her gaze, she added, “You know . . . we cannot try to pretend that I was never your student, that we haven’t known each other since I was very young. I can understand that it might sometimes be uncomfortable for you to remember that, but we cannot simply avoid talking about those times. We _could_ avoid it, I suppose, but I would rather not. Those were enjoyable times, and interesting ones, and occasionally distressing, but we shared them. We had different relationships with each other at different times in our lives. Our relationship has simply grown and developed.”

Albus nodded. “I know that. I understand what you are saying.” He smiled slightly. “And I appreciate that you understand my occasional, passing sense of discomfort.”

“But we will get used to it, together, hmm?” Minerva said with another caress. “We are in love, Albus,” she whispered. “We have been in love with each other for a long time. We just didn’t know it. In fact, in a way, you have been courting me. Not openly, of course, or consciously, but you have been doing wonderful things for me for quite a while, and they have only become more special over time. And this summer, you were most especially sweet and romantic. Everything you did only helped me fall more deeply in love with you than I had been before.”

He looked down at her with loving eyes. “Except when doppelganger-Albus made an appearance,” he said with a slight smile.

“Except then, of course,” Minerva replied. “Do you think you need another dose of prevention?” she asked with a gleam in her eye.

“Hmm,” Albus said thoughtfully. “I wonder . . . do I? It might be a very good idea. If you don’t mind dispensing the cure.”

“Not terribly,” she said, restraining her grin. “It will be worth the sacrifice, I’m sure.”

Minerva put her arms around Albus’s neck and watched his face as he bent his head for his kiss. She met his lips with hers, closing her eyes and savouring the sensation of his lips on hers, of his breath on her cheek, and his arms around her as he pulled her closer to him. Finally, she lay her head against him and sighed in contentment.

“I did promise you a cup of tea,” Minerva said, “and I suppose that standing here in the hallway is not fulfilling that promise, is it?”

“Mm, no, but I would say that doppelganger-Albus is definitely being held at bay, if he even exists any longer,” Albus said with a chuckle as he ran a hand up and down her back. 

The sound resonating in his chest gave Minerva goose-bumps, but she leaned back, taking a deep breath, and said, “Then on to my rooms, my darling Albus.”


	125. Rematch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus and Minerva have a chess rematch, and a few other playful moments, as well.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore.

**CXXV: Rematch**

At her door, Minerva gave her password, and the Silent Knight bowed and opened the door with a slight click, but Albus hesitated. 

“It is late. Perhaps I should –”

Minerva didn’t let him finish. “Perhaps you should sit on my couch and allow me to make you a soothing cup of chamomile tea. That is what you were about to say, isn’t it? Or is doppelganger-Albus returning?”

“Oh, never, not at all! I was simply thinking of the hour, and of your, um, beauty sleep,” Albus said awkwardly.

Minerva laughed and pulled him into the sitting room. “All right, as long as it isn’t doppelganger-Albus – and you needn’t worry, Albus.”

“Worry?” he asked as she closed the door behind them.

“That I might . . . press your virtue?” she said as she walked toward her little kitchen. “Have a seat, Albus. Make yourself comfortable. I won’t be more than a minute.”

Good to her word, Minerva reemerged from the kitchen less than a minute later, her wand out, a teapot, two cups and saucers, a small pitcher of milk, and a little honey pot floating on a tray in front of her. She settled everything down on the small table in front of the couch, then she waved her wand, bringing the water in the teapot up to just the right temperature. She picked up a small jar and emptied its contents into the pot, then waved her wand to give them a brief stir.

Albus had made himself at home while Minerva was in the kitchen, taking off his short boots, but he reached for them to put them back on. “I’m sorry, my dear, I didn’t realise you would be so quick about it. My feet were a bit tired.”

“Leave them off, then. You can put them on before you leave. I did say to make yourself comfortable,” she said, sitting down beside him and slipping off her own shoes. “The tea will take only a few minutes. I generally like to pour the water over the tea or herbs, but this seemed faster. I hope you don’t mind honey. I only realised when I looked for it that I don’t have any sugar.”

“No, I prefer honey in herb teas, generally,” Albus replied, crossing his ankles.

“Here, you said your feet were tired,” Minerva said, moving over and gesturing to him. “Let me rub them for you.”

“Oh, no, Minerva, that’s all right. They’re fine, really,” Albus said.

“Well, you could put them up here in my lap,” Minerva said with a smile, “or I could get down on the floor to rub them. Conjure a stool, or something.”

Albus chuckled and shook his head. “You really needn’t, you know.”

Minerva rolled her eyes, but smiled when Albus turned and leaned against the arm of the sofa, bringing his feet up to rest in her lap. Her smile broadened when she saw the socks.

“They don’t really go with your robes, do they?” she asked with a grin as she began to rub his right foot, taking it between both hands.

Albus wiggled his toes and looked at his socks. “No one sees them under my boots. And there _are_ clouds on the calves. Above the trees on the ankles,” he said, raising the hem of his robes slightly so that she could see more of the bucolic scene magically woven into his socks.

Minerva laughed. “It must be fun to know you are walking about with – what are these tiny creatures? Ducklings or chicks? – hopping about in a green meadow on your feet, with little lambs cavorting with them.”

Albus grinned. “There’s even a snake in the grass; you may notice her. She pops her head up occasionally. But peacefully. She’s a very little green snake.”

Minerva laughed at that. “‘Her’? How do you know it’s a she, Albus?”

“Her name is ‘Esmerelda,’” Albus said, then he laughed with Minerva. 

As Minerva began to rub his left foot, pressing her thumbs into his arch and running them up the centre of his foot, Albus sighed in contentment. “You are very good at that, my dear.”

Minerva grinned. “Thank you. I appreciate a good foot rub myself occasionally – not tonight, Albus!” she said, seeing an expression cross his face and his mouth begin to open with an offer to rub her feet. “Not that I wouldn’t enjoy it. But I’m not doing this to have one in exchange. Though I would appreciate one at some other time! Why don’t you pour the tea? It must be finished brewing.”

Albus nodded and poured out for them. “Honey, my sweet Minerva?” he asked.

Minerva hesitated. “Yes, but think about how much you like in it and cut it by at least two-thirds. I like just enough to add a little flavour but not too much sweetness.”

Albus nodded obediently and added honey to the cups, then made a gesture to stir it in. “Now, as much as I am enjoying the foot massage, you will need to have your hands free for your tea,” he said as he Levitated Minerva’s cup over to her. 

“All right,” Minerva responded, patting his foot as she put it back down in her lap. “Next time, we’ll do it without the socks on. You’ll enjoy that even more.” She twitched a smile, thinking of other activities they could engage in with fewer clothes on, but she said nothing more.

Albus swung his feet around, sitting up straight on the couch. “Thank you very much!” He wiggled his toes then pulled on his boots. “My feet thank you, too. And Esmerelda!” He reached over and picked up his own teacup.

Minerva smiled. “You didn’t need to sit up, though, Albus. I was quite comfortable.”

“Very nice tisane,” Albus said, taking a sip.

“The very last of the chamomile you gave me when I went to the Gamps. I have been rationing it,” Minerva replied. “I did enjoy it very much. It was an extremely thoughtful present.”

Albus smiled and patted the cushion next to him. Minerva slid closer to him and smiled when he bent his head and kissed her temple. 

“I am glad that you enjoyed it, Minerva. I knew you were a little apprehensive about the house party, and I also know that they can be tiring, especially if you’re not a . . . a people person,” Albus said.

“Do you enjoy them, Albus?” Minerva asked. “I don’t mean parties in general. I mean the Gamp parties.”

Albus nodded. “Generally, yes. They are not usually as grand as I understand it was this year. Usually, for several days, there are closer members of the family, such as Quin and his children, and Robert and Thea, visiting, coming and going, but not so many more distant friends and relatives there. Then there is a larger party at the end of the week. That is usually held on a weekend, unlike this year, but I understand that the schedule of the guests of honour dictated its placement. You can’t very well hold an engagement party if the engaged parties are not in attendance!”

Minerva laughed. “I wouldn’t have minded,” she said, quickly adding, “but that is an unkind thing to say.”

Albus quirked a grin. “But an amusing thought.” He chuckled. “Can you imagine the non-invitation to such a party? ‘Dear Friends, we are holding a party in your honour next month. We shall toast your health and wish you well in the future. No need to attend. We wish the party to be a congenial affair, and the guests will be most happy to toast you in your absence’!”

“Albus!” Minerva laughed again and shook her head slightly. Albus rarely said anything gratuitously derogatory about someone, and he wasn’t known for making cruel jokes at others’ expense, but of course this hadn’t been directed at anyone in particular. “You can be naughty!”

Albus’s eyes sparkled. “I can be _quite_ naughty – under the right circumstances, my dear!”

Minerva chuckled. “I look forward to creating the right circumstances for you to be . . . naughty with me.”

Albus gazed at her face, and met Minerva’s eyes. His smile changed from one of teasing amusement to one of affection. “I look forward to that, too.”

Albus let go of his teacup and saucer, and they floated over to the table. He took Minerva’s from her and sent them to sit beside the teapot. He raised a hand and caressed her face, then he leaned forward and kissed her lips. His arms went around her, and he deepened the kiss as Minerva embraced him. Then he kissed her lightly several times before holding her close to him. 

He took in a slow, deep breath then let it out in a sigh. “I love you, Minerva,” he whispered.

“And I love you, Albus,” Minerva responded, her voice slightly muffled as she nuzzled his chest.

Albus kissed the top of her head then slowly disengaged from her embrace. “The tea was lovely, and much as I do not want this night to end, it is very late.”

Minerva nodded and stood. She took his hand as he rose. “If you wouldn’t find it too dull to have breakfast with me again, I would enjoy having breakfast with you in the morning,” she said.

“Breakfast with you would never become dull, although it would be lovely if it were to become . . . routine,” Albus answered. “I hope we are able to breakfast together most mornings that we are both in the castle – when school is not in session.”

Minerva nodded. “I would like that very much.”

“Come up to my suite when you are up, then. It is late. Sleep as long as you wish. Wilspy can bring us our breakfast whenever you arrive,” Albus suggested as they walked toward the door.

“Good night, Albus,” Minerva said. “Sleep well!”

“I am sure I will,” he answered. “Good night, my dear Minerva.”

He tilted her face toward him, one gentle finger on her chin, and bent his head to kiss her. He felt some reluctance to leave, and he kissed her once more before opening the door.

“I will see you soon,” Albus said. 

“Very soon,” Minerva replied. “Sweet dreams, Albus!”

He stepped through the door, looked back at Minerva once, blew her a kiss, which she felt land on her cheek, making her smile, then he turned and headed away toward the Headmaster’s backstair and his own bed.

Minerva closed the door and leaned against it. She had wanted Albus to stay, but she had promised not to press him. He had made great strides in just a few days, and revealing his fears to her that night on the rooftop had been a tremendous leap for him. She smiled as she remembered how Albus had touched her, and she blushed. She did hope that he didn’t think that she was . . . wanton. He was a gentleman, and of a different period. Obviously, Albus didn’t expect her to have no desires or drives. He had said that a healthy young witch needed a vital wizard, after all. He didn’t seem to labour under some bizarre notion that good witches didn’t have physical needs and desires. Still, after having let go as she had, and after her promise not to press him, she couldn’t very well make him uncomfortable by again suggesting he stay. Minerva was certain that he wasn’t yet ready for that. But soon, perhaps, soon, that would change.

Now, though, she would get ready for bed and read Albus’s letter to her.

Minerva got ready for bed, then paused at her vanity and picked up the picture of her and Albus after her Challenge. She looked at it and smiled. Watching the two of them in the photograph now, and their reactions to each other, Minerva didn’t know why she hadn’t always recognised that they were in love with each other. In love . . . perhaps even then, perhaps he had been in love with her even then. That had been nine years ago, a little more, actually. Minerva shook her head at their foolishness in not recognising each other’s feelings. On the other hand, at not even twenty-four years old, Minerva didn’t think she would have been ready for a relationship with Albus then.

No, Minerva knew that their relationship would have its difficulties, and some unusual ones, given their differences, including the difference in their ages; at twenty-four, however, she would not have had the experience that she did now. And although she and Albus had, of course, called themselves friends at that point, she had still felt far more the student to him, and she certainly hadn’t the same abilities at that time, nor the range of knowledge that she had attained in the interim. No, a few years more maturity had only helped her, Minerva was certain. She wouldn’t have wanted to have bored Albus or had him chuckling over her naivete or innocence. Still, it was a pity they hadn’t come together three or four years before, sometime before that other witch had tried to sink her claws into him. That one large problem that had stood between them never would have arisen. Minerva had no doubt that the insecurities that Valerianna had instigated had been a large part of Albus’s inability to see that Minerva was in love with him, to realise that it had been she who had kissed him, who had returned his kiss, and who had been pleased by his touch and not disturbed by it. If it were not for Valerianna, Minerva was certain that that final crisis never would have occurred and that they would have come together without so much pain.

Tears rose in her eyes as she remembered Albus’s reluctance, his embarrassment and shame, and the sound of his voice as he had told her what that other witch had said to him. And Minerva was certain that Valerianna’s actual words had been much worse. Minerva had wanted to cry and to hold him when he was telling her about it, but she knew instinctively that that was the wrong reaction at that moment, that he needed her to accept his pain and to wipe away the nastiness that Valerianna had left behind. To have wept for him then would have been self-indulgent and would have embarrassed Albus even more than he already was. But now, in the privacy of her own room, she sat on the edge of her bed, and she wept tears of sorrow and anger. 

It had disturbed her so to hear him say even that it might have been “wrong” of him to have tried to please Valerianna. That cow hadn’t appreciated him, and Minerva now wished that she had done far more than simply jinx her shoes. For Albus to blame himself . . . of course, there was the issue of Gertrude and why he had not believed her. Minerva assumed it must have had something to do with their one-time relationship, if they had had one. Perhaps he had broken things off with Gertrude at some point, and so he assumed that Gertrude was only trying to get him back. Something seemed wrong with that picture, although Minerva couldn’t lay her finger on what it was, aside from the fact that Gertrude was a far superior witch to that Yaxley person. She shrugged to herself and sighed. Albus might tell her at some point. Right then, Minerva was simply relieved that he had finally talked to her about Valerianna and her nasty words. She doubted that he had told anyone else. Whom would he tell? The person he was closest to seemed to be Gertrude, and although Gertrude would likely be understanding – and very angry with Valerianna – it didn’t seem the sort of thing that Albus would have shared with her. And Minerva didn’t know whether it would have made it more or less likely for Albus to have told Gertrude what Valerianna had said if the two had once been in an intimate relationship. 

Minerva put the picture down, running her finger along the edge of the gold frame, admiring once again its Art Nouveau qualities and Albus’s artistry. They were together now, and they had overcome obstacles on their way. Minerva wasn’t going to let anything else come between them, never for long, anyway. And Albus himself had made great strides that night. These were very large changes in his life, Minerva was certain. As much as he enjoyed being with her and creating romantic surprises for her, eventually, everyday life would begin to reassert itself. And there would be practical questions that would arise between them. He had been alone for a very long time, and their positions at the school didn’t precisely create ideal conditions for them to be involved, let alone to begin a life together. They hadn’t discussed exactly what they were doing, although Albus had said that he was “paying her court.” Courtship generally had a rather specific goal in mind, although Minerva was fairly sure that Albus hadn’t thought that far ahead with regard to their relationship and was using the term in a more generic sense.

But now to read her letter from Albus. Minerva sat up in bed, her pillows plumped behind her, put on her glasses, and unfolded the letter Albus had given her. She hoped that it wasn’t the sort of apology he had written her on Wednesday. Minerva smiled as she read the first lines. She needn’t have worried.

_“13 August 1957_

_“Dearest Minerva,_

_“I wish to beg your forgiveness for my rudeness this morning. Everything you said had merit, and there is nothing you said that I would neglect when castigating myself, although I would add a few things. I was insensitive and unjust, and I never ought to have said what I did, never mind the way that I said it. I know that I have had to ask your pardon frequently in these last days, and I wish I could explain its cause. Please just know that, whatever my faults and however bad my behaviour toward you, you are a wonderful witch and a highly valued friend and when I count my blessings, your presence in my life is at the beginning and at the ending of that count._

_“My dear, if it is not too much to ask, would you care to have dinner with me tonight? Wilspy will be returned, and we may eat in my suite, or if you would prefer to dine elsewhere, we could go into Hogsmeade or even Apparate into London, whatever your desire might be._

_“I look forward to your response and hope for your forgiveness._

_“Yours always,_

_“Albus”_

Tears ran down her face as she realised that if she had received this, their great misunderstanding never would have occurred. But then, it wouldn’t have been resolved, either. It was a beautiful letter, and it might have brought _her_ closer to understanding, but Albus was so resistant . . . No, they likely would have gone on as they had done, and it either would have continued so indefinitely, or they would have had some similar encounter that might not have ended as well. In any event, it seemed that this crisis was what Albus had needed before he could tell her how he felt, and it had provided the turning point in their relationship.

“‘Yours always,’” Minerva read softly to herself. “Mine, always . . .”

Minerva believed that he meant those words quite literally, despite his occasional insecurities. And she would cherish him always. She remembered Quin’s words the previous day, _cherish every minute he is in this world with you. I would give me life to spend one more minute in a world inhabited by me Aileen, even if I were not with her durin’ that minute._ She would certainly cherish every minute. Minerva believed she would have done so, in any case, but Quin’s words made her very aware of the fragility of life. That day that Quin had seen his wife off on her outing, he had no thought that she might never return, that she would die suddenly and violently. No, Minerva thought, she would never take Albus for granted, nor their time together.

Minerva set the letter on her bedside stand, then took off her glasses and put them on top of the letter. Before she extinguished the lights, however, she picked up the small photograph of Albus that she had treasured for so long. She smiled as she placed a fingertip on the delicate rose. The charm was holding very well; she didn’t think she would need to refresh it for quite some time. She had taken the second red rose that Albus had given her and cast drying and preserving charms on that one, as well, and had placed it with all of the letters in her wooden chest, on top of the still somewhat wrinkled note that he had sent her on Wednesday. She couldn’t very well save every flower that Albus gave her, especially as he seemed to enjoy giving her flowers, but that particular one was a reminder of their first real date and was, in a sense, the counterpart to the one that she had affixed to this little frame. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to discard it.

Yes, Albus had been courting her, though neither of them had been aware of it. Minerva had sometimes sensed that he was, but Albus had never been able to tell her how he felt about her. She didn’t doubt that he might still have some difficulties adjusting to their new relationship, but they had certainly made a breakthrough that night on the rooftop. She did have a great physical desire for him, and for more than simply having him bring her to the height of passion as he had, but she would try to restrain herself for his sake, until he was ready for greater intimacy between them. She didn’t want to rush him. Minerva smiled to herself, remembering how lovely it had been simply to rest in his arms, to feel safe, warm, secure, and loved as Albus held her. He certainly seemed to appreciate physical affection beyond the sexual, which pleased Minerva. While she wasn’t a terribly demonstrative person, generally, she did want to be affectionate with Albus. As he had said, one of the wonderful things about embracing her, was that he received an embrace in return, and she felt the same way. 

Minerva touched the small black and white photograph one last time, remarking again how weary Albus seemed in it, then she set it back down on her bedside stand, behind the twinned stones and the nazar sitting in its nest of cord. She picked up her wand, flicked it, extinguishing the lights, then put it back down and settled into bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

After leaving Minerva, Albus walked back to his hidden backstairs, a bounce in his step. Despite his fatigue, he felt like singing and skipping down the main corridor, but even with his reputation for eccentricity and the fact that there were likely no witnesses other than a few portraits, Albus restrained himself, limiting his expression of joy to a big grin on his face. When he reached the narrow, barren side hall to his stairway, however, he did begin to whistle, the tune echoing against the walls and the high ceiling. As Albus approached the heavy oak door, he chuckled to himself. He had been whistling a rather lively version of “Scarborough Fair”; there was only one witch for him from now on, no matter how much he might appreciate the company of others. Dear, sweet Minerva. And they had certainly overcome the seemingly impossible in order to learn that they were truly in love.

He mounted the stairs that led to his bedroom, and he thought that Minerva was somewhat naive about the genuine and significant difficulties that would face them, not the least of which being their age difference. For now, though, Albus wanted to enjoy courting her and pleasing her. He loved to see the happiness in her eyes, and her appreciation when he presented her with a surprise. There would be time enough, he thought, to discuss practical difficulties – or simply to encounter them. They would only increase once the school year began; it was inevitable. If he weren’t Headmaster, those particular obstacles would not be insurmountable, though they would take considerable effort to overcome, but his position, combined with Minerva’s responsibilities as Head of House . . . Albus shook his head. The difficulties presented them by their positions were not insurmountable, either, but they would require a great deal of ingenuity and patience to overcome.

Albus got ready for bed, changing into his favourite summer nightshirt of narrow red and gold stripes on a creamy background. Unlike his winter nightshirts, which skimmed his ankles, his summer nightshirts only reached his calves. He washed, brushed his hair and beard using a special Charmed beard brush Gertrude had given him years ago, then waved his wand and cast an antitangling charm on his hair.

He climbed into bed, then reached over and picked up Big Ben and wound it by hand. Albus hesitated, then he set the alarm for eight o’clock. It was already almost two, but he knew that Minerva tended to be an early riser, and he didn’t want her to have to wait for him to be ready for breakfast. Perhaps he should have been more specific about a time for her to meet him, but if she could sleep late, that would be nice for her. He set his Muggle alarm clock down and waved a hand to extinguish the lights.

Despite his fatigue, Albus found it difficult to fall asleep. Possibly the coffee with the dessert had not been a very good idea. His mind wandered back to Minerva’s pleased reaction to his little rooftop surprise, and he smiled. He did so love to do things for her, and now he was more free to give her little treats and surprises than he had been. And, of course, there had been her reaction to his other . . . _treat_ for her. He had not planned that at all; it had been a surprise even to himself. A surprise that he had touched her as he had and a surprise that she had reacted the way she did. His smile grew. Minerva had not feigned the reaction, he was certain. She had been utterly limp in his arms afterward. My word, but she certainly had been responsive to his touch! Albus wondered whether he would be able to elicit the same reaction again, under other circumstances. Perhaps next time . . . perhaps next time, he thought with a shiver, he might touch her more, feel her skin and her softness . . . perhaps even exploring her further with his fingertips. He swallowed, wondering what her arousal would feel like, and if he actually could excite her again, particularly if he touched her directly.

These thoughts created increasing excitement in himself, and Albus could feel his own arousal grow. He closed his eyes and remembered Minerva’s face as she abandoned herself to his ministrations, and her expression as she reached the peak of her pleasure. Albus pressed a palm against his erection. He had not stopped Minerva from touching him there because he had any discomfort with the idea – or at least, that had not been his primary reason, nor sufficient – no, he had wanted to savour that moment with her and not have it lost in some subsequent . . . activity. He had wanted to simply hold her and relish the sensation of her warm body in his arms and the very present memory of having brought her such pleasure.

He pressed against his erection a bit harder and considered pleasuring himself, but instead, he Summoned his wand and cast a cooling charm, then he began to recite the twelves uses of dragon’s blood to himself. Whereas that morning in the shower, he had wanted to attain release in order that he might not importune upon Minerva, now he wished to save his passions for her. Even if it were weeks before they made love – and despite that night’s activities, Albus planned to court Minerva properly and not rush her – even if it were weeks, he would rather wait. Any release he could achieve himself was bound to be a mere shadow of what it would be like when they made love. Provided, of course, that he didn’t encounter any problems – he was sure he would be nervous that first time, and not only from wondering whether he still might disgust her, as unlikely as that now seemed, or whether could please her, but also because it had simply been so many years. And the charms that he had practised with Gertrude and even, though she had been unaware of it, with Maria . . . perhaps they would fail. Not that he needed them, they were simply nice . . . embellishments. But there was one charm in particular that he did not wish to have fail. He would certainly review that charm, and he would do so the very next day. After all, it had been botching a similar charm that had been the indirect cause of Dervilia’s death. Albus shuddered. No, he had to get that one right, and though he had no doubt that Minerva knew a few witches’ charms, as well, it was his seed to stop, after all. 

Whatever form their first love-making took, or whenever it occurred, Albus thought to himself as he began to grow sleepy, he would ensure that Minerva felt safe, secure, loved, and in complete control. Albus fell asleep thinking of Minerva and her love, again in amazement that he could feel so very happy.

Late the following day, Minerva watched as Malcolm followed Gertrude out of the staff room, on their way who-knew-where, and she was unsure whether she was sorry she hadn’t had an opportunity to speak with him yet. He had apparently arrived at Hogwarts sometime that afternoon and had spent the time with Gertrude in, of all places, the Forbidden Forest. He had been appalled that in all the years she had taught there, Gertrude had never been beyond the fringes of the Forest, and as a student, had only gone in on class outings, again, never beyond the fringes; so Malcolm had, as he put it, “reacquainted himself with the wood and given Gertrude a bit of a tour.” Neither seemed the worse for it, though Minerva did think that Gertrude looked a bit drained. She had probably been on edge the entire time they had been on their “tour,” no matter that Malcolm, full of confidence, had been with her. 

Minerva rather doubted that Gertrude would just happen to mention to Malcolm that Albus and she were now involved. Surely the two had more interesting things to do than discuss her and Albus. Still, it might have been a good thing to have been able to speak with him after dinner; but now, of course, she could spend the entire evening with Albus. They had had a lovely morning. She had discreetly waited until eight-thirty to go up to his suite, despite having woken at seven. They’d had breakfast, then taken a short walk before Albus had to get to work. He promised her, though, that they would spend the evening together, and she had broached the idea of going away for a few days, the two of them together, before school began on the first. Albus had seemed somewhat stunned by the suggestion, and Minerva was slightly embarrassed. She hadn’t meant that they would go away together in quite the way it had sounded when she said it – not that she would be averse to greater intimacy with him, but she was determined to try to be patient for his sake – but Albus had recovered his composure and said that it certainly sounded like a very nice idea, but they would have to think about it. It wouldn’t do to have the Headmaster away when everyone else was expected to be in residence, after all, and he did have certain things on his schedule that couldn’t be moved, or at least, not easily. Still, he would think about it and see what he could do to clear two or three days.

Minerva smiled. It would be nice if during those two or three days, they could overcome some of those final inhibitions Albus seemed to have, whatever their source. Sooner would be fine with her, too. But, she reminded herself, she would exercise patience. Or try to. Although it might not hurt to . . . stretch the boundaries a bit. Particularly if he repeated his actions of the night before, though, Minerva didn’t know how much patience she _could_ exercise if he did that.

She heard Albus laugh at something Hagrid said, and a shiver passed through her. If only he had any idea of what even the sound of his voice or his laughter could do to her, let alone how she felt when he smiled at her – and when he touched her! Minerva began to grow warm, and it was only remembering her Occlumency exercises that kept her from blushing at where her thoughts were leading. Albus glanced over at her, and she looked away quickly. She knew that if he caught her eye, her composure would crumple and she would surely blush. 

Minerva concentrated on her pudding, and was quite happy when Albus rose and asked her if she would be up for a game of chess. She agreed with alacrity, and the two left the staff room together. Minerva could scarcely contain herself and keep herself from throwing her arms around him and kissing him passionately. But someone else could walk out of the staff room or appear from elsewhere in the castle at any moment, so she simply straightened her back, held her head high, and walked up the stairs beside Albus, who made a few pleasantries about the day and the meal.

He stopped on the first floor and looked at her with an amused smile. “So, Professor McGonagall, did you have a productive day? I thought I might take a look at my old classroom and office, see what progress you have made.”

Her classroom was only a few yards away, and as much as she wanted to get up to his suite with him, Minerva nodded. “We can do that now, if you like.”

“That would be ideal, my dear,” Albus replied.

Minerva was intensely aware of Albus beside her as they walked to the classroom. It seemed to her that her awareness of him had been heightened after their time together the night before. That morning, he had embraced her and kissed her, but he had, rather to her disappointment, initiated no other intimacies, and she, remembering her promise not to rush him, didn’t press him, either.

They reached the classroom, and when Albus closed the door behind them, he did a bit of the wandless magic that still never failed to impress Minerva. He turned to Minerva, and she was very aware of how close to each other they were standing.

“You seemed to require some of the Headmaster’s time and . . . personal attention, Professor McGonagall. I thought perhaps rather than wait, we would come . . . straight . . . here,” Albus said in a low voice that sent shivers of pleasure through Minerva, and he raised one hand and touched her arm very lightly, a mere grazing touch, but it caused her to take in her breath sharply.

Minerva swallowed and looked up into his eyes. They seemed a deeper blue than ever, and his pupils were dilated as he gazed down at her. She licked her lips, then said, “I did require your personal attention, as you say, but I could have waited.”

“Could you, indeed?” Albus said, quirking a slight smile. “Well, then, would you care to show me your classroom, Professor? Or would you prefer to begin with your office?” He made no move away from her, however, and continued to gently caress her arm with his fingertips.

“I think that it is more in the way of personal attention that I am needing from the Headmaster,” Minerva said. 

“Really?” he asked with a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Something in the way of this sort of attention, then?”

Coming no closer to her, nor ceasing his tantalising caresses, only moving them to the side of her breast, he bent his head and kissed her lips softly, lingeringly, then he whispered, his words a breath against her lips, “This sort of attention, Professor McGonagall?”

“Yes,” Minerva breathed, “that sort is a start.”

“A start?” Albus asked before gently pulling her lips between his own. He licked his lips and hers, too, then asked in a low voice, “And would this be the proper way to proceed from there?”

Albus brought his fingertips around to circle her nipple, hidden though it was beneath her robes, as he continued his gentle, seductive kisses of her lips. He moved her over-robe aside as he caressed her breast, eliciting an intake of breath from Minerva. Albus chuckled in pleasure and delight at her reaction as he resumed his tantalising touches to her nipple, covered in cotton and silk though it was. 

Minerva raised her hands to rest them on his upper arms, not wanting to obstruct Albus’s movements, and when Albus brought his other hand up to caress her other breast in the same way, she moaned. Albus made an answering, low sound in his throat, and deepened his kiss, parting his lips further, bringing hers with them, and beginning a slow, languid caress of her mouth with his tongue, as though learning and treasuring its every contour.

Albus slipped his arms around Minerva and held her close to him, allowing her to feel his arousal. Without thinking, Minerva put her arms around his neck, then she pressed herself against him, arching her back slightly to increase her contact with his erection. This time it was Albus who moaned, and when Minerva rolled her hips slightly, he broke from their kiss in a gasp and buried his face in her hair, his lips coming to rest near her ear, where they reflexively kissed the gentle curve of her ear. He let out a shuddering breath, and Minerva pressed against him harder and brought one hand down to caress his shoulder and back.

He took a steadying breath, then he kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips, before drawing back to look down at her with a smile. 

“Was that the sort of personal attention you were requiring, Professor McGonagall?” he asked teasingly.

“Precisely, Professor Dumbledore,” Minerva responded, and the sound of her pleasant burr brought a wider smile to his face, and he kissed her forehead again lightly.

“Will that hold you a while, then?” Albus asked. “I really did hope that we would play a game or two of chess this evening.”

“Of course,” Minerva said. “I would enjoy that very much, myself.”

“I have not yet disconnected this Floo from mine, though I meant to do so when I connected it up to your sitting room. Would you care to Floo through to my office?” he asked.

“Yes, I would – and you needn’t disconnect it. Unless you feel you must, of course,” Minerva added hurriedly.

“I feel no imperative to do so,” he replied with a twinkle as they walked to her office, “if you would not view it as an invasion of your privacy.”

“Not at all, Headmaster,” Minerva replied with a shy grin. “In fact, I would be pleased if you would see fit to invade my privacy on occasion.”

Albus chuckled. He took up a pinch of Floo Powder and explained, “At the moment, I can Floo freely to and from my office, but I am afraid that you cannot, because of certain security wards on the internal Floo Network. I can, however, create a bypass for those wards by creating a password for you to use when Flooing from your office to mine. No such measure is required, of course, from your sitting room Floo, as you are Head of House.”

They Flooed through to his office, then walked up the brass stairs to his sitting room.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Albus, who else has the ability to climb your stairs to your suite besides Gertrude and me?” Minerva asked.

“No one. Only the two of you,” Albus answered.

Minerva knit her brow. “You know,” she said, “as much as I am sure you value your own privacy, and as well as your current . . . system has worked till now, I do think that it is somewhat impractical. Have you considered merely requiring a password? You could have an invisible barrier that would lift upon the issuance of the proper password. You could require a second password at your sitting room door, if you liked. But this way, at least people would be able to go up and knock, and you could still only give the password to a few select staff members.”

“Yes, well . . . perhaps,” Albus said. “Gertrude has said something similar. But this has worked well enough. Phineas Nigellus can always pop up to my sitting room – or one of the other headmasters or headmistresses if he is not available – and announce someone if, for some reason, I have not gone down to see who has arrived in my office.”

“But what if there were some other sort of an emergency? If you . . . I don’t know, had an accident, or became ill?”

“Wilspy would learn of that before anyone could accidentally happen upon me, I assure you, Minerva,” he said reassuringly, “although I do appreciate your concern.”

“Well, what about those occasions when you don’t notice your gargoyle’s charm? When you are deeply asleep? Does Phineas Nigellus simply come up to your sitting room and begin shouting for you?”

“Yes, actually, he has done in the past. Now, though, I have a small picture on my bedside table, and he can pop in there and wake me, if necessary. He claimed it was undignified to have to shout for me from the sitting room. Portraits can be such peculiar things,” Albus said as he Summoned a set of chessmen in their little case. 

Minerva laughed. “They certainly can be, although I have often thought that the Silent Knight and Fidelio are the most peculiar I have yet encountered.”

Albus chuckled. “I do believe they are the most peculiar I have encountered, myself, and that is saying something. Did I ever tell you how he and his dog came to grace your door?”

Minerva shook her head, and Albus told her how he had been trying to find a suitable portrait and had gone to one of the castle’s many storerooms. He had been just about to choose a portrait of Scáthach when the Silent Knight broke his silence and said, “I will serve the lady.”

“I had never heard the Knight speak before, despite the fact that he hung in Gryffindor Tower the entire time I was a student, then Dippet had him in the staff room for several years, until he replaced him with Little Boy Blue several years ago. He decided that if we were going to have a portrait that never spoke, we should have one who _will_ speak when he is awake, even if that isn’t often,” Albus said as he charmed a chessboard onto his table and set up the chessmen. “So when he said he would serve you – and this despite my not having uttered a word upon entering the store room – I took a look at him, and he offered me his sword, or tried to, anyway, and so I chose him instead of Scáthach. He is an odd one . . . he doesn’t seem to be constrained by the wards nor by the rules governing the Portrait Network, although I inserted him into the Network myself, something I have been doing without a hitch for twenty years.” Albus shook his head. “We will have to explore this puzzle further, I believe.”

“Perhaps after our few days away,” Minerva suggested as she took her place on the black side of the chessboard. “Have you given that more thought, Albus?” She didn’t look at him, hoping that he had thought about it, but that he hadn’t decided against it. 

“Yes, I have given it more thought . . . and I think it might be possible.” 

“You don’t seem very enthusiastic about the idea,” she said, as she moved out her king’s pawn, still not looking up at him, but wondering whether he thought the idea, and its mention, too forward of her. “This morning you seemed . . . even less so.”

“I was simply surprised by the idea. It is a fine one, though. With the school about to be filled to the gills,” he said as he examined the chessboard, “we will have far less time alone together. Getting away for a few days would be nice, if we can manage it.”

Minerva examined the possibilities still open to her after Albus’s move, trying to see what his response might be to each of them, then she said, “I was actually worried that, well, that you would think it too forward of me.” She made her move, then added, “I know that we haven’t been . . . involved for very long, but we have been friends for years. It’s not as though we are newly acquainted, nor as though we were too young to know enough of the world or each other to be spending that kind of time together.”

Albus nodded and countered her move. “I agree. But . . . it was a surprise on more than one level.” He raised his eyes and looked at her. “I am glad we are talking, and I hope that . . . that I may speak freely.”

Minerva nodded. “Of course.” And she meant it. She would listen to what he had to say, whatever it was, and try not to make him regret having been open with her. She knew that the relationship had been difficult for him even to recognise, let alone to enter into, and yet once he had told her of his love, he had not backed away, despite his fears and his discomfort. She could only honour his truth, regardless of how she felt about it.

“I was slightly surprised,” he explained, “because I still am amazed that you want to be with me.” He paused, anticipating her objection to what he had just said, and he let out a breath of relief when she simply nodded. “And it seemed a confirmation that you enjoy your time with me almost as much as I enjoy being with you.”

This time, there was an objection. “Not to make this a competition, Albus, but I do object to your use of the word, ‘almost,” she said with a raised eyebrow. 

Albus blushed, but nodded in acknowledgment. “Yes . . . and that still stuns me, though I suppose it shouldn’t, as we have been friends for a long time before this and you never seemed reluctant to spend time with me in the past.” He paused to make his next move, seeming scarcely to give it any thought. “But beyond that, it is all new to me, despite our long friendship. I am very happy to be becoming accustomed to your love and your new place in my life, although I will never, I hope, become so used to your presence in my life that I take you for granted, my dear,” he said, taking her hand briefly and kissing her fingertips. “So the idea that we would consider going anywhere other than here was very new to me. I am enjoying our time together here at the castle so much, that although I had given thought to certain outings we might take, it had never crossed my mind that we might go away even overnight, let alone a few days, especially so close to the start of the school year. And then . . .” Albus hesitated. “Please, Minerva, do not take this amiss in anyway, but . . . although I certainly find this a lovely and welcome idea, and I am also not . . . um, it’s not as though I haven’t had such time away with, um, a special witch in the past, um . . . and I don’t in the slightest disapprove of the suggestion . . . Indeed, I approve wholeheartedly with the sentiment and the, um, the goal . . .” Albus blushed again.

“You were surprised that it was I who came up with the idea, and not you who issued the invitation?” Minerva asked finally.

Albus nodded, then, almost as though he were speaking to the chessboard, he said, “Yes . . . that, and . . . well, again, please do not take this amiss, but when I was your age, it is not a suggestion that the young lady in the relationship would make. Not so directly, anyway, not the first time. And not after such a short period of courtship. Not that one wouldn’t, of course. Go off for a few days of . . . privacy. We were more formal, but we weren’t . . . um, we weren’t without passion or intimate expressions of that passion, of course. Even when I was a very young man, younger than you are now.” He looked up at Minerva, worried at what her reaction might be, but on seeing her face, he smiled slightly and blushed. “You aren’t disturbed, I hope?” he said questioningly.

Minerva shook her head, smiling at him fondly. “No, I find you utterly and completely adorable. And I am very glad that you explained it to me. I was afraid that you just didn’t want to get away from the safety of Hogwarts, where you can retreat to your office and work if you feel . . . unsure of yourself or overwhelmed by everything. Not that I believe that you have done that, or even that it has crossed your mind to do so, but it remains a possibility as long as we are here in the castle. So hearing your gentlemanly concerns, it was quite reassuring, really. A bit . . . quaint, if you don’t mind my being equally honest with you, but sweet, really. Especially as I didn’t hear you say anything to indicate you thought it was wrong of me to make the suggestion.”

“Oh, no! Not at all, my dear! It was a lovely suggestion, and quite a welcome one. I was simply trying to explain –”

“Trying to explain why you appeared momentarily taken aback by the suggestion when I first made it,” Minerva completed for him. “Yes, I see that. So . . . you say you have given it some thought. I have, as well, though I would like to hear your thoughts first.”

Albus shrugged. “I simply thought that we might take a few days at the beginning of the week. Ask Gertrude if she would mind taking charge for that time. It would be somewhat unusual for me not to be here when the staff begin to arrive, but my presence isn’t strictly required. The only true oddity would be for you not to be here, as well, especially when the rest of the staff has been required to return. However, I thought that perhaps I might change this year’s instructions, write to everyone and say that their return is requested any time between Sunday and Wednesday, and set the first staff meeting for Wednesday afternoon. If, then, we both are here on Wednesday afternoon, it is unlikely that anyone would notice our simultaneous and uncharacteristic absences.”

Minerva smiled. He really _had_ given it some thought. Her smile was immediately followed by a frown, however, when he moved his knight and said, “Checkmate.” His chessmen immediately began to cheer and congratulate one another on a good game won.

“What? How . . . oh. I see,” Minerva said with a sigh. Her own men, at her signal, shook their tiny heads, dispirited, and slouched back to their own side of the board, and Albus flicked a finger at the board, bringing the white pieces back to their homes.

“It’s early yet, Minerva. Another game?” Albus asked with a smile.

“Hmm, yes, I suppose, but what about some tea first? Something . . . sprightly?” Minerva suggested.

Albus laughed at the term, but agreed to a “sprightly” tea. He called Wilspy, and rather than request a specific tea, asked her to bring something sprightly. Wilspy giggled, covering her mouth with her hand, then popped away with a snap of her fingers.

Minerva leaned back. “I suppose I wasn’t paying proper attention,” she said. “Soon, you will believe that my father exaggerated my abilities in chess.”

Albus chuckled. “No, indeed, you gave me a very good game. And soon you will learn all my tricks and see right through them.”

Minerva shook her head, but she laughed, and said, “Unlikely, but I look forward to spending time trying!”

Tea arrived, and Minerva decided to take a sip before adding any sweetener or milk. She smiled. “Very interesting. I can taste some orange, and ginger, cardamom . . . rosehip, I believe. And . . .” She took another sip. “And lemon balm, perhaps?”

Albus chuckled. “You may never have excelled in Potions, at least not in comparison to your siblings and your Egidius and Parnovon kin, but you certainly have a Potions master’s nose.” He sniffed his tea again, not having yet tasted it. “I believe you have only left out . . . a touch of clove, and . . . anise – no a little fennel. Just a touch of both.” He sipped the tea and nodded. “But otherwise, you were right on all counts!”

Minerva smiled and went warm with his approval. She watched as he added a little honey to his tea, though not as much as he usually did, perhaps because the tea was so highly flavoured without it. 

“So, is this a sprightly tea, my dear?” Albus asked with a grin.

“Quite! Most definitely a canty one,” Minerva said with a little laugh, raising her cup to her lips, her eyes smiling back at him.

“Perhaps a bit like you, then,” Albus said with a wink, causing Minerva to laugh again and blush.


	126. Age Cannot Wither

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus tells Minerva more about himself and his early marriage in answer to her questions. They encounter Malcolm.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, and Malcolm McGonagall.

**CXXVI: Age Cannot Wither**

Minerva leaned back, sipping her tea, and watched Albus as he drank his. He smiled at her. 

“Am I that fascinating?” he asked.

Minerva blushed and said, “I had to keep trying not to look at you this evening at dinner. I was certain that if I did, I would not be able to tear my eyes from you, and everyone would know precisely how I feel about you.”

Albus’s eyes shone. “And how would that be, Minerva?” he asked in a warm tone.

Minerva’s blush didn’t fade, but she answered, “I love you, Albus, I love you and I desire you, and I want us to share the rest of our lives together, and I want to spend all of that time showing you just how very much I love you.” She reached across the chessboard, took his hand, and held it between hers. 

Albus smiled, gazing at her fondly. “I don’t believe I will ever become accustomed to those words, no matter how often you say them.”

Minerva picked up her teacup again, but still held his hand with her other one. “I would like to test that hypothesis of yours, then, by reminding you of it daily.”

Albus’s grin widened. “Please do, my dear. It might also assist in keeping doppelganger-Albus at bay.”

“Do you require another treatment?” Minerva asked gravely, trying to keep from smiling.

“I leave that up to your professional assessment, and bow to your judgment,” Albus said, his eyes twinkling.

Minerva set her cup down and stood up, stepping around the table. She leaned over and kissed him softly on the mouth, tasting the tea and honey on his lips. 

She pulled back and looked at him lovingly, then said, “I don’t detect even the slightest hint of doppelganger-Albus’s presence, but perhaps a more extensive examination and treatment is nonetheless warranted.”

She bent and kissed Albus again, then she put a hand on his shoulder as one of his arms encircled her waist and he pulled her into his lap. Minerva caressed his face as she kissed him, teasing him slightly with her tongue. She slid further into his lap, and against her thigh, she could feel his penis as it grew larger. Minerva shifted slightly and trailed her hand from his shoulder down his chest to his sternum. She stopped herself, though, resting her palm flat against him then smoothing it over his chest and around his side. Breaking from the kiss, she took a deep breath then let it out slowly as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“I adore you, Albus. I absolutely adore you, you know,” she said softly.

Albus’s response came in the form of a kiss to her forehead, and Minerva could feel him relax as he kissed her forehead again then lay his cheek against it.

“Albus?” she said after a few minutes.

“Yes, my dear?” he answered, his voice low in her ear.

“You were speaking of the way things used to be, the way things were when you were younger . . . I was just wondering . . . if you don’t mind, that is . . . I was wondering what it was like to court Dervilia, what she was like. You don’t have to speak of it if you don’t want to, of course,” Minerva said. She hoped that Albus had enjoyed his courtship of Dervilia, and that remembering it might give him a reinforced sense of the absurdity of Valerianna’s lies, regardless of the difference in his age then and now. In fact, he was likely an even better lover now than he was in his youth simply by virtue of his age and experience.

“No,” Albus said very softly, “I don’t mind . . . but it was a very long time ago. Not precisely fresh in my mind, you know.”

Minerva nodded against him, but was quiet, waiting for him to continue.

“As I say, it was a different time, with somewhat different customs,” Albus began. “Dervilia actually caught my eye second year, in Herbology. She was a Hufflepuff, you see, and we took Herbology with them, and I was partnered with her that year. That was the way the instructor always did it, pairing students from different Houses. Professor Campbell was from Nova Scotia originally and hadn’t attended Hogwarts as a student, and I don’t believe she fully approved of the House system here. Dervilia was very cute and very lively. She had a sweet Irish lilt, beautiful hair of red-gold, rosy cheeks, and freckles across her nose, which I found fascinating, for some reason peculiar to a twelve-year-old. So I had a bit of a crush on Dervilia even then. But, of course, having a crush on her meant that I went out of my way to pretend not to like her . . . until I was about, hmm, fifteen, I suppose. Then I managed to get one of her friends, another Hufflepuff, Bertrand Prince, to invite me along when they all took tea in Hogsmeade one Hogsmeade weekend. There used to be a tearoom that was approved for students to visit – visits were much more strictly regulated then than they later became – the Creamery Kneazle,” Albus said, remembering with a smile. He chuckled. “I haven’t thought of that little place in decades. When old Mrs Kirk died, though, her daughter and son-in-law closed it up. It was where the Quidditch shop is now.

“After that, I always managed to invite myself along to wherever she and her friends were going to be on Hogsmeade weekends. And when I learned that she was in the Gobstone Society – it was a ‘society’ then, not a club – I joined that, too. Finally, one weekend my sixth year, I invited her to go to the Creamery Kneazle with me, just the two of us. Of course, it wasn’t as though we were alone. There was always a member of staff in any of the approved shops, and a few others who would patrol and make sure that there were no students in places that were unapproved. But to me – and to Dervilia – it seemed quite . . . quite a step.” Albus smiled to himself, then continued. “I was pleased to be able to magnanimously tell her she could have whatever she liked, and when I paid, I ostentatiously paid with a Galleon and received a lot of change back, of course. Silly of me, really, but I wanted to impress her. It was the only Galleon I had, and it would have been just as easy to have paid with a couple of Sickles, but . . . I was young. And I didn’t know how else to impress her.” 

Albus thought a moment. “So . . . that was how our courtship began, I suppose. It wasn’t many weeks later that I told her that I intended to court her, if she would allow it. Dervilia laughed and said she did assume that was what I was doing. She laughed a lot, did Dervilia. And often at me, but never cruelly. She was good for me, I believe . . . though I was not very good for her.” Albus sighed. “Anyway, you asked how I courted her. I bought her trinkets, and we took walks on the grounds, usually under the watchful eye of the staff. There were occasions when we . . . when we found more privacy. But never in the castle. I was a prefect, and later, head boy, and I knew very well that every spot that any student believes to be secluded and unknown had long before been discovered by other students and that the staff were aware of most of them. I didn’t wish to sully Dervilia’s reputation by having her caught alone with me. Not that we did anything very . . . risque, but just the two of us being alone, unchaperoned . . .” Albus shook his head. “It simply wasn’t done. Not unless a couple was engaged, and then still not on the school grounds, though if they _were_ caught alone, no one really said anything. It was simply frowned upon. But one day in May . . . I knew a place in the Forest, and although Dervilia did not like to break school rules, and, as a prefect, neither did I, particularly, we were both . . . well, only whispering together and walking arm and arm, or possibly holding hands, was difficult at sixteen, you know. So I brought her to a safe spot in the Forest, one that was not difficult to reach without being seen, and I cast a few nice wards – which impressed her, as I hoped it would. And I kissed Dervilia for the first time. It wasn’t much of a kiss, I suppose. But it was the first time I had kissed a girl, and I rather doubt that she had kissed a boy before, so it was quite something for me. But even then, we essentially used our privacy to talk. It was wonderful to be able to talk without wondering whether we were being overheard.” Albus had a dreamy, nostalgic expression on his face.

“We talked, and I removed my outer student robe, placing it on the ground for her to sit on, Transfiguring it so it was more comfortable for her. Under my black student robe, I was wearing my robes with the bright blue stripes, I remember, and there was a bright yellow ribbon, a broad bow, beneath its floppy collar. I thought I looked particularly fine. Dervilia looked very pretty, as she always did. I remember that she had her hair down, and she had a velvet ribbon the colour of the pine trees in her red-gold hair. She let me put my head in her lap as we talked. I thought that was the height of love at the time.”

Albus went quiet, gently stroking his fingers over Minerva’s face and hair.

“And so how did you decide to marry?” Minerva asked. He seemed willing to talk about Dervilia; perhaps he wouldn’t mind answering that question.

Albus looked down at her with a smile. “We were quite . . . restrained, even out of the watchful eye of the castle. Our seventh year, we often went to that spot in the Forest. Eventually, however . . . you have to understand, I was very young, and somewhat . . . sheltered, I suppose, in some ways. One afternoon, as I kissed her, my hand strayed across her breast, and when I removed it placing it back on her arm, she kissed me again, and she took my hand and put it back there. I had never felt so aroused . . .” Albus blushed. “The next time we were there in our little glade, before I had done any more than hold her hand, she stopped, looked at me and removed her school robe. Then she . . . I don’t suppose she would mind me telling you,” he said as his blush grew, “she opened the bodice of her robe, then she unbuttoned a few of the buttons of her chemise. I don’t believe that I could breathe for watching her. Then she took my hand and let me touch her skin there.” He shook his head. “She really was hardly exposed at all, you understand, but it felt so very . . . intimate. The time after that, she did the same thing, but on this occasion, I boldly reached beneath her chemise. I remember how she closed her eyes, and though she didn’t say so, I knew that she enjoyed it. That was when I decided . . . I decided to bring her to my special place on the mountain opposite the school. And a few weeks later, we were able to break away from everyone else as we headed into Hogsmeade, and I Apparated her to the place that I brought you earlier this summer.”

He was quiet again, thinking, remembering, then he sighed. “We made love. And the next week, I asked her to marry me. It was only right, having made love to her, to offer her marriage. It was what one did then, at least if one was young. It was the way I was raised. And I believed I loved her. I did love her. But I had an unrealistic view of marriage. Dervilia loved me, and she agreed immediately. I asked her aunt and uncle, who had raised her, for permission to wed her, and they also agreed. They were Muggles, and so they didn’t know any better. If they had been a wizarding family, they might have heard old Eliza MacAirt’s predictions of doom, and forbidden the marriage. But we wed and we moved to her grandparents’ old cottage. I used a great deal of magic to fix it up, to make it comfortable for Dervilia. But I was rarely there. And then . . . and then I killed her – caused her death, at any rate.”

“No, Albus, you didn’t. It is unfortunate that you weren’t there when it happened, but even if you had had a normal wizarding job and come home every evening, it might still have happened,” Minerva said.

Albus shrugged. “I know that, but that wasn’t the only mistake I made. I didn’t accept my mother’s offer of Ferchil, her old house-elf – Wilspy’s uncle, I believe he was. But worse . . . it was because of me that she was pregnant.”

Minerva knit her brow. “Well, of course it was. But couples have babies. It is part of married life for most people. It couldn’t have been a surprise.”

Albus shook his head. “She was taking a monthly potion, one that I prepared, and one month, I didn’t make it. I was very busy, and I forgot. So I used a charm, instead, one I had only read about and had never used before. The books all say that while learning to use that charm, other methods should be employed, as well. But in my arrogance, I believed it was simplicity itself. I had always been very good with magic of every sort. Why should this be any different?” Albus sighed. “But it was, apparently, and I obviously didn’t cast it properly on one occasion. And Dervilia became pregnant. She was happy about it. We hoped, actually, that by the time she gave birth, I would be through with my apprenticeship, which is one of the reasons why I was away from home for such long stretches. I had been before, but now, I really wanted to prove myself and finish as soon as possible so that I could support my wife and baby. I should have quit the apprenticeship. I should have taken a job. I should have done many things differently.”

“But you didn’t. And I doubt that Dervilia would want you to still feel guilty about it after all of these years.” When Albus didn’t say anything, Minerva said, “I wish I hadn’t asked . . . I didn’t want you to feel badly. Not at all.”

“I am just a little sad, that is all.” Albus smiled down at Minerva, though somewhat wistfully. “Most of my memories of her, now that I think about it, are happy ones. And . . . I shouldn’t have married her. I should have listened to Eliza MacAirt. I should have simply waited and been patient, waited for you, my dear.”

“But if all of that hadn’t happened, then perhaps we never would have met, Albus. And we would not have the mated wands,” Minerva said.

“Perhaps not . . . or perhaps some things truly are fated to be, certain . . . patterns and shapes to events, anyway. Although I do wish I had never known Grindelwald as a youth, it was still my understanding of him and our previous acquaintance that allowed me to defeat him. Perhaps, somehow, for some reason, I still would have found Master Nyima and spent several months as the neighbour of Mother Dragon.” Albus shrugged again. “We cannot say what might have been. We can only work with what is now and hope to have some positive influence on events that will occur in the future.”

Minerva sighed and nodded. “Perhaps. I don’t hold much faith in divination in general, but it does seem as though some folk do have some kind of gift in that area. But from what I have read, such folk do speak of patterns that are laid out and difficult to alter, although individual events might be more malleable. And some events, they say, are necessary to the pattern and unalterable.”

Albus nodded. “I actually think that it is a mistake to think that just anyone can practice true divination, that it’s something that can be taught, like Charms – the sort of divination that the MacAirts are known for, at least. Oh, most people, even Muggles, can read tea leaves or Tarot cards and such, but the accuracy of any conclusions . . .” Albus shrugged. “It is quite a different matter when someone with a gift for divination does such a reading. And to use a crystal or other similar method, that definitely requires a true gift. And I personally believe that such a gift is of quite a different nature from our usual magical talents and magical power. Some of the most celebrated Seers have been relatively weak, magically, but the concentration of their talents in divination has made up for that. The MacAirts are unusual in that they are known not only for their divination skills, particularly the witches, but for their other magical talents. Many are gifted in Potions or Transfigurations, for example. I don’t know what gifts our Quin might have, but he has a very strong and singular magical signature. He is also quite gifted in divination for a MacAirt wizard, from what both Gertrude and Hafrena have told me.”

“Yes, well, he certainly read me quite clearly, and he didn’t use a crystal ball or anything of the sort. It was the most peculiar divination. But I do believe that however we met, we would have met, and it would have been inevitable that once we met, I would have fallen in love with you. You are, my darling Albus, too wonderful for words, and I must say that I am still amazed that you are available to me, and I mustn’t love you from afar while suffering watching you with some other witch who had been fortunate enough to find you before I could.” Minerva sighed in contentment and snuggled closer to him as she caressed his beard.

“No, no other witch, my dear . . .” Albus said, kissing her forehead. “None.”

Minerva wondered again about Gertrude. She was certain there was _something_ there, something more than met the eye, whether they had ever had an intimate relationship or not, or whether Gertrude had desired more and Albus hadn’t – after all, he had said that he had chosen to live a retired life. A pity he had chosen to break his “retirement” by escorting that Yaxley person. Now there was someone with a face like a Horklump. Minerva sighed again. She would wait until Albus broached the subject on his own.

“You know, Minerva,” Albus said as Minerva played with the ends of his beard, “I was wondering . . . do you think that I might look a bit younger if I were to trim my beard and hair? A little less barmy?”

Minerva turned her head and looked up at him. “Barmy? I think you only look barmy when you choose to or to people who are utter fools. As for younger . . . I suppose you might. A bit. After all, it does take time to grow such a beard as you have.” Minerva hesitated. “Are you thinking of returning to the look you had a little earlier this summer? When you saw me off on my holiday?”

“Not that extreme. I just thought, perhaps somewhat like I had it when we met Brennan and Melina,” Albus answered. 

“Oh. Well, if you wish.” After having gone on about how dreadful his grey robes were, Minerva wondered if Albus thought she would try to dictate his every sartorial decision. On the other hand, she didn’t want him to think that he was doing it for her when he didn’t really want to and she _certainly_ didn’t want him to. “But only if you wish. You are a very handsome man no matter how I have seen you with your hair and beard, but if I may be honest, I very much like your beard and hair as they are. But as long as you didn’t shave your head, or do something like a Mohican, or anything peculiar like that, I suppose it _is_ your hair. It is up to you.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic about the idea,” Albus said. “You genuinely prefer it this way? It isn’t simply because you’re being polite or because you are used to it this way?”

“Yes, I really do. As I told you before, most wizards couldn’t carry it off as you do. In fact,” Minerva said, “I saw a wizard the last time I was in London who had longish hair, greying, and a long beard, though not quite as long as yours, and he had these . . . these _things_ braided into it. And he had a pot belly. I think he believed he was the epitome of style, but he looked quite bizarre and absurd, which you never do, even when you’re trying to appear somewhat eccentric. It would quite give me the shudders to have someone like that near me, but I have a feeling he would look bizarre and absurd no matter what he did, poor soul. Whereas you – although I do ask you don’t start braiding little things into your beard, unless it’s for a joke or something – you couldn’t be unattractive to me regardless of how long or short you decided to wear your hair.”

“And you wouldn’t prefer me to look a bit younger?” Albus asked.

“You would never look as you did fifty or sixty years ago, anyway, not without a Glamour, and it doesn’t matter to me that you look as old as you do. You look better than many wizards thirty or forty years younger than you are, Albus, so please don’t feel as though you don’t measure up somehow.”

“But when we’re seen together?”

Minerva chuckled. “Well, if we are being discreet, then very few people who see us together will actually have any idea that we _are_ together. In this sense, anyway. And no one who does know is going to care on account of how you look. It sounded as though Gertrude was pleased about it, Quin certainly is, and no doubt, my parents are, as well. I have no idea how Malcolm will react, but I doubt he will care one way or the other. Whatever reservations any of them may have are irrelevant, in any case, and highly unlikely to have anything to do with how long you wear your beard and hair!”

Albus chuckled. “So I take it you prefer me not to make any changes?”

Minerva shook her head and said in a low voice, “I actually find your beard very, very attractive. And, if you will pardon the term, I think it is quite sexy.”

Albus blushed, as Minerva had thought – and rather hoped – he might. “Well, in that case,” he said, clearing his throat, “in that case, they will remain as they are unless I have need of a Glamour for some practical reason.”

“Good,” Minerva said, bringing her hand to his face and caressing him before combing her fingers through his hair and pulling him down while reaching up and meeting his lips in a kiss. “Mmm, very nice,” she murmured, then she repeated the kiss before leaning back again. She gazed into his eyes for a moment, then she shifted and said, “How are your legs? Am I too heavy yet?”

“No, not at all,” Albus replied. Minerva had shifted her weight a few times, and he was fine, if a bit warm.

Minerva stretched up and kissed him again, then she smiled up at him. “I am comfortable, myself, but a little . . . warm, being in your arms.” 

She licked her lips lightly then kissed him again before leaning back in his arms. “Yes, a little warm,” she said. 

Minerva moved her hand to the front of her robes and pulled on the ribbon that laced the front of her bodice, and the bow came untied. She put one finger into the lacing and tugged slightly, loosening the bodice. “There that’s a little better.”

Minerva smiled at the expression in Albus’s eyes. She reached back up and caressed his cheek again. She whispered, “Do you still enjoy seeing a girl open her bodice, Albus?”

Albus parted his lips slightly, then made a noncommittal sound, but his eyes travelled from Minerva’s face to her bosom and back again. Minerva thought that his gaze had ended in the wrong spot, as much as she did enjoy looking into his eyes.

“I do believe,” Minerva said softly, “that I am still somewhat too warm.”

She inserted one finger in the lacing again and pulled it looser, then she slowly drew one end of the ribbon through the top eyelet, watching Albus’s face as she did so. 

She did the same with the other end of the ribbon, then she said in a warm voice, “So, Albus . . . do you enjoy seeing me loosen my lacing?”

Albus looked her in the eye and said hoarsely, “You know that I do . . . Minerva . . . But you needn’t –”

“But I am so very warm, Albus,” Minerva said, pulling both ends through the next set of eyelets at the same time. She took a deep breath and the bodice loosened further. “Aren’t you going to help me, Albus? Don’t you want to give me a hand?”

She took his free hand from where it rested on her hip, and brought it to her breasts, laying it on the exposed skin just above the edge of her bodice. Then she pulled the lacing again, and whispered, “Just slip your hand in there, my darling, help me loosen this up, hmm?”

Her breathing quickened as he did as she suggested, slipping his warm hand between her clothing and her breast. His eyes closed momentarily as he relished the sensation of her bare breast beneath his hand, and Minerva pulled more of the ribbon out, and the bodice fell open, revealing Minerva’s prettiest lacy chemise. Her fingers moved to the tiny buttons down the front of the chemise, and she quickly unbuttoned the first several, all that she could reach, as Albus moved his hand against her breast. Minerva closed her eyes and lay back more as Albus moved aside her chemise and bared her breasts.

“Mmm.” Minerva let her head fall back as she opened her eyes slightly to watch Albus’s face as he watched his hand caress her breasts, first one, then the other, flicking a gentle fingertip over her nipples, causing her to gasp in pleasure.

Albus kissed Minerva’s jaw, then her throat as he continued to caress her breasts. His lips moved over her soft, sensitive skin and made their way lower, then he hesitated, stopping to look at her, then closing his own eyes and resting his palm to cover one breast.

“Oh, please, Albus, don’t stop . . . don’t stop, you needn’t stop,” Minerva said softly.

Albus opened his eyes and looked at Minerva; there was warmth and affection in his gaze, and a hint of wistfulness, Minerva thought.

He looked at where his hand lay against her breast, his eyes travelling over to gaze briefly at her other rosy nipple. His hand seemed tanned, lined, and weathered against her soft, creamy skin, even with its blush of arousal, and it had been his awareness of her sweet softness beneath his lips that had caused him to pause. Then Albus had looked at his hand, which sometimes seemed the oldest, most aged part of him, and had seen it resting against her smooth, youthful skin, and he had hesitated further. She was still so young, very nearly a girl, and yet clearly a mature woman, as well. For a moment, his head swam, and Albus saw Minerva as she had been twenty years before, when she had first stepped into his classroom, her hair in a long, thick braid down her back. Her lips seemed the same as they had then, darkly rosy and slightly plump, prettily parted . . . and her eyes, that indefinable colour, sometimes seeming green, others, brown with a hint of gold at their centre, and then other times, dark grey with a deep green rim around them. Her eyes . . . Albus looked into Minerva’s eyes. They were darkly green at that moment, the colour of the tartan in her robe, with gold at their centres, and it seemed there were fine lines of gold radiating out from her dilated pupils toward the dark grey circles bordering her irises. He saw Minerva in those eyes, an ageless, beautiful Minerva . . . his Minerva. No, not _his_ Minerva, but Minerva, his beloved. Beloved Minerva.

“Minerva,” Albus murmured, “Minerva, my beloved, my beloved Minerva . . .”

He bent his head and kissed her lips as he brushed his fingertips across one nipple to the other. His lips moved sensuously with hers, and he let out a long, low sound of satisfaction. Albus pulled back again slightly, smiling gently as his eyes met Minerva’s, his fingers still teasing her nipples.

“Not stopping,” Albus said in a whisper, “merely pausing to see you.” He brought his hand up from Minerva’s breast to her cheek, where his fingers grazed her softly. “I love you, my sweet Minerva, my beloved . . .”

Albus gathered Minerva up into his arms and kissed her again, then held her tightly against him, kissing the side of her head. “I love you so very much,” he whispered. “I wish to savour every moment.”

“I love you, too, Albus, I love you, too,” Minerva said, relaxing into his embrace. While she wished he would have simply continued as he had, she told herself that he had taken another step forward, and he had enjoyed it and seen that she had, as well. And she still was enjoying herself, as her breasts rubbed against his beard. A long beard was so much softer and nicer than a short, bristly one, she thought, and she whispered, “I love to feel your beard against me like this, Albus.”

“Mmmm, do you really?” he asked, a smile in his voice. “We shall have to ensure that you have many opportunities to enjoy it, then.”

Minerva laughed softly, then sighed and closed her eyes.

“Sleepy, my dearest?” Albus asked.

“As much as I hate to admit it, yes, I am,” she replied. 

“Then, may I assist you in . . . returning your clothes to their usual order, then walk you to your rooms?” Albus said. “We can play chess another night. Perhaps even tomorrow, if you like.”

“I had thought you could come to my rooms tomorrow evening, but I haven’t a chess set here at school,” Minerva answered.

“No? Well, I’ll bring mine, then.”

Minerva nodded against him, then brought her hands up and quickly buttoned her chemise. She whispered a lacing charm, bringing the ribbon back through its eyelets. “Tie it in a nice bow for me, Albus?” she said, pulling back to give him room.

He quirked a smile. “Do you prefer a spell or that I do it manually?”

“Manually, please . . . and I like them untied manually, as well. For your future reference, in case you ever . . . wish to help me unlace sometime,” Minerva said, fighting a blush.

“I am quite certain that I will,” Albus said in a low voice before he kissed her, then he drew the ends of the ribbon together, pulling on them slightly, and tied them into a bow, making it the same size as the one she had had previously.

“May I use your loo?” Minerva asked.

“Of course, my dear! Always feel free – no need to ask,” Albus said.

“Thanks – I’ll just be a moment.”

Minerva used the loo and freshened up – the activities had had quite an effect on her, and she only wished that Albus had experienced exactly what his touch had done to her. But there would be time for that later. She rejoined Albus in the sitting room. 

“Let’s take the long way this time, Albus,” Minerva suggested. “I would like to have a bit of a walk with you before you say good-night to me.”

“Very well, my dear! As you wish,” he said, raising her hand to his lips and kissing it lingeringly before turning it over and kissing the inside of her wrist very softly.

“Continue doing that, Albus, and you won’t be able to walk me to my rooms as you wish,” Minerva said quietly, her gaze intense upon him.

Grinning puckishly, Albus gave her hand a squeeze, then he led her down to his office, and they rode the spiral stair down to the second floor, Albus turned toward her and kissing her as they descended. Minerva wished they were going up and not down, and that she could put her legs around him, open his robes, and have him enter her as they ascended to his office, then carry her like that into the office, close the door behind them, and have him take her hard against the door. These thoughts caused Minerva to moan and press herself against Albus.

They reached the second floor far sooner than Minerva wished, and when the broke their kiss at the base of the stair and the gargoyle opened the entrance for them, Minerva looked up at Albus and whispered, “You should either have a much longer staircase or a much shorter one.”

Albus’s own breathing was ragged, but he whispered, “I believe I tend to agree there . . .”

He let her go and gestured that Minerva should step through before him, then he followed her before the gargoyle snapped the door closed behind them. Albus offered her his arm, and they began to walk down the broad corridor in the direction of the main stairway, both trying to regain their composure, when they heard footsteps behind them. Albus and Minerva looked at each other, and by mutual unspoken agreement, they continued walking without looking to see who might be near. Albus steered Minerva toward a side corridor, but before they reached it, a voice hailed them. The couple stopped and turned, waiting for Malcolm to catch up with them.

“I thought I was the only one up and about,” Malcolm said with a grin as he came toward them. He was dressed in trousers, rather than the kilt he had been wearing earlier in the day, and he had a dark green, hooded cloak hanging loosely from his shoulders, though his head was uncovered and the hood thrown back, revealing his tussled curly dark auburn hair.

“On your way out?” Albus asked with a polite smile.

“Yes, just for a little while, though. I’ll be back in a couple hours –” Malcolm broke off, looking over at his sister and blinking for a moment. “But, as I was saying, I am only going out to the Forest for a wee bit, then I’ll be back.”

Albus raised an eyebrow. “The Forbidden Forest? Now?”

“Aye – Trudie didn’t want to come, but she said it was all right. She _is_ the Deputy Headmistress,” Malcolm replied, a slight chafing in his tone.

“And it is . . . I do assume that you will comport yourself properly and that you will be wary of the dangers posed. I was merely surprised,” Albus responded.

“Yes, well, surprises all around, aren’t there?” Malcolm said, seeming to address Minerva, his head cocked to one side, and then adding, “Gertrude was surprised I wanted to go out at this hour, but there is a plant I saw this afternoon that is only active well after sunset, the Nocturnal Dancing Umbratrope. I wanted to observe it for a while at the peak of its activity. It’s quite romantic. I had hoped that Tru would come with me, but – say! What about you two? Would you like to come?” Malcolm’s mood was suddenly bright and ebullient as this new idea struck him, and he looked at them both. 

“Perhaps another time,” Albus said with a smile. 

“Yes, thank you, Malcolm,” Minerva said, “but I am rather tired tonight. I was looking forward to my bed.”

Malcolm twitched a smile and said, “Yes, I see.” He nodded. “Good night, Professor, good night, Minerva – I’ll stop by tomorrow. We can . . . catch up.” With that, he turned and headed toward the main staircase at a good clip, and a moment later, his footsteps clattered down the stairs, echoing in the high, vaulted corridor.

“Well, that was odd,” Minerva said softly.

“Really, my dear? The Nocturnal Dancing Umbratrope is an interesting and beautiful plant. I can understand why he would wish to see it and why he would like to share the experience,” Albus answered.

“He just . . . there was something he was keeping himself from saying, and given that Malcolm is rarely concerned with being courteous or holding his tongue –” Minerva shrugged. “I don’t know. It was the way he looked at me, I suppose.”

“Lest we encounter someone else unexpectedly, my dear, may I suggest an alternate route?” Albus said. 

Minerva agreed, curious about what he had in mind. He led her down the side corridor on their left. When they reached the statue of a young, bearded wizard holding his staff with both hands, diagonally but close to his body, Albus passed his hand over the stone wall beside him, and a door shimmered then opened to them.

“We can take this passage to the sixth floor, then walk up from there, if that suits you, Minerva,” Albus said softly.

Minerva entered the peculiar corridor, which, though there were no stairs and no sense that one was leaving the level, led from the dungeons all the way up to the sixth floor.

“I took this passage that morning that I met you for breakfast the first time. I was running late, and the passage exits very close to your old rooms – this is it here,” Albus said, gesturing at the wall as they walked by it. 

Minerva saw no difference between the wall and what Albus identified as the exit, and she said so.

Albus smiled and paused, stepping back a ways. He took Minerva’s hand and raised it to the wall. “Feel this here,” he said, “and then this, here.” He placed her hand first on one section of the wall then on another.

“Ah . . . yes, I feel the difference. I assume that the one that feels . . . rougher is the doorway?” she said questioningly.

“Yes, the one with the more distinct signature is the exit to the fourth floor.” He looked at her and grinned. “Why don’t you see if you can find the exit to the sixth floor, my dear?”

“Oh, no – I can barely feel the difference here and you told me precisely were the exit was. We’ll be in here all night if you leave it to me to find,” Minerva said, shaking her head.

Albus just chuckled. “I can think of more comfortable ways of spending the night with you, but not only do I believe you can find it, but I also promise that if it becomes too frustrating for you, I will bring you to the exit.”

Minerva sighed and kept herself from rolling her eyes. “All right, Albus, I’ll play along. Just give me a minute here first.”

Albus stood quietly and watched while Minerva familiarised herself with the sensations coming from the fourth floor exit and the wall around it, running her palms over the wall about a quarter inch from the surface, then doing the same thing using her wand. She furrowed her brow, pocketed her wand again, then repeated the process with her bare hand. Finally she nodded.

“You know, Albus,” she said as they walked up the passage, her palm skimming the stones of the wall beside them, “it is awfully late for playing games like this.”

“You needn’t, Minerva. I’m sorry. If you’re too tired –”

“No,” Minerva said, “now I want to see if I can do it.”

“Um, in order to be completely fair, then, Minerva, I think I should mention that the exit on the sixth floor is not on that wall.” At her expression, Albus laughed. “I assumed that you might think of that, but it is late, as you have said.”

Minerva did roll her eyes at that, and she began to run her hand along the other wall. “Oh, Albus, this wall feels different from the other one!” she cried in frustration.

“Of course it does, but so does the exit! Don’t worry, my dear, I’m certain you can do it,” Albus said cheerily.

Minerva wasn’t as confident, but she gamely continued up the passageway, grateful that the torches set every several feet seemed to sense their approach and light themselves well before the two reached them. She looked back over her shoulder and saw that the torches now far behind them, near the second-floor exit, had extinguished themselves. Taking a deep breath, and glad that Albus was with her, Minerva shook off her creeping sense of claustrophobia and concentrated on the sensation of Hogwarts magic vibrating in the wall on her right. She wasn’t sure whether she could trust her ordinary senses in that peculiar passage, but she felt as though they had gone almost as far as they had when Albus had stopped and pointed out the exit to the fourth floor. She slowed her pace. Suddenly, a smile lit her face and she turned to Albus.

“Here! Is it here, Albus?” Minerva asked.

Albus smiled broadly. “It most certainly is.” He placed his own palm against the wall; it shimmered, then the door opened. Albus bowed to Minerva. “After you, my dear!”

With a sigh of relief, Minerva was pleased to step through the doorway and into a narrow hallway, and Albus followed her. The door disappeared as soon as Albus stepped through it, and Minerva turned to see a portrait of a beardless youth, dressed in a kilt and tunic, a mischievous smile on his face, his staff held in his right hand and lifted as though in greeting. It seemed to Minerva like a Muggle portrait, as the youth did not move from his pose, but then he winked a brilliant blue eye at her, and she realised that it was, indeed, a wizarding painting.

“Is it the same wizard, Albus? The one here, and the one in the statue, and then the one in the tapestry down in the dungeon?” Minerva asked.

“Indeed,” Albus answered as they walked to the main corridor, “it is. The youngest representation is here, on the sixth floor, and the oldest representation is in the dungeon. There is no portrait or statue at the rooftop exit, however, only a staff, carved in relief beside it. The portrait on the fourth floor is also of the wizard, however. He is seated in that painting, and he rarely turns his face toward the world. He is younger than he appears to be in the tapestry, but older than the statue of him. He appears to be in mourning. None of the portraits ever speak, and they move very little, and the statue is likewise fairly static. I do not know whether it is because of the nature of the original charms on the paintings and tapestry or whether it is because the charms are so old that they have lost some of their vitality. I am curious about them, but I have never found the time to investigate them.” He smiled ruefully. “I find myself saying that quite often, I am afraid.”

Minerva returned his smile and said, “Perhaps over the next few years, you will find the time to explore all these mysteries and to discover new ones that you’ll have to put off investigating until another decade.”

They reached her rooms in what seemed to Minerva no time at all once they had left the secret passageway. 

“So, Albus, come in for a bit? Join me for my bedtime cup of tea?” Minerva offered, sure that he would decline, but hoping that he wouldn’t.

“I would enjoy that very much, my dear – although perhaps you might permit me to Floo to my office if I were to remain a while?” Albus asked.

Minerva laughed. “It is _your_ school, you are the Headmaster, of course you may!”

“You are the Head of Gryffindor, though. I would like you to feel as though this is your domain,” Albus replied as they entered her sitting room, Minerva having given the password to the Silent Knight. “Naturally, I am the Headmaster, but I do try to give the Heads of House respect due them and not make any presumptions. And simply because you and I are something more than Headmaster and Head of Gryffindor to one another does not mean that I should discard all deference due you. And even if we were in some other situation, I would not presume to use your Floo without asking.” 

“Well, consider permission permanently granted, then. You may Floo in or out freely, as you wish and require, Albus,” Minerva said. 

“I should call through first, though, Minerva, if I were to Floo in. I wouldn’t want to interrupt anything or intrude upon your privacy,” he said.

“Of course, that would be fine, quite sensible, but you really needn’t worry about interrupting anything. I may be busy with something, but you couldn’t ever truly intrude.”

“But even with our current relationship, surely you will want time to yourself, alone, even if I were not interrupting anything by dropping by. I cannot imagine that you will want to forfeit all of your privacy.”

Minerva shook her head. “Come with me while I fetch our tea,” she said, walking to her kitchen. “I cannot see that you would be popping in and out all of the time. You are a busy wizard. I am quite certain that I will have sufficient time to myself.” She began to prepare their tea. “It’s fine if you want to call through, make sure I’m not with a friend or colleague, or am about to go out, or something of the sort, and, of course, it would be less startling, but really, Albus, I want you to feel as though you can come see me _as_ you wish, _when_ you wish.”

“All right, then. I don’t tend to use the internal Floo-Network very much, myself, anyway. I just . . . I worry that I might become . . . stale to you after a while. If I hang about too much.”

Minerva chuckled and put down the pitcher she had just filled with milk; she turned to Albus, put her arms around him, and looked up at him with an affectionate but amused smile. 

“My dearest, most darling Albus, first, you could never ‘hang about too much,’ mainly because I do not see you as ‘hanging about,’ but also because I could never, ever get too much of you. I must say, however, that you _are_ making progress.” She reached up and gently caressed his face. Looking into his eyes, she said, “You are certainly making progress, since you did not once refer to yourself as an old codger or anything similar. Yes, ‘stale’ is definite progress, although still untrue. To paraphrase, age cannot wither you, nor custom stale your infinite variety, Albus, and I could never grow bored with your company nor desire that of another in your place.”

Albus smile. “I do love you, Minerva McGonagall.” He kissed her forehead. “I adore you,” he said in a low voice. “And I will never grow tired of seeing you, spending time with you, holding you, kissing you, and telling you how wonderful you are and how very much I love you.” He kissed her lips lightly. “But our tea is brewed, I believe. Let me help you with the tray, my dear.”

Minerva leaned against him and closed her eyes, feeling his right arm move slightly as he waved a hand, setting all of the tea things on the waiting tray. His arm moved once more before he put it around her, joining the other one in its embrace. Albus kissed the top of her head, but Minerva didn’t move except to hold him more tightly. 

Albus rubbed her back, then he said, “Shall we have our tea?”

“Yes, of course . . . I simply wish that – never mind,” Minerva said, shaking her head.

“What, what do you wish, my dear Minerva?” he asked softly as she began to loosen her embrace.

She looked up at him and gave him a rueful grin. “I wish I didn’t have to let go of you, I suppose.”

Albus chuckled and kissed her temple. “Well, let’s go sit down together and drink our tea. You needn’t let go of me completely, not just yet, anyway.”

The two sat on the sofa and Albus, using magic, poured the peppermint tea for them, adding a little bit of honey to his, none to Minerva’s, and a touch of milk to both, before Levitating the cups and saucers to them.

Minerva smiled. “You know, you don’t usually use magic to pour our tea, but you did that quite nicely, especially without your wand.”

“I did say you didn’t need to let go of me just yet,” Albus said with a grin, “and I do like to keep my word.”

“But now I do, if I’m to hold the saucer while I drink from the cup,” she answered, beginning to pull her arm out from behind Albus.

“Really?” Albus let go of his saucer, and it remained floating in front of him as he brought his teacup to his lips and took a sip. He set the cup back on its saucer. “Try it, Minerva.”

Minerva shifted. There were particular spells she could do wandlessly with a certain degree of ease, but she didn’t think she could maintain a wandless Levitation Charm, not while using her one free hand to hold her cup. He overestimated her. 

“Come now, it’s one you have been doing since your first year,” Albus said encouragingly as Minerva sat hesitantly, staring at her cup and saucer.

Minerva shook her head. “It doesn’t matter how long I have been doing it, Albus. It’s the coordination.” She started to draw her arm out from around him again, but Albus leaned back, trapping her arm.

He nodded toward her cup and saucer. “Just let go, Minerva, I have it for you.”

Minerva blushed, but she picked up her cup, sipped her tea, and left her other arm around Albus.

“What’s wrong, Minerva?” he asked after a few minutes. 

“Nothing.”

“Something is,” he said.

Minerva sighed and put her teacup back on its saucer. She flicked her wrist and was relieved to see the cup and saucer obediently float over to the table and land with only a slight clatter.

“You overestimate my abilities, Albus. I am not untalented, but I do know my limitations. What you just saw was the extent of my ability to do wandless, nonverbal spells. I have to have at least a hand free to do it. I hope you don’t think . . . I hope you don’t think that simply by telling me to try to do something that I will suddenly possess abilities that I don’t have. I don’t want to disappoint you, or to feel that I am constantly falling short of your expectations. It reminded me of when you suggested that I could do the desalination spell wandlessly. Perhaps after a great deal of practice, I might be able to do it, at least with some degree of success, but it seems hardly the most useful way for me to spend my time. There are a few practical, everyday spells that I can perform wandlessly, and they have been sufficient for me. I can Summon my wand; I can open and close my windows wandlessly, if I need to, and there are a good many more spells that I can do nonverbally with ease; I can Levitate an object either nonverbally or wandlessly, though not usually both nonverbally _and_ wandlessly. Sending my cup and saucer over to the table as I just did took concentration and I had to have a free hand. Please don’t . . . don’t have expectations of me that are impossible,” Minerva ended softly.

“Oh, my dear, I am so sorry if you felt I was putting any pressure on you!” Albus sent his cup and saucer over to the table to join Minerva’s. He put his other arm around her, then kissed her softly on the cheek. “I honestly do think that you have untapped potential, Minerva. But it is silly, as you say, to expend a lot of time and effort on something like a wandless desalination spell if it’s not anything you care about. You are highly skilled and very talented, and I hope that you do not think that I do not recognise that. You needn’t take those skills and talents in any particular direction simply because I think you could if you wanted to. But . . . if there _are_ new things you think you would like to try, don’t feel inhibited around me, either. Don’t feel as though you can’t try something new in front of me or that you have to succeed the first time.”

Minerva smiled slightly. “All right, Albus. But if I ever were to try what you just did, I wouldn’t do it with a full cup of tea.”

Albus chuckled. “No, probably best not to do that. But you know, I never told you, well done for finding the door to the sixth floor this evening! You didn’t think you could do that, and you managed it with no difficulty at all.”

“I wouldn’t say it was without difficulty, Albus, but I was pleased to be able to recognise the exit when I came upon it,” Minerva answered, smiling herself.

Albus nodded then lay his head on hers. “Your familiarity with the castle’s magic probably helped there. You spent a good deal of time with Gertrude and me when I was manipulating the wards that summer, and that likely helped, even though it was some time ago.”

“Mmm,” Minerva murmured, snuggling closer to him, eyes closed.

A few minutes later, Albus whispered, “Minerva, Minerva – I do believe you are falling asleep, my dear. It is time for me to take my leave and allow you to get your rest.”

“No, that’s all right; just stay a little bit longer,” Minerva said sleepily.

Albus kissed the top of her head in reply, his fingers playing with a strand of hair that had come loose. Finally, ten minutes later, he kissed her head again and eased her back.

Smiling down at her as she blinked up at him, Albus said, “You sleep well, and I will see you in the morning.” He kissed her forehead.

Minerva nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a long sigh. “Come take breakfast with me, Albus?”

He nodded. “Perhaps breakfast and a walk. I will need to be gone for an hour or two in the morning, though, as I have a meeting at the Ministry, so if we could eat earlier than we have done – seven-thirty?”

Minerva agreed with a nod. “I wish you had said something, though – it’s quite late. You will not get enough sleep.”

“I will be fine, my dear,” Albus said, standing. 

“Don’t forget your Vitamin Potion tonight, Albus! Perhaps you ought to take the vanilla one – do you need any more of that one?”

Albus smiled at her fondly. “No, my dear, I still have three-quarters of a bottle of the vanilla, and the others you gave me are still very nearly full – although I have been taking them almost every night.”

Minerva shook her head as they walked toward the door. “You should take them every night, Albus. I will remind you, if you like.”

Albus’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Yes, Mother McGonagall, I shall endeavour to take them nightly. And occasional reminders would not be unwelcome.”

Minerva laughed. “Very well, I’ll remind you occasionally, then.”

“Now, to ensure that doppelganger-Albus does not make a sudden and unwanted reappearance overnight, as unlikely as that is, I do believe that an ounce of prevention might be warranted, my dear,” Albus said, a smile on his lips.

Minerva gladly administered a bit more than an ounce of prevention, kissing his lips repeatedly as he held her in his arms. Finally, Albus kissed her forehead, wished her sweet dreams, and left for the Headmaster’s Tower.


	127. An Interesting Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva presses, and Albus has an idea.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Gertrude Gamp, Malcolm McGonagall.
> 
> Explicit sexual content in this chapter.

**CXXVII: An Interesting Idea**

Minerva closed her door, realising that Albus hadn’t asked to use her Floo. Well, it was a short walk to his stairway, and that led directly to his bedroom. She sighed. She wished that Albus had stayed, perhaps just fallen asleep with her there on the sofa. But that did not lend itself to a very restful sleep, and he did have a meeting at the Ministry in the morning. And he clearly wasn’t ready to share her bed – Minerva wasn’t either, truthfully. While Minerva would be quite happy to simply share her bed with Albus, at that moment, she knew that her desire for him would have left her quite frustrated. It wasn’t as though she thought that after only a few days of courtship, a couple should expect to embark upon an intimate relationship – she had been with Rudolf for a few months before they had taken that step – but she and Albus were not a typical couple in a typical relationship. They had known each other for twenty years, even though for the first several of those years she had been his student. They had been in love with each other for a long time. It wouldn’t exactly be sudden and impetuous of them, after all.

Minerva went into her bedroom to begin getting ready for bed. She stood in front of her vanity and took her few Charmed hairpins from her hair and placed them in their little porcelain dish. As she did that, her eye fell upon the dark green ribbon lacing up the front of her bodice. While her first thought was of unlacing the ribbon for Albus, her second was that the lacing looked odd. The lower portion of the lacing was laced through the eyelets from the inside out, but the upper portion, on which she had used a lacing spell that evening, was laced from the outside in. The peculiar expression on Malcolm’s face flashed through Minerva’s mind.

Minerva sighed and sat on the bench in front of the dressing table. She doubted that most men would have noticed the lacing, but knowing her brother, he probably had. And he had seen her at dinner. That was most likely what had drawn his attention to the lacing, not simply that the top and the bottom were laced from opposite sides of the garment, but that it looked different from what he had seen a few hours before. 

Oh, well – she had been going to speak to Malcolm about her relationship with Albus, anyway. But she didn’t like the thoughts that had likely come into his head when he saw the laces. And no doubt he was curious about when the relationship began, and he probably believed that the relationship was further along than it was. Especially after she had said what she had about looking forward to her bed. He had probably thought that Albus would be joining her. A pity Malcolm would have been wrong about that.

First opening the windows, then waving her wand and setting her alarm clock for half past six, Minerva got into bed. Despite having been very sleepy twenty minutes before, now she lay there thinking of Albus, getting ready for bed in his tower bedroom. She imagined him undressing, removing first his shoes and socks, then his over-robe, then his under-robe. Her imagination stopped there. She wondered whether he wore any underwear. Something he had said once about Muggle pants made her think that he didn’t, and his erection always seemed very . . . _close_ when it was pressed against her. Oh, gods, sometimes it had only been one layer of fabric separating her from his penis, then. Minerva’s mind wandered away from the vision of Albus undressing as he readied himself for bed to one of her reaching for him, touching him through his robe. His blue robes, the sky blue ones that fit him so marvellously, with the over-robe unfastened, as he usually wore it . . . she would reach out and touch him through his robe, feel his length through the silky fabric, run her hand up the shaft to the head and then down again. Albus would be breathing rapidly, and she would unfasten the front of the robe just sufficiently to reach inside, touch him, and feel his penis, erect and excited by her presence and her touch. She would feel it with her fingers, exploring every contour, then she would step back from Albus and undress in front of him, knowing how much seeing her naked body would excite him. She would take one of his hands and bring it to her breast and take the other and bring it down to feel how warm and wet with arousal and desire she was. She would take his erection in her hand again and put a leg around him; he would lift her, thrusting, and enter her. Minerva came against her own hand before she could even imagine how it would feel to have Albus thrusting within her. 

She got out of bed and went into the loo. As she washed her hands then splashed her face with cool water, Minerva wondered how on earth she would survive having Albus tease her with his touch as he did. She surely would explode with desire before he would do more than touch her breasts. He hadn’t even kissed her breasts that night, stopping himself before he reached them. If he were trying to drive her mad, he was certainly succeeding, she thought with a sigh as she returned to bed. Patience was one thing, but . . . perhaps she should just take Gertie’s advice from earlier in the summer: just tell him what he needs and be persistent. If that failed, she would tell him what _she_ needed. Or not . . . Minerva sighed again as she climbed back into bed. She certainly didn’t want him to classify her at all with the witches who used him for entertainment when he was a youth. That would be no better than for him to believe that she found his touch repulsive. 

Restless, Minerva plumped her pillow vigorously, flipped it, rolled over to face the open window, and played the old trick she used when she was overtired and found it difficult to fall asleep: she stared at the window and tried to keep her eyes open, forcing herself to stay alert. Within minutes, she was sound asleep.

* * *

Albus lay in bed and reflected on the day. He had accomplished a great deal that afternoon, but his favourite parts of the day were the time he had spent with Minerva. He smiled. She had been so sleepy when he had finally left her. He hoped she would sleep well. He had the sense that she would have liked him to have stayed, but he didn’t think that was wise for either of them. It now seemed highly unlikely that Minerva would be repulsed by the touch of his lips on her body, or any other touch, at least not during this phase of their relationship. But he was not ready yet to extend their intimacies, and he did not want to have to resist his desire to touch her, to love her, and to bring her pleasure, let alone to seek his own release in her warmth. Albus rolled over. No matter how much more sure of himself he was now, confident that Minerva would not shy from his touch, he still was very uneasy about her own touch of him. 

He wasn’t entirely sure what his reluctance was. In part, it was his desire to go slowly, to court her properly, to not heighten his desire to a point at which it might be more difficult for him to treat her as he should, as she deserved. But it was also simple shyness, a slight embarrassment at his own level of arousal, and, although he hated to admit it, even a bit of fear that she would not wish to touch him, that she would find his . . . maleness distasteful. It seemed an absurd fear when Albus thought of it in the abstract, but in the moment, when he was with Minerva and her hand approached his erection, he felt nervous. How would he know what she really felt when she touched him? Whether she was in some way disgusted, or, worse, found him ridiculous? 

Albus rolled over again. That thought in itself was ridiculous, he recognised that. Even in the moment, he knew it was ridiculous. But he couldn’t completely dismiss it, even though he would have liked to. Once they had made love, once he had shown her all of his love and devotion, he was certain that those fears would fade away. Provided he could satisfy her. Perhaps her expectations were so high, that he never could fulfil them. On the other hand, she might have the same worries. He wished he could talk to her about it, but he couldn’t imagine how he would even begin such a conversation. Even approaching the topic of sexuality obliquely was difficult for him. Discussing with Minerva his early relationship with Dervilia had been awkward enough; Albus couldn’t imagine talking to her about their own intimate relationship and its future. 

Sighing, Albus also recognised that maintaining their romantic relationship during the school year would be difficult enough, but an intimate, sexual relationship . . . that would present a challenge even if they weren’t Headmaster and Head of House. For a moment, he wished that Minerva weren’t Head of Gryffindor; it would certainly make it easier for their personal relationship if she didn’t have those added responsibilities, if she weren’t tied to Gryffindor House. But professionally, and as her friend, Albus was pleased that Minerva was Head of Gryffindor, and he couldn’t truly regret it, although he did admit regretting the burdens their responsibilities would place on their romantic relationship. 

As Albus began to consider all of the difficulties that their combined responsibilities would place on them, he believed even more strongly that not only was Minerva’s suggestion to go away, just the two of them, for a few days, a good idea, but that perhaps he ought to consider moving forward with the intimate aspects of the relationship before the school year began, possibly during those days away, if it was what Minerva wanted – and although Minerva hadn’t directly _said_ that she wanted him to make love to her, it certainly seemed as though she did. However it came about, he vowed to make Minerva feel comfortable and in control of the experience. He wanted her to enjoy it and he certainly didn’t want her to feel overpowered by his own passion, as considerable as it was. Albus’s thoughts turned again to the pleasure he had brought her the previous night. Neither of them had even begun to disrobe, and he was certain that Minerva had come in his arms as he stimulated her through her clothing. She was very responsive, he thought, his pulse increasing with the memory. And that night, seeing her breasts, creamy and flushed . . . she was so beautiful, and he now wished that he had continued kissing her, proceeding down to her breasts, licking and sucking her rosy nipples. She had very lovely breasts. Albus had always liked a woman’s breasts, and he thought that Minerva’s were the most attractive of any he had seen – and he had seen many, even though his experience in recent years was limited.

Albus almost Summoned his wand to cast a Cooling Charm on his genitals, but then he decided to leave it. After thinking of Minerva as he had, the pressure and the arousal was almost uncomfortable, with no outlet for it. He would simply think of other things, Albus decided, redirect his thoughts, and allow it to subside on its own. He rolled over onto his stomach and began to consider his upcoming meeting at the Ministry – which was scheduled in only a few short hours. He really needed to get some sleep. Regulating his breathing, he began an exercise that would help him to relax. Ten minutes later, he had drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Minerva and Albus began to walk back around the castle from where they had sat on a conjured glider beside the lake talking for more than a half hour. The sharp breeze off the lake had been very cool that morning, and Minerva had been glad for the plaid shawl that went with her robes, matching the skirt’s soft, muted tartan of green, brown, and blue. The heathery bodice had long sleeves of the same soft green, but the shawl’s warmth was welcome, even after Albus had cast a Warming Charm. Albus said that his robes seemed to adjust to the ambient temperature to some degree, and he was quite comfortable despite the wind whipping up the waters.

Albus was wearing the starry silk robes that Minerva had given him for his birthday. He had meetings at the Ministry, and he had chosen those robes in part because of the meetings, but also because he wanted to show Minerva how much he appreciated her gift. The last time he had worn them, he had had no choice, since it had been Wilspy’s idea.

Minerva was not completely happy with the course of their most recent conversation that morning. She had asked Albus again about going away for a few days, and he had pleased her by saying that he had drafted a letter to the staff the previous day, and after putting finishing touches on it, he would send it out that afternoon. They would be free until Wednesday now, and could take a short holiday together. She had been so pleased that she had leaned over and kissed him, despite the fact that they were out in the open on the school grounds. He had smiled and patted her hand. But then she had mentioned a possible destination, and their disagreement began.

“I thought perhaps we might go to your cottage, Albus,” Minerva suggested. “We could be alone and undisturbed, and just Albus and Minerva together.”

Albus shook his head. “I don’t know, Minerva . . . What about Brighton? A little sea air? Some sun? The Muggle arcades can be quite amusing. It would be warmer in Brighton, too,” he said as a particularly sharp gust of wind rocked their glider.

“Brighton? There would be crowds of people there. And I have nothing against Muggles, but I would like us to be able to relax, be ourselves. I can’t do that if I have to constantly remember not to do any magic and try to figure out Muggle gadgets,” Minerva replied. “I think your cottage would be perfect.”

“No . . . no, I don’t think so. What about Paris, then? It’s a beautiful, romantic city. I know a sweet little wizarding pension where we could stay. There are wonderful Muggle museums there, and the museum of magical history there is quite fascinating. It has exhibits from around the world. And we could visit Perenelle and Nicolas. I don’t believe you have met them.”

Minerva sighed. “That would be nice, some other time. I would like that and it sounds lovely. Perhaps next summer. But for these few days . . . I just would like to be alone with you. Your cottage sounds ideal.”

“It’s not. Not at all,” Albus replied.

Minerva furrowed her brow. “Is it because of Valerianna? Memories of her there?”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Albus said, shaking his head.

“Because it wouldn’t be at all the same with us – ”

“No, it isn’t that. It is not even the same cottage,” Albus explained. “I gave my cottage to Aberforth for his birthday that year. He insisted I take his. So it’s not that.”

“Are you sure?” Minerva asked, looking at him sceptically.

Albus laughed. “Of course I’m sure – my old cottage in the Dales is perfect for Aberforth and his sheep and goats. And the other cottage suits me. But it isn’t suitable for our holiday.”

“Why ever not?” Minerva asked, baffled.

Albus had tried to explain, but not to Minerva’s satisfaction. And now he had to leave for London. They hadn’t argued, precisely, but Minerva was not happy with the way they had left the topic, both agreeing to think about it. She didn’t think that either one of them was likely to change their minds. But she would think about it . . . 

As the two rounded the castle to head down the drive to the gates, they saw Malcolm and Gertrude leaving through the front doors. Albus waved, and the two smiled as they walked toward him and Minerva.

After morning pleasantries, Malcolm said, addressing his sister, “I have business to take care of today, but I will be back before lunch. You will be in all day?”

Minerva nodded as the four of them began to walk down to the gates. “I have no plans to go anywhere, and the Headmaster is passing the wards to me.”

Malcolm quirked a smile that didn’t extend to his eyes. “Yes, it is good that the ‘Headmaster’ can rely on you. I’ll find you when I’m back, then.” He turned to Gertrude. “I will see you at lunch, Tru?”

Gertrude smiled warmly. “You know you will – and I thought that after, we can practise again, as you suggested yesterday.”

“Practise?” Minerva asked.

“Mm, for the duel and the rest of the practical interview,” Gertrude said. 

“It’s set for Saturday – though we haven’t determined a time,” Albus said. He looked at Malcolm. “What do you say to two o’clock, my boy?”

“Two o’clock . . . I am not at my peak then. I think nine would be better – if it is all right with you,” Malcolm said, looking at Albus. “And please, do not call me that. I don’t like it. Or ‘son’ – rather an odd thing for you to be calling Minerva’s oldest brother, anyway, don’t you think, _sir_?”

Minerva caught some hostility in Malcolm’s tone, and she didn’t like the way that he addressed Albus, nor that he mentioned his dislike for the term right there in front of others. He could have spoken to him privately. Apparently Gertrude wasn’t pleased, either, though Minerva wouldn’t have recognised it earlier in the summer. Gertrude tightened her grip on Malcolm’s elbow, apparently painfully so, given his reaction, and her eyebrow was raised as she looked up at Malcolm and shook her head slightly.

“Um, that is, Professor, I would prefer it if you just called me ‘Malcolm,’ as everyone does. If you would,” Malcolm said more deferentially. “I would be more comfortable with that.”

“Of course, Malcolm,” Albus said mildly. “It is a habit I have . . . with people with whom I am comfortable. It was meant fondly, but I understand that it might not be appropriate.”

Gertrude changed the topic back to the time and place of the practical interview, and the three agreed that they would meet with Filius Flitwick the next morning to discuss the details. Malcolm perked up at that, and, somewhat oddly, to Minerva’s way of thinking, both he and Albus seemed to share an enthusiasm for the prospect. They were like two little boys together, she thought, and Malcolm showed no further sign of antagonism toward his future boss. But that was typical of her peculiar brother.

Minerva wanted to ask to attend the meeting, as well, but then she thought that she would have nothing positive to contribute to the planning – nothing but her worries. She would just ask Albus about it afterwards. And Malcolm. She did hope that Albus was careful with him. In a show of bravado, Malcolm might seem to be stronger and more skilled than he was – or more than he could sustain, at any rate – and invite a powerful response from Albus. On the other hand, if Albus underestimated Malcolm, he might let his guard down and get hurt himself. It was just as well she not attend the planning meeting, Minerva was sure. Although perhaps she should volunteer to help Malcolm practise, if they could find a suitable time.

They reached the gates, and Malcolm bent his head and kissed Gertrude lightly on the forehead, then again on the cheek. “I will see you later, Tru-love,” he whispered. He nodded to Albus, smiled at his sister, then stepped through the gates and Disapparated with a short, sharp crack.

“Are we still meeting at four, Albus?” Gertrude asked.

Albus nodded. “I plan to be in my office all afternoon, but four would be most convenient. I should be done with almost everything else then.” He turned to Minerva. “I will see you at lunch, my dear, and we can finalise our plans for the evening.” He raised a hand and brushed her upper arm. 

He stepped toward the open gate, and Minerva took a step after him. He turned and smiled at her. “You must remain on the grounds, Minerva, if I am to pass the wards to you,” he said gently.

Minerva nodded and stepped back, but she swallowed hard from the sudden sense of disappointment that washed over her. “Have a good morning, then, Albus,” she said, trying not to sound as unhappy as she felt. It had started out a lovely day, and although nothing had precisely gone wrong, Minerva now felt unsettled.

“Same to you, my dear,” Albus replied as he stepped off the grounds, passing the wards to her with a wave of his hand. “See you later, Gertrude!”

Albus drew his wand, and just before he Disapparated, he winked at Minerva, cast a quick glance at Gertrude, and then blew Minerva a kiss, which she felt land warmly on her cheek. Suddenly, everything seemed much sunnier, and Minerva smiled brightly and waved to Albus before he left for London, making the smallest of pops as he did.

* * *

At six o’clock, Minerva put the finishing touches on the table. She had instructed Blampa to wait to bring the meal until she was called, since Albus had not been sure when he would arrive, as he wished to be entirely free that evening and finish everything he needed to before dinner, but Albus had said it would certainly be before seven o’clock. It was just as well, though, to have everything ready, in case he could get there earlier. Minerva was relieved that Albus had agreed to dine with her that evening. After their day with its ups and downs, she just wanted some peace alone with him. Albus had said that he would bring his chess set and they could spend the evening playing chess. She sighed. She enjoyed chess, and she particularly enjoyed playing chess with Albus, but she could think of another activity that she would greatly prefer to chess. 

Minerva touched her ear, feeling the smooth, warm amber, and smiled. The earrings had been such a thoughtful gift, and they did look very well with her amber necklace. Her smile grew as she remembered how excited he had been to give them to her after lunch, and how pleased he was that she liked them. It wasn’t merely the gift that she had appreciated, Minerva thought, but that he had noticed her amber necklace and had remembered it when he had seen the earrings. When she had tried them on and asked why he had given them to her, for what occasion, and Albus had replied that it was a Tuesday on which he loved her and she loved him and that was occasion enough, Minerva had felt almost moved to tears. She believed that there was nothing she would not do for that wizard.

His kisses after he had given her the earrings had been warm and arousing. It was all Minerva could do not to try to entice Albus away from his work for the afternoon, but she knew that he had a lot to do and she also remembered her promise not to press him. Flooing directly to her own office, using her new password, which Albus had set to “pulcherrima,” saying it was only fitting for the most beautiful witch in the world, Minerva had left him in his office and to his work. 

Now though . . . Albus had set aside the evening for them, he had no work calling him, and her promise may have been somewhat open-ended, but it wasn’t absolute, Minerva reasoned to herself. If he seemed reluctant or anxious, she wouldn’t press him too much, but if he seemed amenable . . . she didn’t want to appear to be sexually wanton, but she didn’t want to feign a disinterest or coolness that she didn’t feel, either. And she certainly did not want him to doubt his attractiveness to her. Yes, perhaps tonight, after dinner, when they were both relaxed, she could move the cuddling and the kissing in a more passionate direction. 

She did hope that Albus felt some sexual passion – Minerva remembered her speculations earlier in the summer about his love life and any urges he might have, and she began to worry that even though Albus was still capable of sexual activity, and even though he clearly did become physically aroused with her, perhaps his passions had died away to a bare simmer. He had, after all, led what he had described as a “retired life.” Minerva assumed that he had spent a long period of his adult life, perhaps most of it, in abstinence. It could be that either the abstinence came easily to him because he was not particularly sexual – she did know some people like that, after all – or possibly the abstinence itself had extinguished any passion he had once had. It could be that there was some . . . not _truth_ , but some _cause_ for Valerianna’s nasty words – if Albus had found it easy to be a gentleman with Valerianna and not press his advantage with her, and she was used to rutting with every wizard who caught her fancy, it could be that she sensed his lack of desire. Although if that witch had sensed a lack of desire, it had been a lack of desire for _her_ , not necessarily a lack of desire in general. Nonetheless, Albus had been very restrained. Minerva did hope that it was merely out of a desire to be a gentleman, and perhaps because of a little lingering insecurity or nervousness, and not from a lack of sexual desire for her. She did want him to want her and to . . . well, to find sex with her more than just a pleasant pastime on the same order as a game of chess.

The Silent Knight entered the landscape over the fireplace and announced that the Master of the Castle had arrived. Minerva waved her wand and opened the door to Albus as she hurried across the room to meet him. As the door closed behind him, Albus took Minerva into his arms with a smile and sent his chess set floating across the room to the coffee table.

“Ah, Minerva, you look so lovely this evening!” he said, kissing her cheek in greeting.

“I am wearing the same thing I was wearing earlier today,” Minerva said with a slight laugh, returning his kiss, but placing hers lightly on his lips.

“But you looked very lovely then, and your beauty is certainly undiminished by the passage of a few hours,” Albus murmured before returning her kiss. 

“Mmm,” Minerva sighed, “you, though, look absolutely wonderful this evening, Albus. And you didn’t change for dinner, either, for which I am most grateful.” She kissed him again, pulling his lower lip between hers and tasting it with the tip of her tongue before sucking it gently.

Albus was still wearing the starry robes he had been wearing that morning when he had left for the Ministry, and Minerva loved the feel of them as she ran her hands over his back, their silky fabric fitting closely to his body. Her right hand skimmed his buttocks as her left hand crept up his back, winding its way into his long, soft hair. When Albus gave a slight moan, her roving hand became a bit bolder, and she squeezed his buttocks lightly as she pulled him closer to her. She broke from the kiss with a gasp as she felt his erection, growing firm against her stomach, and she turned her head as Albus bent and kissed the side of her jaw and the soft skin at her pulse point.

Minerva massaged him lightly and pushed herself against him. Albus backed up, bringing Minerva with him. Minerva felt the door hit the knuckles of her right hand, trapping it nicely as she cupped the firm curve of his buttocks, and she brought her left hand around to rub Albus’s side. She rolled her hips and pressed against his erection. Albus’s breath was warm and ragged in her ear as he caressed her back with one hand and stroked the side of her breast with the other. He reached between them somewhat awkwardly, seeking her breast with his hand, and he began to step forward, one halting step and then another as he steered her toward the sofa.

Finally landing together on the sofa with a thump, Albus’s kisses trailed down her neck toward her breasts; his hands were fumbling with the fabric covering them, trying to move it aside. Minerva reached between them and ran a hand over Albus’s chest, down his stomach, and toward his erection, but Albus pushed himself up and away from her, panting slightly. 

Before Minerva could protest, Albus said, “I love your robes, my dear, but they are rather . . . close-fitting.”

“Hooks,” Minerva said with a gasp. “In the back. Charmed.”

Albus murmured, “How very . . . convenient,” as he brought a hand to the back of her neck, seeking the first of the hooks-and-eyes, and placing his lips in a kiss on her forehead. Minerva worried for a moment that he wouldn’t manage the charmed hooks, as it was a witch’s charm, but then she felt them all release at his touch, and she sighed before Albus’s lips met hers again. 

Albus used both hands to push the gown from Minerva’s shoulders, and the two paused a moment in their kiss so that she could pull her arms free. She then reached up for him and pulled him down to her for another kiss. One of Albus’s hands found Minerva’s breast and began caressing it, then kneading it gently through her chemise of thin batiste. Minerva sat up, not breaking their kiss, and she began to seek his erection again as she pushed him back against the cushions on the other side of the sofa. 

She kissed Albus once more before pulling away and looking down at him as she drew one finger up over his silk-clad erection. His lips were parted and his cheeks were flushed. He swallowed and licked his lips. His breathing seemed ragged and shallow.

“Mmm, Minerva . . .” He didn’t seem capable of finding any other words. “Minerva . . .”

Minerva could feel the head of his penis through his robe, and she caressed its edge before drawing her finger back down his length. She had moved aside the loose outer robe, and she could tell that there was only one layer of fabric between her and his erection. Albus placed two fingers against Minerva’s wrist, but he didn’t stop her from touching him. He raised his other hand to touch Minerva’s breasts through her chemise.

Albus licked his lips again, smiled slightly, then said softly, “You’re making it difficult for me today, my dear. First the strange hooks, and now this . . . shift. No buttons tonight. What is a wizard to do?”

Minerva grinned, eyes shining, and pressed her palm against his erection before answering his question with a very clear response. She reached down, crossing her arms, and found the bottom of her chemise, then she pulled the garment up and over her head. She let it drop to the floor beside the couch.

“Do you now have a notion of what a wizard might do?” Minerva purred softly, reaching down and caressing him through his robes again, grateful for his reaction to her touch. 

Albus sat up further to embrace her, pulling Minerva onto his lap, kissing her mouth, and caressing her breasts with one hand. He moved to kiss the side of her neck, and then her shoulders. Minerva moaned and grasped at him. Albus put both arms around her and pulled her closer to him, resting his cheek on her shoulder and catching his breath. Minerva found that her movements were now restricted by Albus’s embrace, and she pulled her hand out from between them and brought it to the back of his head, stroking his hair and combing her fingers through it.

She rested her head against the side of Albus’s and sighed. “I’m sorry, Albus . . . I just . . . I just . . . I want you.” Minerva paused, unsure of what to think of Albus’s reaction, which had been to simply move his lips gently over her shoulder. The tender kisses increased the warmth and throbbing in her, and she moaned and shifted on his lap. “I know I said I would not press . . .”

Albus moved from kissing her shoulder, sitting back to look at Minerva’s face. He raised a finger and gently stroked it down Minerva’s temple to her jaw, then he outlined her lips before leaning forward and gently kissing them. The way that Minerva was sitting, he could reach her right ankle with his left hand. He pushed her soft shoe from her foot and drew his hand over her ankle and up her calf as he watched her face. She closed her eyes as his hand travelled up her leg, which was bent at the knee. Albus pushed Minerva’s skirt aside as he caressed her, feeling her silky stocking and finding where it began high on her thigh. He rolled the stocking part way down her leg, then he shifted them both slightly so that his fingertips could caress her inner thigh.

Albus watched her reaction, and at Minerva’s lack of objection, he leaned forward and kissed her lips softly and repeatedly as he caressed her, each time coming closer to her crux. Finally, fingertips met the fabric of her knickers, and he paused, not withdrawing his touch, but opening his eyes and leaning back a little to look at Minerva’s face. Her eyes were partially closed and her lips parted, then she opened her eyes and looked into his. Albus swallowed nervously, but watched her face as he drew a finger across her softness, still covered in her knickers. Minerva let out a shuddering breath and gripped his shoulder hard. Her breathing was coming in gasps now. Albus leaned forward and kissed Minerva lightly on the throat as he experimentally moved his fingers up to find the waistband of her knickers. She trembled as he slipped first one then two then four fingers between her panties and her soft thatch of feminine hair. Minerva rose up slightly onto her knees as Albus’s fingers went lower, and then stopped.

“Oh, Minerva . . .” Albus closed his own eyes and leaned his forehead against hers.

She was wet, very, very warm and wet. He moved his hand further into her panties and stroked her clitoris lightly with two fingers, and their tips found her entrance. Minerva held onto both of his shoulders now, and she increased her grip on him.

“Please, Albus . . . please . . .” she whispered. 

Albus stroked his fingers briefly against her, then withdrew his hand and pulled her to him, holding her tightly. She was, indeed, aroused by him, by his touch, he thought. She was not humouring him. And she had wanted to touch him, he was certain of that now, as well, and she hadn’t only wanted to touch him through his robes, either.

Minerva, resting her head now on his shoulder, felt tears well up into her eyes. It was too much, too fast for him. She had said she wouldn’t press him. But how she wanted him, and how she wished he hadn’t stopped touching her!

“I’m sorry, Albus,” Minerva said very softly, trying not to let her tears affect her voice. “I am sorry. I know . . . you want to wait. I said I wouldn’t press –”

“Shh,” Albus responded, “shh, my dear, my love . . . it’s all right.” 

Albus kissed the side of her head. He wanted Minerva to feel comfortable and in control. At the moment, Albus thought, he could easily simply banish her knickers, push her to the floor, and take her, pushing into her, thrusting again and again until he came in her wet warmth, and he almost desperately desired her, and it had been so very long . . . so long since he had been with anyone, and so long that he had desired Minerva. But he wouldn’t do that to her, certainly not this first time. He could not let her believe that she was only an object of pleasure for him, or that a physical union with her was at all like the encounters of his youth – although he had usually taken his time with them, as well, for a fair exchange. Still, Albus wished her to feel as though she was taking her pleasure – and giving him pleasure, as well, of course. He didn’t want her to think that she was not desirable. He had never desired a woman the way that he desired Minerva, and he had desired her for a very long time. An idea formed in his mind, and Albus smiled to himself.

He turned his head and kissed her ear. “I love you, my dear Minerva,” he whispered. “You know that I love you, don’t you?”

He felt her nod against him.

“I love you, and I often think that if I had not overheard you that day in Poppy’s office, if I had not discovered then that you felt neglected by me, it may have taken much longer for me to learn that you love me and for me to be able to tell you that I am in love with you.” He paused to kiss her ear again, and then he whispered, “Do you remember that day, Minerva? Do you remember how angry you were with me? I was shocked to hear how upset you were, and even more shocked to hear certain words come from your mouth. Do you remember what you said, Minerva?”

Minerva held her breath as he spoke, wondering at first why he would want to bring up that painful topic, even though he was right that it had been fortuitous, in the end, that he had overheard her ranting at Poppy. She certainly did remember that day, and how upset she had been, and how she had grown more upset after Albus had left. When he asked her about what she had said, though, and whether she remembered it, Minerva stiffened briefly as she felt a pang of remorse, but then she nodded, and she said softly, “Yes, yes, I remember, Albus.”

“You may remember, my dear, that I said that you had an interesting idea – do you remember that?” His lips tickled her ear as he whispered the words into her ear. “It is still an . . . interesting idea, I think . . . if you believe that . . . I might possibly have earned such treatment. Do you remember what I said was an interesting idea?” Albus swallowed nervously. Perhaps this approach was too crude for her. It had struck him as amusing a moment ago, but now . . . he was no longer sure.

“Yes, I remember, Albus,” Minerva whispered hesitantly. Surely he didn’t mean what she believed he did. “I think I remember . . .”

“Would you like me to refresh your memory?” Without pause, Albus lowered his whisper even further, his words a mere breath in her ear. “ _Fuck Albus Dumbledore._ ” 

Albus hesitated now, and he held his breath. This was not a suave seduction. What had he been thinking? He wanted her to know that he valued her, and yet he had used crudities to introduce the notion that she might make love to him. But then Minerva turned her face and moved to kiss him. She drew his tongue into her mouth and stroked it with her own, then she kissed his lips repeatedly. 

Finally, letting out a breath, Minerva said in a low voice, “Do you think . . . do you still think that it is an interesting idea? Do you think I should, then?”

His eyes were deep blue as he looked into hers, and he said, “If you wish, and if you believe I . . . if I have earned it.”

Minerva smiled, a small smile at first, but it grew, and then she chuckled. “Oh, I most certainly do believe you have earned it, Albus Dumbledore.”

She kissed him again, wildly, passionately, and her hands sought the buttons of his under-robe, not caring whether she managed to reach all of them, and she undid one after the other until she felt the soft skin of the head of his penis at her fingertips. Minerva took a moment to touch him, but then unbuttoned two more buttons, freeing his erection to her caresses. She stroked him, then pulled back from her kiss to look down and watch her hand on his cock.

“Oh, Albus . . . oh, gods, Albus,” she said as her breath came more rapidly. “I just . . . I want you,” she murmured looking back up into his eyes.

“I want you to want me, Minerva,” Albus answered softly, “and I want you to do whatever it is that you wish.”

Minerva ceased stroking Albus’s large erection and raised her skirts; she began to tug at her knickers, but then in a fit of impatience she banished them with a word. Without any further preamble, she put one hand on Albus’s shoulder and the other on his cock. She raised up on her knees, and when she lowered herself, she slid slowly over his erection. Her mouth opened as if in silent cry, and Albus closed his eyes and gasped at the sensation of her vagina sheathing him in its moist warmth. When Minerva began to raise and lower herself again, he moaned and gripped her buttocks with both hands.

Minerva, breathing rapidly, knew that she had never felt anything as satisfying as having Albus’s large erection within her, stretching her, stimulating her, and as she rode him, driving her clit into his pelvis each time that she sank down over his cock, Minerva could feel the silk of his robe and the slight roughness of his beard rubbing her clit. Her movements became almost frantic, and soon, she was coming in waves, her orgasm overtaking her entirely, wiping out any conscious thought but that she was with Albus, her Albus, her beloved Albus, and she would be with him forever.

“Oh, gods, Albus, Albus, my love, my love, Albus . . . forever, Albus, forever,” Minerva cried as she came, and she did not cease her movement, rising and falling on his erect penis, then she heard him gasp her name and he gripped her more tightly, pulling her down over him, and she knew that he was coming, too.

Their breathing gradually returned to normal. Minerva hadn’t moved except to lean more fully against Albus and rest her head on his shoulder. Albus had brought his arms up to embrace her. 

He kissed her hair and whispered, “I love you, my darling Minerva.”

“Mmm, me too,” Minerva said, snuggling against him and nuzzling his hair. “Very much.”

Albus took a deep breath as he gently disengaged from Minerva’s embrace, not dislodging himself from her, but leaning back to look into her face. He disliked bringing up anything serious or practical at the moment, but he felt it was necessary.

“Um, Minerva . . . I . . . um, I am still fertile,” Albus said softly with a blush. “I had thought to . . . well, it seemed it might be practical to fix that state, some decades ago, but then I didn’t . . . as I had determined not to place myself in such a position . . . and then later . . .” This was not going well. She was looking at him, puzzled and without a clue what he was driving at. “I mean to say, to come to the point . . . I will cast a contraceptive spell. Unless you have taken some previous measures . . . ?”

Minerva shook her head. It had been several years since she had stopped taking Contraceptive Potion, and she had done nothing else recently, given how slowly Albus had been progressing. There were a few other spells that she knew which she could use in lieu of the Potion, of course. Minerva shrugged, not caring what particular spell they might use or who cast it. Although the two spells that she had used most frequently in the past were ones that she would have needed to have cast before they had sex, she did know one quite well that she could use now, and another that she could even cast later, if she needed to wait for some reason.

“You wish to do it yourself, then?” Albus asked, this time, his turn for confusion.

“As you wish, Albus – I have done nothing myself, not realising that tonight . . . You had been so . . . restrained. I didn’t think we would manage it this soon,” Minerva explained.

Albus cleared his throat. “The best spell, in my experience, is necessary to cast after one has . . . um, afterward. Now, in fact. May I?”

Minerva nodded, and Albus reached under her skirt, placing a warm hand on her lower abdomen. She felt a greater warmth, and then the tingle of Albus’s magic began to grow as he cast the spell, his eyes closed in concentration. The warmth grew to a heat, becoming uncomfortable, though not so great as to be painful, and then she felt his magic thrum and pass through her, then flow downward, seeming to melt into her. She felt another slight tingling and Albus withdrew his hand.

Minerva tilted her head questioningly, and in response, he said, “Now you are protected. Completely.”

“I do not understand how this spell works. I am unfamiliar with it,” Minerva said. She had confidence in him, but it had felt like a very powerful spell, and she was slightly concerned with his words and precisely what he meant by “completely.”

Albus blushed again. “You cannot become pregnant now.”

“I understood that – what do you mean by ‘cannot’?” Now her concern was growing, though she tried not to let it show. 

“I will not need to cast it again until, I don’t know exactly, until, um,” Albus answered, his blush growing, “until after your next cycle has begun. After the first time we do this each month, I can cast this spell. It will prevent conception for the entire month.”

“Oh!” Minerva said with relief. “Well, that _is_ a handy spell. Although slightly uncomfortable, I will admit.”

Albus knit his brow. “Uncomfortable? I wanted to be certain it would be effective . . . it shouldn’t be painful.”

“It wasn’t painful . . . just very hot. And somewhat uncomfortable,” Minerva admitted.

“I will be more careful next time – I do not want it to be uncomfortable for you. You might decide the activity was not worth the discomfort afterward. Unless you prefer another method?” Albus asked. “And I could cast a spell on myself ahead of time, but the one I know for that would need to be done each time within a few hours before, um, engaging in the activity.”

Minerva giggled and kissed his cheek. “You are adorable, Albus. ‘The activity’!” She smiled at him fondly. “‘Making love’ is a rather nice way of putting it if you do not wish to mention” – she leaned closer and whispered in his ear – “the word ‘sex’.”

Albus chuckled nervously. “Yes, of course. But if you do wish to use your own measures, that would be fine, but I would wish to cast the other spell on myself in that case. Just to be sure, you know.”

Minerva let out a breath. “I know you are nervous about this, but you needn’t be. Potions are very effective, and they are readily available. I could get one from Murdoch. I trust his brewing completely. But I think your spell is more convenient. We will simply have to remember it.”

“Perhaps you should take a potion as well,” Albus said thoughtfully. “Just to be certain.”

Minerva kissed him lightly. “We won’t forget the spell, I’m sure. And if we do . . . there’s a spell I haven’t had to use but that my mother taught me some time ago. It can be cast up to forty-eight hours after intercourse,” she said matter-of-factly. 

“Er, there is one other thing about the spell I cast, Minerva,” Albus said, not looking directly at her.

“What?” Minerva’s nervousness returned. “Does it have a side-effect?” She suddenly worried that it would affect her libido – or even cause infertility over time, which some of the older spells sometimes did.

“No, not exactly, but the spell is very specific. Um, I don’t believe this would be a consideration for you, and I only mention it in order to . . . to provide full information, you understand. Not because I have any doubts about you, or about us . . .” Albus replied, looking as embarrassed as he had a few minutes before, or even more so.

“Yes? What is it, Albus?” Minerva asked, curious.

“It is only effective with me. That is to say, it stops me from . . . um, well, it is specific to me. It isn’t a general contraceptive. If you were to, um, engage in such . . . that is, another wizard . . .”

“I see,” Minerva said, nodding and caressing his cheek reassuringly. “It stops me from accepting your sperm, but not that of another wizard. You’re right,” she added briskly, “there is no need to worry about that aspect of the spell, although it is an interesting detail.” She leaned forward and kissed Albus again and hugged him tightly. “I love you, Albus. You are so very wonderful to me. And we will become more comfortable with all of this together. I promise.”

Albus chuckled. “I must seem quite foolish to you.”

“No, not at all. You are very sweet and thoughtful. And it can be awkward to discuss. But we’ll get better at talking about things. And we’ll have a lot of fun actually doing them, too, I am sure,” Minerva said, her eyes sparkling. “I am sorry I was a bit . . . peremptory there, and somewhat urgent. I should have taken more time.”

Albus grinned. “You were perfect. There will be occasions later for taking our time.” A slight blush creeping back to his face, he added, “I felt some urgency, myself, to be honest.” He looked down at Minerva’s breasts and brushed his fingers over one nipple. “You really are beautiful, Minerva,” he whispered. He brought his eyes back to meet hers. “Very beautiful.”

Albus leaned forward and kissed her lips, and Minerva felt the desire sweep over her to move on Albus’s cock again, but she only pressed herself against him. She didn’t think he had completely recovered from their earlier “activity,” as he put it, and she thought that if she moved, she would likely dislodge his penis, and she liked the sensation of it in her still. Minerva was disappointed, then, with Albus’s next suggestion.

“Shall we freshen up now, Minerva? Have our dinner?”

Minerva sighed and nodded. Albus put his arms around her and held her close. 

“Let’s clean up, have dinner, and play a game or two of chess, hmm? You must be hungry,” Albus said.

“I am . . . I am simply reluctant to move right now,” Minerva admitted.

“Then let’s freshen up, rearrange our clothes, and have a little snuggle before we call for our dinner,” Albus suggested. At her small smile and nod, he pulled the bodice of Minerva’s gown back up. “Would you like your shift?”

Minerva said, “No. No need right now. But I do think I will want a fresh pair of knickers, as I banished the others.”

Albus chuckled. “That was a nice piece of wandless magic, Minerva.”

Minerva grinned. “I was highly motivated.”

“I shall have to find other opportunities to motivate you, then!” Albus said, his eyes bright.

“I have no objections to that,” Minerva said with a smile as she moved off of Albus and began to straighten her clothes, putting her arms into her sleeves. She looked at Albus’s robes. “I’m sorry, I seem to have made a bit of a mess of your beautiful robes.”

Albus shrugged. “It wasn’t all you, you know, Minerva. And it’s easily remedied.” He found his wand and waved it, returning the front of his robes to their previous pristine state, then he waved it again, and Minerva could feel a nice, mild cleansing charm pass over her. 

“I think I will fetch my fresh knickers now,” Minerva said as she activated the charm to fasten up the back of her robe. “Could you call for our dinner, Albus? Don’t have her bring it immediately. We can have our snuggle while we wait for it.”

Albus agreed to that proposal, and Minerva padded off to her bedroom to finish freshening up, bringing her discarded chemise with her.


	128. Romance Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Albus share dinner and the day's ups and downs.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, and Malcolm McGonagall.

**CXXVIII: Romance Interrupted**

Albus held Minerva’s chair for her as she sat at the small, round dining table. They had had their “snuggle” on the sofa while they awaited their dinner, which Minerva had requested especially for them. She hoped that Albus would like it. As long as she had known him, and as many meals they had shared, she was still not entirely sure what foods he enjoyed.

“It smells delicious, Minerva,” Albus said as he sat down.

“It’s paella, a fish paella. And we have a salad with olives, tomatoes, basil, and aged goat cheese,” Minerva explained. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“Very much! It is certainly something I don’t often have,” Albus replied as he poured their wine. “I had paella for the first time in Valencia when I was a young man, and I enjoyed it so much, I ate it every day for a week! Different sorts, of course. Chicken, pork, shellfish – I do believe my hosts found me quite amusing.”

Minerva laughed and handed him his plate. “There is more here if you like.”

As they ate, Albus said, “You promised to tell me more about your conversation with Malcolm this morning. I gather it left you somewhat . . . unsettled.”

Minerva sighed and set down her fork. Malcolm had come to see her before lunch. He had, indeed, noticed the reversed laces on her bodice the previous night. Minerva wasn’t sure what Malcolm had found most disturbing – possibly because he wasn’t certain either. Minerva didn’t dance around the issue with Malcolm. As soon as the door was closed behind her brother, she said that he had likely noticed that she and Albus were more than just friends. 

“And precisely when were you going to tell me that, little sister? I told you about Trudie and me and you said not one word to me about you and Dumbledore – and you two have clearly a much longer relationship than mine with Trudie,” he had said. Minerva thought he sounded injured.

She shook her head. “You don’t understand, Malcolm –”

“What, that you and the Headmaster of Hogwarts are shtupping?” Minerva had never heard the term before, but she knew immediately what he was saying, and it angered her, but before she got another word out of her mouth, Malcolm continued. “Is that why you were so eager to take this job, then? To make it easier for the two of you? And how long has this been going on? Years? Does anyone know of it? Or is it just your little secret? Gertrude wouldn’t tell me a thing – just kept saying, ‘speak with your sister’! Wouldn’t even give a hint of what she might know or guess!”

He flung himself into a chair next to the fireplace.

Minerva took a deep breath. She really did not want to get into an argument with Malcolm.

“First, there was nothing to inform you of when you came and you told me about you and Gertrude, and that is why I didn’t say anything to you. This is a . . . a new phase of our relationship. I had already decided to talk to you about it, but hadn’t had an opportunity. And we are not as far along in it as you seem to believe – and I do wish you wouldn’t use crude language when discussing it, in any case. How would you feel if I spoke that way of you and Gertrude and your intimate relationship?” Minerva asked, sitting down in the chair across from him.

“Oh . . . all right. I just thought . . . it seemed . . .” Malcolm made a rueful expression. “Sorry. Got the wrong end of the stick there. But when I saw your robes, all done up backwards . . .”

“Yes, and you went with that and didn’t think about any other indications of what our relationship might be like. Not very clever of you, Malcolm,” Minerva chided, knowing that Malcolm prided himself on his powers of observation.

Malcolm shrugged. “I wasn’t thinking particularly rationally about it.” He looked at Minerva thoughtfully. “I am sure there are a great many things I don’t need to remind you of, little sister – peculiarities, you might call them, of this relationship of yours.”

“No, you don’t. And I wouldn’t listen, anyway. I have been in love with Albus for a long time, Malcolm. I already set myself a great many obstacles to overcome, and those that I didn’t set and that weren’t already there by nature, Albus added to. And he is sensitive enough about certain issues, such as his age and the fact that I was his student, without having you bring them up. So don’t. With him or with me,” Minerva said sternly.

“As I said, I didn’t think I needed to mention them . . . however,” Malcolm said, looking more uncomfortable than Minerva had ever seen him, “I do feel I have a duty to point something out, or at least to ask you if you are fully aware of . . . Dumbledore’s past.”

“What do you mean?” Minerva asked sharply.

“It’s just that . . . I’m a bit older than you are, remember, and I’ve heard things about Dumbledore, during the war, you see. A few rumours, you might say. But rumours with foundation. You don’t hear them any more – defeating Grindelwald does tend to make people think twice about saying anything uncomplimentary about a person.” Malcolm held up a hand, forestalling Minerva’s protest. “Please, let me finish. There were scarcely any rumours even at the time I heard them, myself, and I didn’t particularly care about them. It had just been a little talk and some chuckling among a few of the old timers. I ignored the rumours. It didn’t matter to me at all whether they were true or not. Not at that time. Now, though – after seeing the two of you together last night, I began to remember some of them. Where there’s smoke there’s fire, little sister. This wizard apparently screwed his way across half of Europe, pretty indiscriminately, too. Young, old, married, unmarried, he kept the witches entertained. He was a good-looking young man, and he traded on his looks for his keep –”

“That is ENOUGH, Malcolm Mercury McGonagall!” Minerva stood. “You just . . . just put wood in’hole, you great half-wit!” She was shaking and tears sprang to her eyes. “You don’t know anything about it – or just enough to spread nasty rumours.” 

“Minerva, I am just trying to warn you. I think you ought to know . . . I don’t know what he’s been up to recently, but his behaviour as a younger wizard was pretty deplorable, as far as witches are concerned. I don’t want to see you hurt. A Fwooper doesn’t change its song.”

“Albus is not a Fwooper,” Minerva said angrily. “And that, that was . . . was an aberration. The reason you haven’t heard what he’s been up to recently is that he _hasn’t_ been up to anything recently. Not in decades. And as far as a Fwooper not changing its song, should I go and warn Gertrude about _you_ , my brother? You, who admit to never being able to have a relationship with a woman till now, who slept with anyone who caught your fancy?”

Malcolm’s eyes flashed. “ _I_ didn’t trade my body for – Ow!”

Minerva had whipped out her wand and now Malcolm was sporting a long, bloody gash on his cheek. He raised his hand to his face and blood leaked out between his fingers.

“Oh, my gods! Malcolm!” Minerva cried. “I am sorry –” She stood and held out her wand again. “It should have just raised a welt – here, let me –”

Malcolm looked at his sister with an arched brow, but he lowered his hand and let her cast a healing charm and another charm to clean the blood from his face, beard, and clothes. 

“I didn’t see that coming, little sister,” Malcolm said with a wry smile, “though I suppose I should have.”

Minerva collapsed back into her chair. She was still upset with him, but the sight of Malcolm’s bloody face had cooled her anger quickly.

“As long as you are aware of Dumbledore’s . . . foibles, then, little sister, I shan’t say anymore. But if he treats you poorly, I had better not hear of it.”

“He hasn’t and he won’t,” Minerva said quietly. “And he is being a perfect gentleman. Too much of a gentleman, in fact. But I don’t want to talk about it. Just . . . your concern is well-meant but ill-placed, Malcolm, and certainly both poorly timed and poorly worded.”

Malcolm grinned. “Well, at least now I know where you stand, don’t I?” he asked rhetorically, raising his fingertips to touch the still slightly-pink skin where Minerva had healed the gash she had opened in his cheek. “And I suppose that you would know him better than I, at least in certain ways – no, I _didn’t_ mean _that_ way! Don’t get your knickers in a knot! I simply meant that I am acquainted with him through far different experiences, that’s all. I have a fair idea of his magical power, his skills, his intelligence, and I do believe that he is basically an honourable man. Very honourable, in fact. I just worried because of his . . . well, on account of your being a witch in a relationship with him, and being my sister. I’m sorry. Pax?”

Minerva twitched a small smile, but she nodded. “Yes, all right. And he is honourable. He had a very difficult period during a brief time in his youth, and if a few old wizards found only that to gossip about with you, I feel sorry for them.”

“Mm, difficult period – with his dead wife and mother, you mean?” Malcolm asked. “I never heard very much about them, but they did say he went slightly off his nut with grief. Doesn’t seem plausible to me, seeing the wizard I know. But . . .” He shrugged. 

“Yes, well, this isn’t a topic for conversation, Malcolm. Just rest assured that I do know Dumbledore and more of his character than you do.” 

He looked at her speculatively. “Are you happy, little sister? With Dumbledore?”

“Yes, I am. Very.” Minerva couldn’t help the smile that came to her face. “I never believed he could return my feelings. Then I hoped he might. And he does. He really does,” she ended softly.

“That’s good, then.” Malcolm nodded. “You do seem happy . . . happier. He is a lucky wizard. If he treats you right, and you are happy . . . I am pleased for you, Minerva. I hope the relationship works out well for you.”

Minerva’s anger melted away. Malcolm didn’t have the most felicitous ways of putting things – off his nut, indeed! – but she could understand his concerns. First, Malcolm had felt hurt believing that Minerva had kept her own relationship from him when he had been open with her about his with Gertrude, and then he had been concerned about her, unsure of whether Albus would treat her properly, given the little he knew about him.

They moved on to discuss the upcoming “practical interview.”

When Minerva suggested that she might help him get in some practice, Malcolm barked a sharp laugh and said, “You know, if you had offered yesterday, I don’t know as I would have taken you up on it. I already have one . . . um, semi-skilled witch helping me. But after that slice you made in me, it might be useful. You were right quick, little sister!”

Minerva blushed. She couldn’t remember the last time she had done something like that – probably not since she was in school and Dumbledore had broken up her altercation with the Riddle boy before she managed to get off more than one decent hex. She’d still taught the little toe-rag a lesson, even though Dumbledore had been upset with her, warning her again not to cross the Slytherin.

Minerva grimaced and said, “I don’t make a habit of injuring others, Malcolm. I am sorry. It was very wrong of me to lose my temper so.”

Malcolm just shrugged and grinned at her. “You’re a McGonagall – and a Tyree. Grandmother Siofre would be proud. I sometimes forget that about you, little sister, you are so . . . buttoned-up and serious so much of the time. You were a proper old witch when you were just a little girl. I’ll never forget coming home when you were about . . . six? And you scolded me for the inadequacy of my cleaning charms and that I’d tracked mud into the house.” He laughed again. “I can still hear you lecturing me about the house-elves having better things to do than to clean up after an old wizard like me.” He looked at his sister fondly. “But that was back when you still loved your big brother and liked to hear his stories and songs. Then in a very short time, you became impossibly older, and my stories didn’t amuse you any longer and all you noticed about me was the mud I tracked in.”

“That’s not true, Malcolm. You’re just . . . different. And you must admit, it’s sometimes difficult to separate history from fiction in your stories. I liked to know what was what when I was younger. I still do, I suppose. But I do love you, and I know that you would do just about anything to help me, if I asked.”

“You can count on it, little sister,” Malcolm said quietly. “Anything.”

“Then I ask that you be careful with Albus during the duel. I know that he’s powerful, but no one is perfect, and I don’t know as he has as much recent practice as you’ve had, with your . . . pest eradication and such.”

Malcolm drew a small card from his sporran and handed it to Minerva.

“Malcolm M. McGonagall,” it read. “Curse-Breaker and Pest-Control Specialist, Aberdeen, Scotland, Available by Appointment.”

Minerva smiled. “Still, Albus may take it easy on you, so don’t hurt him.”

“I am sure we will both exercise some care. He’s working up the rules, so talk to him. I’ll abide by whatever he puts forward. Obviously, neither of us is interested in damaging the other,” Malcolm said. He touched his face again. “I rather doubt we’ll draw as much blood as you did today. That was some cut – practically went all the way through my cheek. You need to work on your control, I’d say, if that was only supposed to raise a welt.”

“I said I was sorry, Malcolm. I hope – well, it isn’t anything to be proud of. I’d rather you didn’t say anything about it.”

“I’ll try to remember that – now, what about this practice? Are you free tomorrow?”

Minerva hesitated. She and Albus were off for the McGonagall Cliffs in the afternoon. “In the morning, I will be. Could we meet after your meeting with the Headmaster?”

“Aye, that we could,” Malcolm agreed, sitting up straighter. “Ten o’clock, then? Gertrude set our meeting for nine. We should be done by ten. I’ll meet you out in front of the castle – or in the front hall, if the weather’s bad.”

So Minerva had agreed to meet Malcolm and help him with his preparation for his practical interview. She was sure that Albus was going to hire him, anyway, and she didn’t understand their mutual enthusiasm for this exercise – although Malcolm seemed to anticipate the duel with greater pleasure than he did the rest of the test that Albus was planning for him. He tried to find out from Minerva what was in store, and was disappointed when Minerva hadn’t a clue what Dumbledore had planned for him.

Malcolm sighed. “Gertrude seems to know, but she won’t tell me. Just tells me ‘read your application letter, Malcolm.’ She really can be infuriating. But wonderful.”

Minerva laughed. “I have often found conversations with her frustrating. But I am glad that you find her at least equally wonderful.”

“More than equally so, Minerva. She is . . . I never want her to tire of me,” Malcolm said softly. “I am afraid sometimes. I have never felt this way. I thought . . . I thought this sort of love was a myth. I thought . . . I thought there was warm, fond love. Like love of family. And that one could feel it for a woman, of course. And I believed that there was passion, sexual desire and release, something quite separate, emotionally. But I never understood this kind of love. And this need. I need her, Minerva. Without her, I think . . . I would lose myself, just be a creature who eats and sleeps and pretends to be human. I didn’t know what I was lacking until I met Trudie. She sees me. She sees me and believes in me and . . . I need her. I need to know that she is there in my world, that when the day is done, or the job over, or the week out, I can turn and she will be there for me. And I for her. I want to care for and protect her, bring her satisfaction and joy, keep her from all harm and sorrow, and soothe her hurts and grief.” He looked up at Minerva. “You understand this?”

Minerva smiled gently and nodded. “I understand, Malcolm. Completely.”

By the time that Albus had stopped by to bring Minerva to lunch, she and Malcolm were on good terms again and understood each other better, but Malcolm, she noticed, still gave Albus an odd look before he left, and he was clearly restraining himself from saying anything to him. She did hope that Malcolm wouldn’t discuss his concerns with Albus, and that she had allayed them sufficiently for him, but she ought to tell Albus about their talk, at least in broad outline. Besides, he had seen that she and Malcolm had had a somewhat strained discussion. She didn’t want to keep things from Albus if there wasn’t a good reason for it.

Still, as Minerva put down her fork, she had no idea where to begin. She didn’t want Albus to think that rumours about him were still circulating. She had lived in London and worked at the Ministry for over a decade, with a break of a bit more than two years during her apprenticeships. She had never heard anything about Albus’s early life during all that time, and certainly nothing that would suggest that he had . . . been profligate in his youth. She hadn’t even known that he had been married. Of course, that really did seem like ancient history. It was a pity that the rumours that seemed to have survived the longest were those of Albus’s unfortunate behaviour, and not of his sorrow and loss. At least they were rarely repeated now; Minerva doubted that Malcolm would have ever said anything to Minerva about having heard such rumours if it weren’t for the fact that she was in a relationship with Albus.

“What was it, my dear?” Albus asked. “You said you spoke to him about us . . . does he disapprove?” Now Albus stopped eating, his appetite for paella disappearing under the possibility of Minerva’s oldest brother’s censure.

“No, no – not that it is his place to approve or disapprove. No, he said, in fact, that you are a very honourable wizard. And that he is happy for me.” Minerva picked up her fork again and took another mouthful of steaming rice, vegetables, and fish. She didn’t want to upset Albus. 

“Well, what is it, then?” Albus asked, perplexed.

“He was disturbed that I didn’t tell him about us when he told me that he and Gertrude were seeing each other. I had to explain, of course, that there had been nothing to tell him at the time. And he appeared to believe that we were sharing a bed. I think he thought we had a long-standing relationship. So that upset him. Not that we may have been together for a while, but that I hadn’t shared it with him sooner.”

“I see,” Albus said. He took a sip of wine. “And was that all it was?”

“Oh, we had a sibling squabble, that’s all, Albus. He is a good deal older than I and we didn’t grow up together, but he’s still my big brother, and he acts like it sometimes. And just as annoyingly,” Minerva said, trying to make light of the situation.

“He did disapprove, then. My age – or was it my position? Does he think I have taken advantage of you? Pressured you in some way?” Albus asked with concern.

Minerva shook her head. “He knows me well enough to know that would be extremely unlikely. And he didn’t express any qualms at all about your age or your position.” She speared a chunk of white fish with her fork and put it in her mouth, chewing slowly, hoping to think of how to tell Albus what Malcolm’s concerns were. She definitely did not want to bring up the details.

“What then? Is it . . . was it . . . did he mention Gertrude?” Albus asked with trepidation.

“Gertrude?” Minerva almost choked on her plaice. “No, except to say that he had asked Gertrude if she knew anything about our relationship and she kept telling him to ask me. Why? Gertrude approves, doesn’t she?”

“Oh, yes, most certainly. I don’t know . . . why did you find the conversation upsetting, my dear?”

Minerva shook her head. “Oh, just the usual wizard foolishness on Malcolm’s part – he doesn’t want to see his sister hurt. I did assure him that you most certainly wouldn’t be doing any such thing.”

“I see . . .” And Albus did see now. He set down his glass, turning it slowly as he appeared to contemplate the jewel-toned wine. Finally, he said with a slight sigh, “I assume that he heard a rumour or two and extrapolated from that.”

“Malcolm knows that you are Headmaster of Hogwarts and a highly respected and respectable wizard, Albus,” Minerva said, placing her hand on his. “He just was concerned about me, that’s all. I found him over-protective, and I made sure he knew it. Don’t worry about Malcolm, really. He was just being a big brother. It’s all straightened out now.”

Albus took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked at Minerva and gave her a little smile. “Very well, if you say so. I suppose that we have enough to worry about without my including Malcolm’s opinion among them. If you aren’t bothered by it and have taken care of it,” he said with a nod, “then that will do for me.”

Minerva smiled. “Good. Because he’s fine with it.”

“I still think I may have a word with him . . . if he is to work here, with me, I can’t have him harbouring any ill feelings that I can allay,” Albus said.

“Oh, you needn’t do that. He’s likely forgotten it already,” Minerva said hastily.

Albus seemed amused. “You told me that Malcolm is the one McGonagall who tends to hold a grudge. I would rather diffuse any troubles that may remain. I had sufficient misunderstandings with another McGonagall this summer; I don’t need to have any new ones with Malcolm.”

Minerva sighed. “All right, Albus. It’s up to you. But why don’t you wait until after the practical exercises on Saturday?”

Albus shook his head. “No, that would be worse. However well he does, he could interpret the conversation through the lens of the results of the exercises. No, this needs to be wizard-to-wizard. And without Hogwarts as the backdrop. I will talk to him tomorrow.”

“We are going to see my parents tomorrow – I said we would be arriving after lunch, Albus. You did say to go ahead and make the arrangements, and I thought that would give us time to enjoy the day.”

“Then I will bring him to lunch. Someplace Muggle. He will like that. And we can talk – I’ll just cast a ward for us,” Albus said, seeming to have it all planned.

“We’re practising tomorrow morning, Albus –”

“Do you think that wise, my dear? You will be careful, won’t you?” 

Minerva just managed to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. “Yes, Albus, I will be careful. As will he. Really! And we aren’t doing anything as foolish as a duel. I didn’t see you admonish Gertrude, and I don’t think she’s particularly magically fit – although it does seem that Malcolm is trying to remedy that.”

“Yes, well . . . I just worry about you. And about Gertrude, of course, but I think Malcolm would be very careful with her because of their relationship. He might . . . forget himself with you or something.”

“Unlikely, Albus. But he may have plans. I think you should be prepared for the possibility that he won’t be able to meet you for lunch,” Minerva said.

“I’ll invite him right now,” Albus said, pushing back from the table. “May I have parchment and a quill, Minerva?”

“But our meal, Albus!”

“I finished. It was excellent.” He looked down at her expectantly.

Minerva reluctantly rose and brought Albus into her study. She left him with parchment and quill and returned to the sitting room. She had thought that now that she and Albus had revealed their love for one another, and this evening they had finally made love, things would go smoothly with their relationship, at least for a while. And now he was in her study, after a shortened meal that was supposed to be relaxing for them both, inviting her brother out to lunch. Minerva was fairly certain that her brother would not be interested in discussing the topic with Albus, and she was afraid that any discussion they did have would become heated, that they would talk at cross-purposes, that Malcolm would insult Albus, whether intentionally or not, and then Albus would leave the encounter feeling worse and questioning his relationship with her again.

Minerva was sitting at the table finishing a glass of wine when Albus reemerged, the folded parchment in his hand. 

“I’ll just pop around to the Owlery now, my dear! Be right back,” he said brightly.

“No, you don’t, Albus Dumbledore! Blampa can bring it for you. We are having our dessert – with no discussion of anything Malcolm-related – and then we are playing chess. We are going to enjoy ourselves this evening.” She took the parchment from Albus’s hand. “Blampa!”

Blampa popped in, a smile on her face. “Yes, Professor Minerva? May I, Blampa, serve? Ready for your lovely dessert now?”

Minerva smiled at Blampa. “Not quite yet, Blampa. Please bring this letter to the Owlery and post it for the Headmaster. After you have done that, you can bring our dessert.”

“Happy to serve, Professor Minerva!” Blampa took the parchment and Disapparated.

“There. That’s taken care of. Now, come sit beside me on the couch,” Minerva said, taking Albus’s hand and leading him across the room. “Before Blampa gets back with our pudding, I want to warn you. He didn’t hold it against you, and he still doesn’t, but some years ago, as you seem to have surmised, Malcolm did hear something about your brief period of . . . of carousing. It didn’t concern him at all then. And it troubled him only slightly now, and only in the context of our seeing each other, but he was fine once we talked. I’m only telling you because it might come up. And you should know that until Gertrude, Malcolm was completely incapable of any kind of commitment. He slept with anyone who caught his fancy. And I mean _anyone_. For years. I wouldn’t tell you that, ordinarily, but I thought it might make you feel a bit less self-conscious with him. And now that _I_ am feeling entirely self-conscious about it, I do hope that Blampa arrives with our dessert soon.” She looked up into Albus’s face, frowning slightly. “Albus, I took a good deal of trouble planning this meal. I know I didn’t cook it, and it’s not Delancie’s, but I did try. I wanted to make this a romantic evening for us. It started out quite nicely. Can we try to have it end that way as well? Please? No more discussion of Malcolm or anything else serious. All right?”

“Very well, my dear,” Albus said, smiling. “You are perfectly right. And the meal was delicious. A welcome treat. As are you.” He put an arm around her and leaned over and kissed her lightly. One kiss wasn’t sufficient, and he kissed her again. He was just considering finding the first of her Charmed hooks when there was a crack and Blampa arrived with their dessert.

Blampa set their desserts, foamy and pretty in tall fluted glasses, on the low table in front of them, with a small pot of coffee, cream, sugar, and two coffee cups. After asking whether there would be anything else, Blampa curtseyed and winked away with a smile on her face.

“What a very pretty dessert!” Albus said.

“Weinschaum,” Minerva said. “I used to enjoy it, and I thought it would go well with our meal. It always seems both light and rich at the same time.”

Albus took a taste of his with the long spoon that had accompanied the Weinschaum. “Mmm, yes, very good. Somewhat like sabayon, isn’t it?”

Minerva nodded. “Yes. I used to have this in Germany. A friend used to make it for me. I am glad you like it. I haven’t had it in years, myself. I had Blampa use Sylvaner, which is what my friend always used to use.”

“It is lovely, Minerva. Thank you,” Albus said, as he wiped a bit of the foamy dessert from his mustache. He took another spoonful, then asked, “Was that your friend Rudolf?”

“It was. As you know, he was a Potions master, and he enjoyed cooking. It seems most Potions masters I’ve known like to cook. Murdoch certainly does,” Minerva answered.

“I haven’t heard you speak of him in a long time. Do you still correspond?”

“Not really. Cards at Christmas. But . . . distance, you know. Johannes has met him, actually. Robert – Robert Crouch – knows him, as well. They collaborate occasionally. He said that he is doing very well for himself.”

“I see. I always had the impression that you were very good friends with him, though. It’s a pity that you have fallen out of touch,” Albus said, finishing the last of his dessert.

“We were,” Minerva said, unsure whether it would be a good idea to mention that she and Rudolf had been more than good friends. She remembered what Quin had said about the inadvisability of mentioning other lovers to Albus when he was still so sensitive about his age and suitability for her.

“In fact, I thought at the time that you might even be . . . more than friends. Not that I speculated about such things, but I couldn’t help notice the way you mentioned him in your letters seemed . . . familiar,” Albus said, genuinely curious, but not wanting to pry, either.

“Yes, well, we were. But it couldn’t have worked out,” Minerva said, feeling awkward.

“No?” Albus asked.

“No,” Minerva said quietly. “I couldn’t have stayed there and never have seen you again. I didn’t think you would ever be in love with me, but . . . I couldn’t bear the thought of being away from you. And I didn’t love Rudolf enough. It wouldn’t have been right for him, even if I had managed to force myself to stay.”

Albus’s eyebrows rose. “You . . . you were in love with me then?” It seemed hubris to suggest it, that Minerva had been in love with him for so long, when she was such a fresh, young, vibrant witch, barely yet embarked upon her adult life, but he had to ask.

Minerva nodded and spooned the last drops of Weinschaum from the bottom of her glass. “Yes,” she said simply. 

Albus knit his brow. “But we hadn’t seen each other in more than a year when your apprenticeship ended.”

“It would take more than a year for me to fall out of love with you, Albus, more than a decade, more than a lifetime,” Minerva said softly, taking his hand. “I could never fall in love with anyone else when my heart is so filled with you, when you hold my heart as you have for so long, even not knowing that you did.”

Albus put his arms around Minerva and held her close to him. Finally, he whispered, “For so long . . .”

Minerva nodded. “It’s embarrassing, really, but I couldn’t help myself. I even tried, early on, to distract myself, to convince myself that it was nothing more than a crush, that it would pass. But it never did, and nothing I could do would diminish my feelings for you, they simply grew stronger. I would sometimes feel less . . . less _desperate_ about it, but then something would remind me of you, or I would receive an owl from you, and I would realise that my feelings for you were just as strong, or stronger, and that no amount of time, distance, or distraction would ever rid me of them. It was so hard, loving you for so long and believing that it was impossible for us to be anything more than friends. I did try to content myself with that, though. And I was so hopeful when I arrived at Hogwarts in December that we would become better friends, but you avoided me. That was why I was so upset that day in Poppy’s office. She said it then, that she didn’t think it was just about wanting your respect, but I pretended I had no clue what else it could be about.”

Albus kissed the top of Minerva’s head. “She knows, then?”

Minerva thought a moment. “I don’t know. I am not sure. It could be that she guesses, or that she thinks it might be a possibility that I love you. But she hasn’t said. She is quite discreet, and she wouldn’t want to embarrass me if it weren’t the case, or if it were but I wasn’t prepared to admit it. Which I wasn’t. Not until very recently. But I always thought that Poppy would think . . . that she would think it was something other than love. Infatuation or physical attraction, but not this deep and abiding love I have for you.” She tried to snuggle closer into Albus’s embrace, and he put a hand under her and lifted her fully onto his lap.

They sat like that for a while, Minerva’s embarrassment at her revelation ebbing away to nothing. She was still not prepared to tell Albus precisely how long she had loved him, though now he knew that it was before her second apprenticeship began. Someday, she would tell him how she came to realise that she was in love with him, and the violence with which the realisation struck her, and the fear and despair that had accompanied it. But not yet.

Finally, Albus said, “I don’t know precisely when I began to love you as something more than the bright, precocious, warm-hearted child you once were. My feelings for you even when you were a student were deep, though. I had paid attention to you and your magical abilities as soon as I began to teach you, of course, as I was curious about the witch who wielded the mate to my wand, but my affection for you grew as I came to know you. You were a treasure then, Minerva, and you still are. But it was . . . it was sometime after you left school that I fell in love with you. My feelings were very strong for you even when you rescued me in France, when Carson died, but I was not yet in love with you, I think. But I was on the brink . . . perhaps if, that day when I came to deliver Carson’s letter, my behaviour had driven a permanent wedge between us, I would simply have mourned the loss of a potentially deep friendship. I do not know. But over the intervening years . . . something changed. It was as though my feelings all . . . coalesced, came into alignment. I think that I had a moment of realisation after your Challenge. A moment when I realised that I was in love with you.” Albus swallowed, closing his eyes. “But I put it out of my mind. I ignored it entirely, and I refused to even acknowledge the truth of that momentary realisation. Indeed, it was at that time when I decided it might be a good thing for me to find a witch to court. I wasn’t thinking explicitly that I was looking for a substitute for you, particularly as I would not even acknowledge to myself that you were anything other than a beloved former student to me. Yet it seemed to me, I think, that if I was beginning to have the stirrings of romantic feelings for you, it might be time for me to seek romance again. But I . . . I came to believe that it was too late for that. And then a few years later, Valerianna showed an interest in me. It was foolish of me to believe that her interest was genuine or that courting her would rid me of my uncomfortable and inappropriate attachment to you. But I think that a good part of the reason I began to see her was that I was unwilling to acknowledge my feelings for you. I thought that being with someone else would . . . would fix what I was feeling. But it couldn’t be fixed because it wasn’t wrong.”

Minerva turned her head and kissed Albus, drawing his lips between hers. “Mmm,” she murmured, kissing him again, then saying, “We are having no more serious conversation this evening but this: I love you. You love me. You told me. I told you. We have begun exploring my interesting idea, and we can continue exploring it . . . for the rest . . . of our . . . lives.” She punctuated her point with a few kisses and was pleased when Albus responded to her kisses, caressing her breast through the robe then reaching around her with his other hand to find her Charmed hooks. Before he could deactivate the charm, however, there was a hoot and a Scops Owl flew in through the open bedroom door and landed on the back of the sofa behind Albus’s head.

Minerva sighed. “We can’t escape interruptions tonight, can we?”

Albus shook his head, but then chuckled ruefully. “There are days like that, I suppose.”

Minerva sat up and took the little owl’s delivery from him, then she Summoned some owl treats from her study and sent them to Albus to feed the little fellow as she looked at the parchments.

“There’s one for each of us,” Minerva said, handing Albus his note then opening her own.

“Your brother has declined my offer of a meal in a Muggle restaurant and has invited me to join him at his flat for lunch. He suggests we meet at the gates at noon,” Albus said.

“Yes, well, Gertrude said that since we are both on our own tomorrow, we should have lunch together in her sitting room,” Minerva said. “I suppose I will go. I haven’t seen her in a while, and she’s likely curious . . . or she wants to talk about Malcolm, or both.”

“Good, so that’s settled.” Albus took Minerva’s letter from her and put it on the end table with his. 

“Chess?” Minerva suggested.

Albus nodded and picked up the chess set. “Shall we use that table?” he asked, gesturing at the table that had held the remains of their dinner until Blampa had removed it.

Minerva waved her wand and removed the linens from the table, then flicked it and a chessboard appeared in the centre of the table. One more flick, and the table was slightly smaller and more comfortable for playing. Albus set up the pieces, asking Minerva which she wanted, black or white. 

“I don’t seem to be doing very well with black, but I will stick with that, unless you would prefer to take it. You won the last game. It’s your choice,” Minerva answered.

Albus sat down behind the white pieces, and Minerva took up her place on the other side of the board. They played in silence for a while, Minerva determined to at least put up more of a fight this time.

“What about Egypt?” Albus asked suddenly.

“What about Egypt?” Minerva asked distractedly, trying to take in the whole board.

“For our holiday.”

“Check. I don’t know . . . maybe.”

“I have friends there. It’s an interesting country. Malcolm recently brought Gertrude there, and she enjoyed it immensely. Fulfilled a life-long dream of hers.”

“Check,” Minerva said again. “It sounds . . . interesting. Do you know of somewhere private we could stay?”

“I usually stay with either one of two friends there, one of whom is the Curator for Magical Antiquities in Cairo. I am certain he and his family would be happy to –”

“No. Check. No, I don’t want to stay with family friends. Or friends of yours. Or friends of mine. Or family of any kind. Check and mate!” she said triumphantly.

“Oh. Well, there are wizarding inns . . . ” Albus said as he looked at the board. “Very good game, Minerva! Very good, indeed. There is a very nice wizarding inn right near Abu Simbel. Small, and they wouldn’t mind if we were, um, together. Wouldn’t say anything or ask any awkward questions.”

“I want to avoid even avoiding awkward questions, Albus,” Minerva said with a sigh, taking the white pieces and setting them up on her side of the board. “I don’t want to stay where there are other people. I want something quiet where we can just be together. While I think it would be fascinating to visit Egypt someday, that isn’t the sort of holiday I had in mind.” Her shoulders slumped. “We should just forget it. Stay here. At least we occasionally have privacy here, even though more staff will be returning.” She moved out her queen’s pawn.

“No, I do think it is a good idea, my dear,” Albus said, reaching over and patting her hand. “I do want to go away with you a few days. I will think of something else.”

“Where did Malcolm and Gertrude stay, do you know?” Minerva asked.

“They camped. Yes, I know,” Albus said in reaction to Minerva’s expression. “It seems I’m not the only one with barmy ideas sometimes.”

“Camping . . . I guess that would provide privacy. We could do that,” Minerva said, but not sounding very enthusiastic about the idea.

Albus shook his head. “No, we want something more comfortable than that, don’t we?”

“Yes . . . I suppose we could stay at Melina’s,” Minerva said dispiritedly. “They’ll be gone all week. I have a room there. But I don’t like the idea of staying in their new home before they have even shared it together. And Edinburgh is hardly what I had in mind . . . I’d really prefer going to your cottage. You said it was on its own little island. It just seemed perfect when I thought of it.”

Albus took her hand in his. “Let me just think about it, all right, my dear? We needn’t decide anything this moment. We aren’t leaving until Sunday or so anyway.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the centre of her palm, closing his eyes and kissing it again, his lips lingering. “I love you so very much, Minerva,” he said softly, “so very, very much.” He looked at her over her fingers as they curled around his. “We will have a perfect holiday, or as close to perfect as possible. I promise.”

Minerva smiled and squeezed his hand. She nodded. “All right. All right, I trust you on that.”

After twenty more minutes of playing, they decided that neither of them would be able to win the game, and they declared it a draw. 

“Would you like a drink?” Minerva offered. “Or tea?”

“I should be going soon, but a cup of tea might be welcome,” Albus replied as he settled the chessmen back in their box.

“Do you really need to go?” Minerva asked as she stood to get their tea. “Can’t you stay?”

“I have a meeting tomorrow at nine, and I must admit to being rather tired.”

Minerva sighed. She had been after him not to keep such late hours. “But you could still stay . . . here. Then we could have breakfast together and you could go to your meeting.”

Albus moved over to the sofa. “No, I . . . would prefer not,” he said uncomfortably.

“But –”

“It . . . it isn’t the right time, Minerva, my dear,” Albus said softly.

“Right, not the right time,” Minerva said curtly. “I’ll just get our tea then.”

“Minerva –”

Minerva stood in the kitchen, getting the tea things together, when she felt Albus behind her.

“I’m managing. It’ll just be a tick,” Minerva said, not turning.

Albus put his arms around her, placing one hand on her stomach and one caressing upward to her breasts. He kissed her hair. “I love you, Minerva. But as much as it would be . . . more than pleasant to stay, we have time, you know. And we will be going away together in a few days.”

“Separate bedrooms, though. Is that why you want to stay in those inns and pensions and other people’s homes?” Minerva asked, an edge in her voice.

“No, no, Minerva, no . . .” Albus turned her and kissed her, first her mouth then the lids of her closed eyes. “That is what I want to wait for . . . I want it to be romantic, perfect and romantic for you, my beloved Minerva.”

“It is spending the night together, next to each other –”

“It is more than that, my love. I want to court you . . . I should have been stronger tonight, but I don’t regret that I wasn’t. Despite that, I still . . . I still . . . I need to be able to romance you,” he said very softly.

Minerva opened her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, then she reached up and caressed him, letting her hand come to rest on his bearded jaw. She smiled and nodded. They each had their needs, and his could come first at this moment. 

“I love you, Albus,” she said before kissing him softly and then leaning against him. “And you are very romantic. I love the earrings. You know, when I bought the necklace, I was thinking of you. It looked to me as though there were two bees caught in the amber. I don’t know what they really are, but I was missing you terribly that day, and I saw the necklace and thought of you. So the earrings are very special to me. Thank you.”

Albus sighed and closed his eyes as he held Minerva. “I should have waited until this evening to give them to you. Made it more special, more memorable. Not just handed them to you in my office after lunch. I am sorry if I have done everything wrong today.”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t at all. Here, give me another kiss?” she said, looking up at him.

He kissed her gently on the mouth, then he smiled at her. “Being with you is lovely, so very wonderful. And I do promise you a holiday you will remember, a romantic holiday, one that we both will enjoy.”

“Come, let’s have our tea so you can get to sleep at a reasonable hour tonight. And don’t forget your Vitamin Potion!” Minerva said, drawing back and looking up with a smile.

“Yes, Mother McGonagall. I will remember my Vitamin Potion,” Albus said. “Let me get the tray for you, my dear. What is the tea tonight?”

“A blend my mother makes. Black currant and mint, mainly,” Minerva answered. “You know, I never did tell her whether we were staying the night or not. I assumed we wouldn’t, but if you would like to . . .”

“I don’t know. Would you like to, my dear? I am sure it won’t matter to Gertrude whether we return that night or in the morning. I do have a great deal to do on Thursday, though, since your niece’s wedding is on Friday, then Saturday will be quite full, and then we will be leaving for a few days. I couldn’t stay for the day on Thursday.”

“I don’t know. I am of two minds about it, myself. We could just decide tomorrow, after we’re there. I am sure that Mother and Dad could provide you with anything you might need for the night.”

They sat on the sofa and drank their tea, discussing their plans for the next day, until Albus couldn’t suppress a yawn.

“You should get to bed, Albus,” Minerva said, taking his hand.

He nodded. “I am reluctant to leave, but I will see you tomorrow. Would you care to come for breakfast? Eight o’clock?”

Minerva agreed, and she let Albus out the door after giving him one more kiss and wishing him sweet dreams. As much as she wished he would stay, it was, paradoxically, easier to see him leave now that they had declared their love. He would be waiting for her in the morning, still loving her, and she could greet him with a kiss . . . which might lead to more. Perhaps on his couch next time. Minerva smiled and extinguished the sitting room lamps. Morning was just around the corner.


	129. A Mercurial McGonagall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Malcolm practise; Malcolm and Albus have lunch together.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Malcolm McGonagall, and Gertrude Gamp.

**CXXIX: A Mercurial McGonagall**

Minerva paced in front of the great oak doors. The weather was fine, if somewhat windy that day, so she was awaiting Malcolm outside. It wasn’t quite ten o’clock yet, but she had taken a walk while the others had their meeting, and so had arrived back too late to go back to Gryffindor Tower but too early for Malcolm to have come down yet. She had given some thought to how she might help Malcolm practise, and she hoped he had some ideas about it, as she had only come up with casting spells and having him block them. Which didn’t seem particularly innovative.

Minerva turned when she heard the door open behind her.

“Good morning, little sister! How are you on this fine day?” her brother asked as he trotted down the steps.

“Good – I hope the meeting went well?” she replied.

“Just peaches! That Flitwick is a fine fellow. I now have the rules for the duel,” Malcolm said cheerily, leading Minerva around back of the castle, “but still not a clue as to what Dumbledore has planned beforehand.”

“I’m sure it will be something you are equal to,” Minerva said. “I get the sense – from both of you – that this is more of a game than a qualifying exam, so don’t worry too much about it.”

“I don’t worry. Well, not much,” he said with a grin.

“Where are we off to at such a pace?” Minerva asked. Her brother had longer legs than she, and she was practically running to keep up.

“Quidditch pitch. It’s where the duel will be. Dumbledore didn’t say where the rest of it would take place, but I got the impression it wasn’t to be on the Quidditch pitch. We’ll see!”

They entered the Quidditch stadium, and Minerva was suddenly unaccountably nervous. A peculiar sort of stage fright came over her, despite the lack of anyone in the stands. Ridiculous! She focussed on her brother and ignored the many tiers of empty benches. 

“Did you have something in mind, a way that I could best help?” Minerva asked.

“Aye. We’ll play a bit of ping pong – not literally!” Malcolm laughed at Minerva’s expression. “I thought we could stand twenty paces or so apart and trade spells. You send me a hex, I’ll block it, then I’ll send you one, and you block it, but nice and easy. Nothing too fast – at least until I have a sense of your level, hmm?”

“All right – what sorts of hexes?”

“Any sort, as long as they won’t maim or permanently injure. And no Unforgivables, of course. That goes without saying. And you can be inventive, if you wish. It would be good if you were, actually. I can imagine that Dumbledore will be.”

“More so than I could be. And he is much more powerful,” Minerva said.

“Aye, more powerful, but you have the same feel. Whatever you send me will be similarly tuned – gives me a bit of an advantage, really, over a confrontation with a stranger,” Malcolm said.

“We have the same feel?”

“Yes, your magic. Very similar. His is richer, more powerful, but very similar. Noticed it when I met him, in fact. Couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but every time he cast a spell, there was something familiar about it. Then it hit me, his magic reminded me of my little sister.” Malcolm walked out to the middle of the pitch. “Come on, now, we haven’t all day!”

Minerva furrowed her brow as she followed her brother out onto the pitch. “What difference does that make to you?” she asked, though she was remembering her own speculations earlier in the summer that awareness of an opponent’s magical resonance might be helpful in defence. 

“It doesn’t take as much energy to counter a spell if you can tune your defence to their signature,” Malcolm replied. “If you really are very familiar with an opponent’s magic, you could even – theoretically, anyway – tune your spell and cast a more effective hex. Haven’t managed that myself. Haven’t had occasion to try, actually.”

“Why don’t they teach that? I took Defence right through NEWTs and got an O, and I never heard of it. I’ve speculated about it myself, but I have never heard anyone discuss it.”

Malcolm shrugged. “Most people can’t sense their opponent’s magic, anyway. Or anyone’s magic, for that matter, except as a sort of . . . general hum, sometimes. I’ve always been able to, and I’ve worked on improving that ability, but it wouldn’t be practical, now, would it, to try to teach something to students who are fundamentally incapable of accomplishing it on even a most rudimentary level?”

“But theoretically –”

“Theoretically, it might be something that is taught to Aurors, or in the Department of Mysteries. Doubt that even most of them could accomplish it, either. Come, are we going to jabber all day or practise?”

“Practise,” Minerva said, drawing her wand. She could use the practice herself, anyway. She might be more magically fit than Gertrude, but she hadn’t practised her defensive magic in a long time.

Malcolm nodded. “Okay. You go first, then. We’ll just take turns in the beginning, so don’t worry about how fast you cast – unlike yesterday – but do try for some control. And if you can manage nonverbal, that would be helpful to me.”

If she could manage nonverbal, indeed! Minerva would show him nonverbal. She would also minimise her wand movement to the barest necessary to cast the spell. No flamboyance. Just a good, subtle cast.

Malcolm countered her Leg Locker easily, and cast a basic Stinging Hex, which Minerva likewise blocked. They continued in that manner for almost twenty minutes. Finally, Malcolm held up a hand and lowered his wand.

“I think it’s time to pick up the pace,” he said. “Free-cast. Now!” He slashed his wand through the air, and a bright orange spell arced toward her.

Startled, Minerva raised a strong, general shield, but it tired her and she couldn’t get off another spell before he had cast a second hex, which she likewise didn’t recognise until it was upon her, and a Blasting Hex hit her shield. Her defensive spell held, however, and she quickly went on the offensive and cast a few spells in rapid succession, side-stepping Malcolm’s curses rather than attempting to block them. Malcolm laughed in delight as he countered her spells, including one meant to Transfigure his hands into hooves, then he cast something new that met her Stunner midway on its path and caused a shimmering halo to expand outward and then seem to shatter into multi-coloured shards of iridescence. This startled Minerva so much that she hesitated, and Malcolm’s next hex hit her, undeterred. She fell flat on her back and her vision was temporarily obscured, everything appearing red. Minerva blinked, and as her vision recovered, Malcolm’s face appeared above her.

She tried to speak, but only managed a croak, and Malcolm smiled in response. “You’ll be fine, little sister. Just take shallow breaths until you get a headache, then you can breathe more normally, and we can continue.”

Minerva croaked at her brother again, but he just sat cross-legged on the ground next to her, pulled a penny whistle from somewhere, and began to play a little tune. An annoying little tune. A few minutes later, a sharp pain shot through her head, and involuntarily, she took a deep breath.

“Will you stop that infernal racket?” Minerva said hoarsely.

“Ah, the headache has hit? It doesn’t last. Sooner you’re on your feet, the sooner it will go away.” Malcolm put the penny whistle away and held out his hand to her. “Come on, up on your feet, little sister!”

Minerva was relieved to discover that she could move her arm. She reached out for Malcolm, who grasped her hand, stood, and heaved Minerva to her feet. She was a bit dizzy, but she found that she could stand just fine. 

“Your headache should just fade away. Won’t take long!” Malcolm said cheerfully. “I didn’t put much oomph behind it.”

“What was that?” Minerva asked.

“Modified Stunner with just a bit of a _Petrificus_ thrown in. I call it ‘ _Stare et Attendere_.’ Good for talking to someone who doesn’t want to listen to you. Safer than a powerful _Petrificus Totalis_ even at its strongest, and never knocks them out completely, no matter how hard it’s cast, but it can render them incapacitated for quite some time, depending on the force I put behind it,” he answered. “That was just a tickle.”

“A tickle?” Minerva said sceptically.

“Aye – how’s the head?”

Minerva shook her head vigorously. “It’s fine. The headache is gone.”

“And you can move about without a problem?”

Minerva stretched and walked in a circle. “Apparently.”

“No residual discomfort or stiffness?”

“No.”

“It was just a tickle then. Ready for more?” Malcolm asked hopefully.

Minerva nodded. He had asked for inventive earlier. After that experience, she was ready to be inventive.

As soon as they were in their places, Minerva cast the first jinx, grinning as she did so. Malcolm hadn’t been prepared this time, and he began hopping up and down. He managed to spell one boot off, and he quickly cast a _Petrificus Totalis_ , which Minerva blocked easily. She followed up her block with another little spell. Malcolm still hadn’t managed to remove his other rapidly shrinking boot, and as he hopped, her second spell hit, and as soon as his foot came down, he slipped backward and landed with a thud on a sheet of ice. 

Malcolm pointed his wand at his shoe and with a grimace said, “ _Finite Incantatum_ ,” then he spelled the shoe off his foot, since it was now far to tight to remove in any other way. 

He looked up at his sister and grinned. “Nice. Very nice. Imaginative combination. Have to remember that one!”

Malcolm sat and rubbed his feet while Minerva returned his boots to their normal size.

“Do you have any imaginative combinations in store for Dumbledore?” Minerva asked her brother as he pulled his short boots back on.

“A few possibilities,” he said, standing. He looked around him, then scuffed speculatively at the turf. “One reason that they chose the Quidditch pitch is that the wards are apparently weaker here. Can’t have a very good game of Quidditch if the Bludgers are slowed or players can’t fly aggressively, after all. Do you know much about the wards out here?”

Minerva did, more than she cared to, having transformed back and forth and back and forth as she trotted in and out of the stadium the summer that she helped Dumbledore with the wards. When she wasn’t doing the same thing down at the gates, or in the dungeons, or in the Astronomy Tower, or even Hogwarts Heart. She had actually become tired of transforming into her Animagus form, which she hadn’t believed was possible when she had first achieved her form several weeks before. But they had tuned the wards to recognise a person in Animagus form, and it had been worth their efforts. Not that she had done any of the tuning, of course, but it couldn’t have been done without her, and Dumbledore had allowed her to observe when he was working on the other wards, as well, and Professor Gamp had even shown her the Arithmantic calculations that she was doing and had spent some time explaining the magical inversions and adjustments she performed on them and how she determined where to cast them. Yes, Minerva knew something of the Hogwarts wards.

“Why do you ask?” Minerva replied.

“It would be good to know precisely how inventive I can be, or whether Dumbledore will have an advantage over me because we’re on Hogwarts grounds,” Malcolm said. “My options might be limited and his enhanced. He is Headmaster of the place. He must hold the wards.”

Minerva looked over at him sharply. “I don’t know enough to be able to help you. I don’t doubt that Gertrude knows more than I do. She has taught here longer and is Deputy Headmistress.” Minerva didn’t add that Gertrude had also worked on the wards with Albus, using Arithmancy to help him bring them into alignment again.

“Mmm. I suppose. But she isn’t a Head of House. You are. You must have a better sense of the wards.”

“Gertrude, as you must know since you are asking about it, can also hold the wards, just as a Head of House can. I really don’t feel comfortable discussing this, Malcolm,” Minerva said. “It’s not that I don’t want to help you. I just don’t know what I can tell you of what I do know, and I really don’t know very much. And if Gertrude doesn’t feel comfortable talking to you about it for fear of bias of some sort, why don’t you talk to Johannes? He’s been at Hogwarts for years, and has been Head of Ravenclaw for much longer than Gertrude has been Deputy Headmistress. He would have a sense of what information might be helpful to you and what would be . . . permissible to divulge.”

“That is an idea, but Johannes . . .” Malcolm frowned and looked off into the distance. “He has been perfectly cordial, you understand, and I know from what both you and Trudie have said that he and Gertrude were never a couple. But I think that for a long time, he hoped that she might return his interest. I assume that one reason he decided to leave Hogwarts is that he gave up. If he truly had hope, he would not have abandoned her. I never would. Even if Trudie no longer wished to see me. I would abide by her wishes, but I would never truly leave her, and I would never give up hope that she might change her mind.” Malcolm shook his head. “But that isn’t the point. The point is, I don’t think Johannes likes me. I don’t want to put him in an awkward position.”

“He is a good man, Malcolm,” Minerva said gently. “Approach him as a friend. Don’t press him for his help, but give him the opportunity to offer it. He might appreciate it. He and Gertrude _have_ been friends for a long time. Johannes could simply be feeling shut out, even if he does know that he never had a chance with her. He might feel as though he’s lost a friend. Why don’t you . . . make it seem that he’s gained one, instead?”

Malcolm grinned at her. “Good idea, Minerva. Aye, an excellent idea, in fact.” He nodded. “I will do just that this afternoon. Thank you!” He put an arm around her and gave her a quick squeeze.

The two walked over to the Gryffindor section of the stands and climbed up to the lowest tier of seats, far above the pitch. Malcolm took a folded, slightly crumpled parchment from his sporran, and a small, brightly coloured packet. He held the packet out to Minerva.

“Gum?” he offered. “Bubble gum?”

Minerva made a face. Malcolm shrugged and popped two pieces into his mouth and began to chew, softening it up, as he unfolded the parchment and looked at it. 

“I’ve been reading this over, trying to figure out what” – Malcolm blew a bubble and popped it – “what Dumbledore might have in store for me. I have a few ideas, but I was wondering what you thought.” He shoved the parchment toward her.

Minerva perused the letter again, smirking on her second reading of it. It actually _was_ somewhat amusing, she thought. “Well,” Minerva said, “as I don’t believe he wants to endanger everyone’s lives, I very much doubt that he’ll have a Nundu for you. Maybe a Boggart? Doxies are an easy thing to deal with, but they are also easy to procure, so he might have some Doxies. Or he might go for the Cornish Pixies. One or the other, but not both, I am sure, as they are both elementary pests, at least in a contained situation such as this. I doubt he’d use Nifflers, as they are not at all any kind of a challenge.”

“Unless you are overrun with them – you should have seen Venice! But you are right, I think, on the other points,” Malcolm said. “Any other ideas?”

“He may have a cursed object for you to deal with, though I imagine it will be something he curses himself. That means . . . that means it will likely be difficult, challenging for you, but whimsical, and probably not terribly dangerous,” Minerva said thoughtfully. “Not for this challenge, although I am sure he could place a dangerous curse on something, if he wished.”

“Now, that _is_ helpful to know,” Malcolm said, nodding, “and it seems in keeping with what I know of Dumbledore.”

“And I wouldn’t ignore what you called your hobbies, Malcolm.”

Malcolm laughed. “Think we’ll go skinny-dipping with the Giant Squid? That could be fun!” 

Minerva chuckled. “No, I rather doubt that.”

“Oh, too bad!”

“And I also don’t think he will conjure a table tennis . . . table, either,” Minerva said. “But this Apparition-by-Broom, that’s something that might catch his fancy, though I haven’t a clue how he’d test it.”

“I’ll bring my own broom,” Malcolm said with a grin, “and my penny whistle, too. I wouldn’t want to try it on a strange broom unless I had to.”

The two chatted for a while longer, Minerva explaining a few of the Transfiguration spells she had used but which had never hit their target, then Malcolm banished his chewing gum and they climbed down and left the stadium, heading for the front gates where he was to meet Albus.

“You know, Malcolm, about lunch with Albus,” Minerva began.

“Aye, lunch with Dumbledore. Looking forward to that! Maybe he’ll give me a hint or two about Saturday. I thought I’d show him my enchanted blowpipe,” Malcolm said enthusiastically.

“Your what? Never mind that – I just want to ask you to be, well, on your best behaviour.”

Malcolm stopped. Shaking his head, Malcolm said, “I am not a complete barbarian, you know. I like having guests.” He continued walking. “I also thought he might enjoy seeing my Charmed Obsidian Seer’s Glass. It’s used by Seers in certain parts of the world in the way that we would use a crystal ball. I can’t get it to do much, but I was never very good at divination. Your friend Quin, though, he was able to do some rather amazing things with it. Quite impressed, I was.”

“You saw Quin?” Minerva asked, distracted from her original point by this information.

“Aye, on Monday. Had him come for lunch. He enjoyed himself, I think,” Malcolm said. “Gave him cassoulet. Seemed to like it. Can’t serve that to Dumbledore, though. Don’t have time to make it. It’ll be something a bit simpler today.” He turned and grinned at his sister. “Thanks for the practice, Minerva. It was fun.”

Minerva returned his smile. “Yes, it was, wasn’t it? Though I could have done without that one spell.”

“You’re none the worse for wear, though. But you’ll have an appetite for your lunch, I’m sure.” Malcolm looked toward the castle. “And here comes Dumbledore now. Don’t worry, little sister, I won’t be poisoning him with my cooking.”

Minerva laughed. “All right. I’ll trust you. Not that I thought you would poison him. He’d probably notice before you managed it, anyway.”

Albus waved and caught up with them. “Did you two have a good time?” he asked. He looked at Minerva as if trying to assess whether she had been injured.

Minerva nodded. “It was more fun than I had thought it would be. I suppose I’m appreciating the notion of a sporting duel a little more. Although I think I need to be less distractable,” Minerva said with a small rueful grin.

“You’re all right?” Albus asked with some concern.

“Oh, yes, quite all right. And I caught Malcolm out, so that made up for my injured pride,” Minerva answered.

Malcolm laughed. “Aye, it was her simplest spells that got me. And she can be quick!” Malcolm looked at his sister, his eyes dancing with mirth. “But I knew that already!”

The three reached the gates, and Albus said, “I’ve passed the wards to Gertrude. She asked me to tell you to come up as soon as you like. You needn’t wait until twelve-thirty.”

Minerva nodded. “Don’t let Malcolm distract you all afternoon, Albus. I’ll be waiting for you,” she said, reminding him of their plans.

“I’ll get him back before two, would that do?” Malcolm asked.

“Yes, fine. I’ll see you later, then,” Minerva said, smiling at Albus. She did hope that the lunch would go well. Malcolm seemed to have forgotten his concerns of the evening before and to be focussed on showing Albus some of his artifacts. She hoped very much that Malcolm mentioned neither his age nor the old rumours he had heard.

Albus smiled at her. “Have a nice lunch with Gertrude, my dear!” He gave her arm a quick squeeze.

“So, I thought that since you haven’t been to my flat before, I’d bring you by Side-Along,” Malcolm said.

“Side-Along?” Albus said. He took a breath and nodded. “Yes, most sensible.”

Malcolm took Albus’s arm, and a moment later, the two were gone with a sharp crack. Minerva, glad that Malcolm hadn’t Splinched the Headmaster, despite the unlikelihood of it, turned and headed back up to the castle to meet Gertrude for lunch.

Albus looked around himself. Malcolm had Apparated them directly into his all-purpose sitting room. 

“Welcome to my humble abode, Professor. This is my, um, sitting room, I suppose you could say, over here is my little kitchen,” he said gesturing toward a closed swinging door, “and through there is my bedroom. The loo is through the bedroom, if you need it.”

With a few books and boxes set in orderly rows on a set of shelves at one end of the room, a small settee, a single armchair, ottoman, two straight-backed chairs, and a square table, the flat was neat, clean, spare, and might have been called austere in its furnishings were it not for the bright, multicoloured cushions and cloths. There was a Muggle picture on the wall, likewise colourful and lively. Albus walked over and looked at it.

“Chagall, is it?” he asked, unsure.

“Aye, marvellous, isn’t it? Gouache pastel,” Malcolm answered. “I met him a few years ago. I had always liked his work. Whenever I had the opportunity to see it, I did, and one day, I was travelling in Greece, and I saw the man himself. Recognised him immediately, so I went up to him and told him how much joy and inspiration he had brought me. We got to talking, and he showed me a few of the things he was working on at the time. I liked this. He had just finished it. He said it was supposed to have been a study for a larger work that he never did, so he had finished this up as it was. I couldn’t miss the opportunity to have something of his. It feels somewhat selfish to me, having it hanging here for my own enjoyment, but I liked it.” He shrugged. 

“It is wonderful. I like the smiling cow flying in the background, and the goat, playing the fiddle,” Albus said. “And the colours are simply amazing. I can see why you acquired it.”

“Muggle magic, I call it. That is Muggle magic at its best,” Malcolm said. “Glad you like it. I have a few other things you might like to take a look at – not Muggle, though.”

Fifteen minutes later, he left Albus playing with an enchanted gyroscope, the Charmed Obsidian Seer’s Glass beside it, awaiting his attention, and the long magical blowpipe leaning up against the wall nearby.

* * *

Minerva walked back up to the castle. As she started up the stairs, she could hear Hagrid and Johannes laughing in the staff room. She hoped that Malcolm did speak with Johannes that afternoon. It would be good for Gertrude, too, she was sure. Gertrude likely had not wanted to hurt her friend’s feelings, nor to lose her friendship with him. From what Albus had said, Gertrude was careful to whom she extended her friendship; she must care for Johannes and not want to lose his friendship simply because she had fallen in love. Fallen in love . . . Minerva smiled. She never would have thought Gertrude could fall in love, and that had been very uncharitable of her. Gertrude simply had suffered a great deal in her life, in addition to being a naturally reserved person. But Malcolm – that still seemed incongruous to her, Malcolm and Gertrude together. “Trudie,” as he called her. But incongruous as the thought may have been, when the two were together, they seemed natural and comfortable.

Minerva rapped lightly on the portrait frame outside Gertrude’s room, and the old witch in the portrait disappeared to announce her presence. A second later, the door opened, and Minerva entered to see Gertrude smiling, waiting for her.

“I’m glad you could come for lunch, Minerva,” Gertrude said. “Spoonie has already served everything.” Gertrude’s eyes sparkled. “I sent her to Madam Puddifoot’s for our dessert. Told her to take her time. Apparently, my little Spoonie is growing up. I think she’s found love in the kitchen down there. Some elf named, what was it . . . Feego, I believe. So I have found an excuse to send her into Hogsmeade daily, and I have been eating rather more cakes and biscuits than usual. Good thing that Malcolm is here so often. He has quite an appetite and can help me with it all.”

Minerva smiled. “Feego, that’s Madam Puddifoot’s free house-elf.”

“Free elf?” Gertrude asked. “Ah. Well, we’ll cross that bridge later. See how things go. Please, have a seat! How have you been?”

Minerva nodded. “Quite well. You?”

Gertrude smiled. “Very well, indeed,” she said, buttering her bread. “I was glad to see that you and Albus have overcome your difficulties.”

Minerva blushed. “Yes, well, I suppose we have. Most of them, I think.”

“I was so hoping that your feelings went in that direction. I hope you don’t mind my saying that. I always knew you cared for him, of course, and I was pleased when I came to believe you could return his feelings for you. But then I began to worry that the two of you would just keep waltzing past one another.” Gertrude smiled happily. “It is good to know that you aren’t any longer.”

“Yes, it is quite a relief to us, as well,” Minerva said with a smile.

“If you ever want to talk about anything, I am here,” Gertrude said, “although I am sure there are other people in whom you would prefer to confide. But I have known Albus a long time, and I know him very well. If there’s any way that I can help . . . Now, would you like some cheese? I have a nice mature Wensleydale here – it was one of Reg’s favourites – and a very lovely Cornish Yarg.”

Minerva helped herself to a little of each, taking a bit more of the deeply-veined Yarg. “How are you and Malcolm?”

“We’re fine.” Gertrude took a sip of her tomato soup. “I am slightly . . . apprehensive about Saturday. I believe that Malcolm will acquit himself well, however.”

“I have never heard of Malcolm having a job for a full year before. I presume that the reason he is considering it is because you are here,” Minerva said.

“I did tell him that he shouldn’t take it only because I would like him to, although it would have been disingenuous of me to behave as though I was ambivalent about it. But it was a factor in his decision. That and you said that you enjoyed teaching here,” Gertrude replied.

“I have also never – and I literally mean ‘never’ – known him to be in a relationship with a witch, and most certainly never so besotted. Perhaps that is not the best word to use, but he counts on you being there for him.” Minerva looked at Gertrude for a moment. “I am glad to know that you are . . . reliable, if you don’t mind my being frank.”

Gertrude quirked a grin. “I would hope you would be, Minerva.”

Minerva wanted to ask her about Albus’s reluctance to go on holiday with her at his cottage – which they had discussed again that morning. He had again explained his feelings about it, but Minerva had found the reasons peculiar. She had tried to tell him that there were different kinds of romantic settings, and he had sighed and said that he understood that completely, which is why he had come up with the many different suggestions for a destination. His latest suggestions had been Tibet and Nepal, followed by the French Pyrenees and Andorra. And they did sound like romantic destinations, and the wizarding inns he mentioned also sounded romantic and lovely. She was beginning to feel unreasonable in her repeated suggestion to go to his cottage, and gauche in having essentially invited herself to his home. Of course, he had never actually lived there; it was more of a retreat from Hogwarts for him than a home. But it seemed that the more Albus suggested other destinations, the more attractive his cottage became to Minerva. Of course, perhaps he was right, and it wasn’t appropriate for some reason; after all, she had never been there. She was oddly fixated on it, though, and it did appeal to her to spend a few days completely alone with Albus in his own cottage on its little island. At least he had said he would consider it.

The rest of Minerva and Gertrude’s lunch was spent talking about Hogwarts and the upcoming school year, Minerva still unwilling to discuss anything too personal with Gertrude, and Gertrude seemed comfortable with that, as well.

In Malcolm’s flat, he and Albus were eating croque monsieurs with cucumber salad, drinking cider, and trading stories, Malcolm sharing more tales than Albus, but keeping Albus thoroughly amused. Albus was so entertained, he had almost, but not quite, forgotten why he had initially invited Malcolm to have lunch with him. So when Malcolm mentioned Minerva’s name, Albus simply took another swallow of cider.

“Minerva and I had a nice chat yesterday morning,” Malcolm said. “I understand that – how did she put it? – you have entered a new phase in your relationship. That’s grand. Minerva seems happy about that. You two have known each other for a long time; you must know her quite well.”

When Malcolm paused, Albus nodded and said, “Yes, I think we do know each other well. We have been friends for some time.”

“She loves you,” Malcolm stated superfluously.

Albus smiled. “I am very fortunate.”

“Aye, you are. Did she tell you anything of our conversation?” Malcolm asked, spearing his last slice of cucumber with his fork.

“A little,” Albus said, leaning back in his chair and taking another drink from his glass.

“Refill?” Malcolm Summoned two more bottles of cider and uncapped them with a flick of his finger. As he refilled their glasses, he said, “She loves you fiercely, Dumbledore. Practically took my head off, she did – almost literally – when I dared to say something a bit uncomplimentary of you.” He took a long drink of his cider, then set the glass down and looked at Albus quite seriously. “It turned out to be a test of her, as much as of the openness of your relationship and of what she knew of you. She really does love you. Don’t do anything to betray it or to hurt her – I don’t believe you would do so deliberately, nor do I believe you are likely to do so. But if you do, I am just giving you warning that she would not suffer it easily. She is a McGonagall and a Tyree. You are more powerful, but . . . her temper might overcome your caution. That’s all I’m saying.” He touched his cheek briefly. “And if her temper didn’t, mine certainly would. And I don’t cool off as quick as she does. But that isn’t really what I wanted to talk to you about today. Let me be blunt. Very blunt. You may decide you don’t want to offer me the job, I’m so blunt. She says you’ve been a perfect gentleman to her.”

Albus, somewhat at a loss at the sudden turn the conversation had taken and unsure of where Malcolm was heading with it, shrugged slightly. “I have certainly endeavoured to be.”

“Don’t ‘endeavour’ so hard is my advice, for what it’s worth. As I said, Minerva is a McGonagall and a Tyree. She is fiery. Buttoned up much of the time, but still, it’s there. She didn’t go into detail – she was very circumspect, in fact – but you have been too much of a gentleman. That much she did say. Minerva likes romance as much as any witch, I am certain. And she assuredly deserves romance and to be treated well and with respect . . . but . . . well, not to put too fine a point on it, don’t treat her like a delicate flower all of the time. I don’t know what you’ve been up to over the last several . . . decades, but if you are nervous about the, um, the warmer aspects of romance, just” – Malcolm took a deep breath – “just get over it. You defeated Grindelwald after more than two days of torture – I knew Katherine Fellows rather well at one time, so I know about that – and if you could do that, you can get over your nervousness. Make her happy, Dumbledore. You can make her happy. Romance is more than flowers and pretty speeches. Don’t try so hard to be a gentleman with her. Just be yourself. That will be enough. She loves you.” Malcolm drank off the rest of his cider then looked at the clock on the wall. “I said I’d have you back by two. It’s getting on toward one-thirty. So, am I fired?” Malcolm asked, turning back toward Albus, not looking in the least bit worried.

Albus laughed. “You can’t be fired from a job you don’t have yet. Wait until I hire you first. And you’ll have to work harder than that at being objectionable before I would fire you, anyway.” Albus laughed again. He had thought at the beginning of Malcolm’s “treat-my-sister-right speech” that he would warn him away or tell him to treat Minerva like a lady, and instead, Malcolm had essentially told him to accelerate the pace of the relationship. “I will do my best to bring Minerva happiness. And you are right, I would never intentionally do anything to hurt her and I would do anything I could to keep her from harm.” He looked at Malcolm speculatively. “May I surmise that you caught a bit of her fiery temper yesterday?”

Malcolm laughed. “I most certainly did. She opened a three-inch gash on my face, right down to the bone, practically all the way through the cheek, in fact. I’m afraid she didn’t take kindly to something which I suggested she might not be aware of.” Malcolm shook his head. “It wasn’t anything that mattered anyway. Not to me, nor to her. So there’s nothing to discuss there.”

“Well, as long as we’re speaking wizard-to-wizard, Malcolm, you should know that Gertrude and I have been friends for forty years. No matter what happens, that will stay the same,” Albus said. “Gertrude is a remarkable witch, as I am sure you have recognised, and she has already suffered greatly. Reginald was the great love of her life. Losing him hurt her. It changed her. She seems to be blossoming in your company. She has fallen in love with you with startling rapidity. I love her and don’t want to see her hurt. I know you each have your own lives to lead, and sometimes . . . sometimes pain is inevitable in a relationship. But if you can’t stay with her – and if you can’t love Gertrude the way she deserves, you _shouldn’t_ stay with her – then be honest with her and tell her. Don’t just disappear, either literally or figuratively.”

Malcolm was quiet for a moment, then he said, “All right, I suppose I was blunt with you. But you needn’t worry. She and I have already had this talk, and to be honest, I am afraid that she will discover that she fell in love too fast and with a wizard who isn’t all she had thought he was. I fear disappointing her.” He looked at Albus steadily. “You’re the other wizard, aren’t you? The other love of her life. I thought for a while . . . I didn’t think it could be you.”

Albus shook his head. “No, no, I wasn’t. I don’t know whom she was speaking of. I only knew of Reginald. If there was anyone else . . . it wasn’t me.” Albus looked uncomfortable. “I don’t discuss such things, but, as I say, we have been friends for a very long time. Our friendship . . . our friendship expressed itself in different ways at different times. But she was never in love with me. You are a lucky man – I am sure that there have been wizards over the years who had their hearts broken by her and her desire to remain only friends.”

“Oh.” Malcolm looked puzzled, then he shrugged. “Well, would you like some coffee? We have time for a quick cup. Or tea, if you would prefer that.”

Albus smiled. “Tea would be very nice, indeed.”

A few minutes later, Malcolm set down a pot of tea, milk, and two cups. “Do you take sugar? I have some.”

“I usually do take sugar. It smells good. What is it?” Albus asked.

“It’s an Assam blended with some Indian spices, heavy on the cinnamon,” Malcolm replied, Summoning a crock of sugar.

The two sipped their tea in companionable silence. 

“I’m glad you could come for lunch, Professor. Next time, I’ll serve something a bit more posh,” Malcolm said as they stood.

“I enjoyed this very much, both the meal and the company,” Albus said. “And if you like, you may call me Albus, you know.”

“All right, I’ll try to remember. Um, about yesterday. I’m sorry if I was rude. But I was uncomfortable with that. Being called ‘my boy.’ And it did strike me as odd, given that I am seventeen years older than Minerva and, well, never mind that – I do say the most inept things sometimes. And sometimes, in trying to make something better, I make it worse,” he said with a sheepish grin, “like now.”

Albus returned his smile. “That’s all right, although I do hope you will forgive me if I occasionally forget.”

Malcolm nodded. “Agreed. We should get back, I suppose. Minerva will be looking for you soon, and Gertrude claims she’d like me to keep her company, and I choose to believe her,” he said with a laugh. “You two have plans for the afternoon?”

Albus hesitated, then said, “We are going to the McGonagall Cliffs. Your parents have invited us for dinner.”

Malcolm looked slightly surprised. “Oh! Do they know, then?”

Albus nodded. “Apparently before we had realised ourselves. And Minerva wrote them a letter on Saturday.”

Malcolm asked, “Are you nervous?”

“Minerva assures me that I have no reason to be nervous,” Albus replied.

Malcolm smiled at him. “I would be nervous, too, if I were you. But don’t be. If they’ve known and now they are inviting you both around, they must be okay with it. I know that they both like you.” Malcolm grinned wickedly. “Or they did!” He laughed, and Albus couldn’t help but laugh with him. 

“I am not precisely looking forward to this with pleasurable anticipation, but it was important to Minerva, and it’s not as though it is something that could be delayed indefinitely. As she pointed out, too, waiting wouldn’t make it any easier,” Albus said. “But . . . you know that I was in school with your grandparents, and I was actually a few years ahead of them. It is hard for me to conceive that your parents have no qualms at all.”

“Minerva loves you. I don’t think that what anyone else has to say about your age or anything else should have any influence on you and your relationship with Minerva. So let’s get back to Hogwarts so you can begin to treat my sister the way she deserves,” Malcolm said, smiling and clapping Albus on the back.

Albus looked at him, bemused, thinking that Minerva was certainly right: Malcolm was definitely one odd wizard. But he liked him, nonetheless.

“Yes, and you can keep Gertrude company,” Albus replied with a smile.

“We can each Disapparate from here. I will meet you at the gates,” Malcolm said, drawing his wand. “See you there!” Malcolm left with a crack, Albus following him a half second later.


	130. The McGonagall Cliffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Albus visit the McGonagall Cliffs.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Egeria Egidius, and Merwyn McGonagall.

**CXXX: The McGonagall Cliffs**

The two men walked rapidly back to the castle. It was a few minutes after two, and Albus was remembering quite acutely both Minerva’s displeasure earlier in the summer at his constant tardiness and her request that morning that he not let Malcolm distract him that afternoon. Still, it had been a good opportunity to come to know Malcolm better, and it had also made him more comfortable with the younger wizard’s attitude toward his relationship with his sister.

Albus went up to Gertrude’s room with Malcolm and learned that Minerva had left forty-five minutes before. Albus used Gertrude’s Floo to Floo to his office, then he took a pinch of Floo-Powder and called through to Minerva’s sitting room. Minerva appeared before him in just a few moments.

“I am very sorry, my dear, I just returned to the castle. I need to get something from my rooms, then I will be ready to leave,”Albus said. “You look very nice, by the way.” Despite the green haze he was speaking through, he did think that Minerva looked quite lovely. Perhaps he should change robes. He was wearing his taupe robes with maroon and pewter trim, which were fine, but fairly sedate. 

“That’s fine. I could meet you in the front hall, if you like,” Minerva replied.

“Should I change?” Albus asked. “I think I should change.”

“Very well,” Minerva said with a nod. “I’ll meet you in the front hall in twenty minutes. You might want to wear or bring some stout boots. I thought we would go for a walk this afternoon.”

“It’s getting a bit warm on this end, Minerva, so I’ll just go now and get ready. I’ll be as quick as I can,” Albus said.

“See you then,” Minerva answered.

Albus pulled his head from the fireplace. He never used quite enough Floo-Powder when making Floo-Calls, he thought. One day, he was sure to singe his beard. He started up the brass stairs, trying to think of what he could wear that would be respectable but more attractive than his current robes.

“Wear something nice,” he heard a voice call out behind him, “something that she’ll like to see you in. Make her proud to be with you.”

Albus looked up at the portrait of Dilys. “Pardon?” he asked, though he had heard every word she had said.

“When you go to your lady’s home for the first time when you are courting her, you should wear something particularly nice. And you will feel more confident, as well,” Dilys said, looking up from her crocheting. She was now working on an afghan for Healer Bothwick’s portrait. He claimed that his library was draughty. Dilys said that that was only because the original Healer Bothwick had always complained of draughts in the library when he was alive, but she had decided to crochet him an afghan anyway. It did help pass the time. 

“Ah, yes. Thank you,” Albus said politely and continued up the stairs. 

As absurd as it seemed, to be taking advice from a portrait about his choice of dress, it did sound like good advice, Albus thought, and he went to find some robes that Minerva would be pleased to see him in and that would make him feel more confident, as well. He put his nervousness out of his mind and focussed on that task.

* * *

“Hold still, Merwyn! Your collar is all askew here,” Egeria said with slight impatience.

“Don’t see why we have to get all dressed up,” Merwyn grumbled. “I thought what I was wearing this morning was perfectly acceptable.”

“Those old brown robes make you look like Friar Tuck,” Egeria grumbled back.

“They do not! Besides, I thought you liked my brown robes. That’s what you said the last time I wore them!”

“No, it isn’t. I said I liked taking them off of you. There is a difference,” Egeria said with a smile. She patted his tummy and added, “And you are right, you don’t look like Friar Tuck. You have a much nicer figure – though heaven only knows why, when you sit behind your desk all day or in the library with your feet up.”

“All due to you and your loving care, I am certain, love,” Merwyn said with a smile, catching the side of his wife’s head with as kiss as she turned away to look at herself in the mirror. 

Egeria was trying to look “presentable,” as she put it, but not entirely impractical. She did want to get Minerva out in the gardens with her on the pretence of picking some herbs and vegetables for their dinner, and it wouldn’t do to be wearing anything too fine for that. She also didn’t want Albus to feel surrounded by formality, either. They were old friends, in a way, and she wanted him to feel comfortable. She was certain, as well, that Albus was nervous about seeing them now that he had embarked on a relationship with their youngest child. Egeria shook her head. No doubt, they would both encounter difficulties in their relationship, and she didn’t envy her daughter the ones that would probably arise because of Albus’s age, whether they were real or only perceived, and she certainly didn’t want to add to those difficulties.

“Now, do you remember the rules for the day, dearest?” Egeria asked, turning back to Merwyn.

“Yes, um, mention his advanced years at every opportunity, accuse him of stealing my baby away – ouch!” Merwyn cried in mock distress when Egeria tapped his arm with her open hand. 

“Be serious, Merwyn! No teasing him, please. Especially not where Minerva could hear,” Egeria said, restraining a sigh. Malcolm and Murdoch certainly took after their father with their teasing and jokes, or what they thought were jokes. Morgan, on the other hand, could do with some lightening up. A perfectly sweet son, Morgan, and quite cheerful, both man and boy, but too serious most of the time.

“All right, all right. No calling Minerva ‘Minnie-girl’ or ‘Minnie-lass,’ no discussion of her time as Albus’s student unless one of them brings it up, no mention of _his_ time as a student with our parents . . . what am I missing?” Merwyn asked. Then he grinned and said, “Oh, yes, no calling Albus ‘sonny-boy.’”

“Just be sensitive to their relative ages and positions, and you’ll be fine,” Egeria said with a slightly exasperated shake of her head. “And try . . . try to let Albus know that you are fine with their relationship but without being explicit and making him uncomfortable.”

“You don’t ask much of a man, do you, love?” Merwyn said, but he grinned and kissed her strongly, holding her tightly and massaging her buttocks, then he whispered, “Perhaps if we were to do this and then tell them that we’re going off for our afternoon ‘nap,’ they will be so distracted by their discomfort with that, they will forget to be uncomfortable about anything else.”

“No afternoon nap today, Merwyn,” Egeria said, giving him a light kiss. “But I will look forward to making up for lost sleep later tonight.”

Merwyn chuckled and kissed her again.

* * *

Albus, despite his usual aversion to using the internal Floo-Network, Flooed directly from his office to the staff room on the ground floor. He hoped that what he was wearing was appropriate. Dilys had told him he looked quite smart, but she was a portrait.

Minerva turned when she heard Albus come through the staff room door. Her face lit up in a smile. “You look very nice, Albus.” She wanted to greet him with a kiss, but she just took his arm. “Let’s be on our way! Mother said tea will be at four and dinner at seven-thirty. I see you have a bag with you.”

“Yes, you said we might go for a walk, and so I brought some clothing more appropriate for that, and my boots, as you suggested, and I also have a little Mitbringsel for your parents,” Albus said, using the German word for a sort of small gift. 

“That wasn’t necessary, but very nice of you, nonetheless,” Minerva said, giving his arm a squeeze as they walked out the great front doors. She leaned a little closer to him and added, “And you look very, very handsome in those robes.”

Albus couldn’t help the blush of pleasure that rose in his cheeks. He still couldn’t quite get used to the fact that Minerva, beautiful, wonderful, vibrant, young Minerva, found him attractive. “Thank you. I hoped you would find them . . . suitable.” He had chosen his copper- and turquoise-coloured robes.

“Did you have a nice lunch with Malcolm?” Minerva asked.

“Yes, indeed. I like your brother very much. He is an interesting and amusing wizard, and good-hearted, as well. I am glad that he and Gertrude have hit it off as they have,” Albus replied. 

“Oh, good, then,” Minerva said. “I was slightly worried. Malcolm _is_ good-hearted, as you say, but sometimes he is not the most tactful person.”

Albus chuckled. “I understand that he was rather untactful in something he said yesterday and he raised your ire.”

“He told you about that?” Minerva let out a small groan. “I asked him not to say anything to anyone! Please believe me, Albus, I normally do _not_ go about doing violence to others. Even to annoying relatives.”

Albus said, smiling, “I never believed you did, my dear. You are usually the very picture of restraint, decorum, and noble pacifism.”

“Yes, well, it’s nothing I am proud of. The violent part of it, anyway. It was rather nice to see the surprise on Malcolm’s face that I could be that fast,” Minerva admitted with a grin.

“I see you have a bag, as well. Had you decided to stay overnight, then?” Albus asked, looking at the carpet bag bobbing along behind Minerva. “I wouldn’t mind if you did, naturally. That’s your choice. But even if you stay, I may not – although I did pack a nightshirt, just to be prepared. I do have a heavy schedule tomorrow, and I want to make some time for us in the evening.”

“I haven’t made plans one way or the other. The bag is actually almost empty, although I did pack my favourite walking boots. It’s just that I left a few things at the house when I left on Friday, and I also want to return the old green robes that I wore that evening. They aren’t anything that I normally wear, but they are convenient to have there,” Minerva explained. “And if you don’t stay, I rather doubt that I will. Although I may. We can just see, hmm?” She slipped her hand down his arm and gave his hand a squeeze. They had reached the gates.

Minerva grinned up at Albus. “So, would you like a Side-Along from the second McGonagall in one day?”

Albus smiled down at her. “No, although I would certainly trust you to do so quite competently. I do feel most comfortable transporting myself, if you don’t mind.”

Minerva laughed. “I was only joking . . . although . . . would it be terribly decadent of me to request one from you?”

Albus’s smile grew. “Oh, very decadent, indeed, and so early in the day, too! But I will be happy to oblige you, my dear!”

They both took their bags in their hands, Minerva stepped a bit closer to Albus, and he put his arm around her and pulled her closer. “Hold on, Minerva,” he said softly. “Hold on tightly.”

A moment later, they were on the McGonagall property, several yards from the house. Albus dropped his bag to the ground and put his other arm around her. He kissed the top of her head, then he whispered, “I did say to hold on tightly. Don’t let go. Don’t let go. . . .”

Minerva let her bag go and returned his embrace. “Is something the matter, Albus?” she asked gently.

“No . . . not really,” Albus said hesitantly. “But I don’t want you to let go. I was thinking that as I was changing my robes earlier. I want to be able to get used to having you in my life. Not to take you for granted, but to know that you will be there,” he said softly. “But I won’t ever hold too tightly to you; if you ever wish to go, you may. So I ask that you hold me tightly. It doesn’t make very much sense, does it?”

Minerva moved her head against him, perhaps in agreement, perhaps not, and she said, “It doesn’t matter whether it makes sense or not. I love you. I won’t let you go.” She looked up at him seriously. “I promise. Never. And you needn’t worry about holding me too tightly.”

Albus kissed her forehead, then he closed his eyes and rested his head on hers. “If your parents . . . if they are unhappy, will you still . . .”

“They won’t be unhappy. But if, by some bizarre chance, they are, I will hold on even more tightly. I won’t allow anyone to take you away now, or to come between us,” Minerva said. “Not unless you change your mind on your own, and I can assure you that, unlike you, I most certainly would not quietly allow you to go. I know we belong together. I love you, Albus. I love you more than I can possibly express.”

“Good. That is good. I am very glad to hear you say that. I do need you, you know, Minerva,” Albus whispered. “I do.”

“It is good to know that, to hear you say it, because I certainly need you,” Minerva said. “And don’t worry. They like you. And Mother is looking forward to seeing us.” She drew back and rubbed his arm. “Let’s go in now.”

Albus nodded. “Allow me to get your bag.” He waved his hand and Levitated their bags, which then followed them down to the house.

Minerva opened the front door and reached behind her for Albus’s hand, pulling him in after her. Orents appeared with a pop. Minerva smiled at him.

“Hello, Orents! You know Professor Dumbledore. Could you run and let Mother know we’re here?”

“No need for that!” Egeria’s voice came from above. “Orents, be a dear and find Merwyn. Tell him Minerva and Albus are home.” Egeria came down the stairs, smiling at the two. “I’m happy to see you two! Now, come. Would you like to go out to the gazebo, have some lemonade with me?”

Egeria gave her daughter a kiss on the cheek and a quick squeeze, then she turned to Albus and took his hand, smiling. “It is good to see you again, Albus! You are looking well. Will lemonade suit, or would you prefer something stronger? I sometimes have a gin and tonic in the afternoon.”

“Lemonade would be fine, Egeria, thank you,” Albus said.

“Good, then. Just leave the bags there. Orents will take care of them later – if that’s all right with you, Albus?” Egeria said.

“Um, fine, except, just a minute here,” Albus said, opening the clasp on his bag as it floated in front of him. “Ah, here it is.” He held out a dark bottle. “For you, Egeria, and for Merwyn. A little something I thought you might enjoy, as you don’t seem opposed to Muggle drinks.”

“Drambuie! Oh, that _is_ a nice treat,” Egeria said with a delighted smile. “We shall have that after dinner this evening. Thank you very much, Albus. Minerva, would you be a dear and bring this into the library. Just put it with your father’s Scotch. I’ll bring Albus down to the gazebo. If you see your errant father, you can tell him where we are.” Egeria took Albus’s arm and began to lead him through the house to the French doors out to the garden.

Albus was relieved at Egeria’s warm welcome, although, to his immense surprise, somewhat discomfited to be separated from Minerva, even if only for a few minutes. He remembered what Malcolm had said that day about his achievements, and he dismissed his slight nervousness. Egeria was telling him something about a new potion she had read about recently, and he tried to listen attentively. 

“So I thought I might try brewing it myself,” Egeria was saying. “I do brew some of my own potions, though far fewer than I used to. I usually just get them from Murdoch these days, but I have more time on my hands now, and I thought that this one seemed easy enough, but I have a feeling that they left some of the directions out. Perhaps you could take a look at the formula for me, give me a hint as to what they might have omitted. I can ask Murdoch, of course, but since you are here . . .”

“I would be most happy to,” Albus replied. “It is quite likely that there are some directions either missing or slightly distorted. As you are no doubt aware, Potions masters do like to have their little secrets. They know that other Potions masters, any worth their salt, anyway, would recognise the deletions or the little code words that indicate the next step in a process.”

“Good, perhaps after dinner, then. And here comes Minerva,” Egeria said, just as they reached the gazebo. “I didn’t think that it would take her long. Thank you for the Drambuie. I haven’t had it in a while. I am looking forward to it.”

“You’re very welcome,” Albus said, smiling, grateful and relieved when Minerva came up and put her hand on his arm.

The three sat in the gazebo, which had been nicely charmed to keep any winds down to a pleasant breeze as they passed through. Minerva sat on a cushioned two-person settee and Albus sat beside her.

“Dad said he’d be down in a minute, but he’s looking for something he can’t find.”

“Whatever is he looking for now?” Egeria asked. “I did ask him to be ready for your arrival.”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say. He’s in his study. I poked my head in to reinforce the fact that we were actually here.”

Egeria stood. “I hope you will forgive me, Albus, but I will go sort out my husband. You two enjoy yourselves. Minerva can call for lemonade. Have Orents bring a pitcher,” Egeria said, turning toward Minerva. “I won’t be long!”

Egeria disappeared, walking rapidly down the path back to the house, and Minerva took Albus’s hand.

“So, you see, Albus, nothing to be nervous about at all,” Minerva said. “She was happy to see you, and your gift made a good impression.”

Albus nodded. “Yes, she is trying to set me at my ease, I believe. But kindly so, and I am relieved. Of course, I haven’t seen your father yet. I can easily imagine that he might have more of a difficulty with this . . . situation than your mother. Fathers do, in general, anyway, I understand. Are you sure he was looking for something and not trying to avoid seeing us?”

Minerva giggled. “He’s just being his usual self. I think Mother will have seven kinds of fits when she sees him, actually. He had taken off his over-robe, and it must have fallen from the pile of books he set it on, because it was in a heap on the floor, and he was on his hands and knees, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, rummaging around, looking for something in some dusty old boxes. Said something about delicacy when I asked why he didn’t simply Summon whatever it was.”

“Oh, that’s all right, then. I can understand that,” Albus said with a nod.

Minerva leaned against him. “I hope they’re a while.”

“Why? And, um, aren’t we supposed to be hailing a house-elf for some lemonade?” Albus asked, looking toward the house and hoping that neither Egeria nor Merwyn were on their way back down the path.

“Mmm, yes,” Minerva said with a slight sigh. She called Orents and requested a large pitcher of lemonade and four glasses. As soon as Orents had Disapparated, she turned to Albus and said, “You know, I am beginning to have an appreciation for gliders. I keep wanting to swing.”

“You do, do you?” Albus smiled at her, amused. “You are a Transfiguration mistress, you know.” But he indulged her by pulling his wand from his pocket and waving it. “Not a glider this time, however.”

Chains with multicoloured links now held their seat suspended from the gazebo ceiling. Minerva pushed off with one foot and curled the other one under her, leaning further against Albus.

“Thank you,” Minerva said, and she pulled his head down and kissed him lightly. “Perhaps we can spend some time out here on the swing when we know we won’t be interrupted.”

Albus swallowed. “Well, I don’t think that we can ever know that, my dear. Someone could always come down from the house.”

“Mmm. I suppose. But I can just tell them that we would like a little time to ourselves,” Minerva answered, running a finger down his cheek to his beard.

“No, don’t do that. I mean to say, not this time. It’s . . . I don’t want them to think . . . that is . . .” Albus blushed.

Minerva smiled up at him. “All right. You indulged me, I will indulge you.” She sat up a bit more, and she could feel Albus relax. “You really are nervous,” she said, somewhat surprised.

“I’m sure you think it foolish of me, but yes, I am nervous,” Albus admitted. “Aren’t you?”

“A little bit, I suppose. But I really do think that they are probably pleased for me. And if they have known for a long time how I felt about you, they have had time to get used to the idea, even if they ever did have any reservations about it.”

“That may be, but . . . they may not only have reservations about it. Their reaction might be more visceral than that. Even if they have come to accept it intellectually, the reality of it might upset them. They might find the thought of their young daughter with an older man – a much older man – disturbing, disgusting, even.”

“I suppose that if you were just any old man, then they might, but they know you and they like you, and they know that I have known you for a long time,” Minerva replied. “Look, here they come now.” Minerva moved slightly further away from Albus, but kept her hand in his. She looked up at Albus and gazed into his eyes. Minerva whispered, “I won’t let go of you, though. I will hold on. I will hold on tightly.”

Albus smiled softly at that and gave her hand a squeeze. “That’s fine, my dear. Thank you.”

Minerva smiled brightly at him, then turned her head at her father’s voice greeting them.

* * *

“Pull a few radishes, too,” Egeria directed Minerva. 

Minerva flicked her wand and several round, red radishes pulled out of the soil and were deposited in her basket. 

Egeria shook her head and sighed. “You need to get down on your knees, Minerva, and look at them, even pull them by hand, preferably. But let’s go over to get the herbs now.” Egeria stood and waved her wand to clean a bit of soil from the front of her green and rust robes.

“I do hope that Dad isn’t saying anything to Albus that will make him uncomfortable,” Minerva said with a worried glance at the house, where the two wizards had disappeared a few minutes ago. 

The four had sat in the gazebo for a while, and Albus mentioned that he had had lunch with Malcolm, and most of the subsequent conversation had focussed on Minerva’s oldest brother, the unusual fact that he had applied for a job at Hogwarts, the even more surprising fact that it seemed he had found a special witch, which everyone agreed was a good thing, and about Malcolm’s upcoming “practical interview,” as Albus liked to call it. Then Egeria had announced that she required Minerva’s help in the garden choosing the vegetables for dinner, and Merwyn said that was excellent, as it gave him the opportunity to ask Albus about something. Merwyn had brought Albus up to the house, and Egeria had dragged Minerva up to the kitchen gardens.

“He isn’t having a fatherly conversation with Albus, is he?” Minerva asked. “I should have had Albus come with us. I will not be happy if Dad is saying anything to put Albus off.”

“Shh, no, he isn’t. He is very happy for you. He may make a blunder or two – though he oughtn’t – but he likes Albus. This was my idea, actually. I wanted to be able to speak with you.” Egeria looked at her daughter appraisingly. “You look very happy. You _feel_ happy. I am glad that everything worked out. I had been surprised, actually, when you came home last week and said that there was no hope for you and Albus. I had begun to get the feeling that he did care for you, too.” Egeria smiled and corrected herself, “Actually, I had begun to sense that he was utterly smitten with you.”

Minerva couldn’t help but return her mother’s smile. “I think he is, Mother. And I _am_ very happy. I think I feel truly happy for the first time in many years. Even when I’m upset about something, or have a problem, it’s sitting on top of a bed of complete happiness, if that makes any sense at all.”

“It does, sweetness, it does. You didn’t ever say whether you two were staying the night, but you brought bags, so I assume – ”

“We aren’t sure of our plans, yet, Mother. I wanted to bring a bag with me so that I could take the few things I accidentally left last time, including my favourite shoes. Albus brought a different set of robes and some stout boots so that we can go on a walk,” Minerva explained. “But we may stay.”

“Whatever suits you, Minerva. But I had Orents fix the end bedroom for Albus, the large yellow one next to yours. But if you only wish to use one room, either one . . .”

Minerva blushed. “If we stay, we’ll use two rooms, Mother.”

“Of course. But I just wanted to let you know – you aren’t a child, Minerva. Make your own decisions. I would, of course, prefer not to walk into the library and discover the two of you in flagrante, but your wing of the house is quite private, and – ”

“Mother, please. I do appreciate it. But I would really rather not discuss it. And, well, we aren’t precisely at the ‘flagrante’ stage. He wants to court me properly, he says,” Minerva said.

“Ah, well, it’s best not to rush things. Enjoy it, Minerva, savour it. He’s likely nervous, as well. The age difference is probably causing him far more concern than it is you. His perspective is different from yours, and as I said when you were here on Friday, he is from a different time and place. He also has had experiences in his life that you and I, fortunately, have been spared, and that I can only dimly imagine.”

Minerva nodded. “I know. And I am trying to be patient and understanding. But sometimes . . . it can be frustrating. Basically, though, everything is truly wonderful. I know he loves me, Mother. He really does.”

“That is very good, my sweetheart,” Egeria said, putting an arm around her and leading Minerva over to a bench. “And I assume that he is sure of your love for him.”

“Yes, I think he is. He is becoming more sure of it. But he is surprisingly insecure about it, I find,” Minerva admitted to her mother.

“I am glad of that, Minerva. Very glad. And his sense of security is bound to increase.” Egeria looked out over the herb garden, seeming lost in thought as she watched the bees and the butterflies feast on the small blossoms that abounded in her garden. “You know, people sometimes do things, especially when they are young, in response to stress, to emotional devastation, that they never dreamed they would do, and would never do again. As I said, Albus has undergone trials that none of us could imagine.” Egeria looked at her daughter and took her hand. “You know that as a midwife, I have travelled much, spoken with many people, been privy to many secrets and more gossip than I could possibly ever repeat even were I so inclined. But when I was a young Healer, just beginning my midwife training, I learned something about Albus Dumbledore. He was becoming well-known for his work in Alchemy and Potions, and for his ability to deal with difficulties people found themselves in – a little like Malcolm, in fact. This was, oh, ninety-six, ninety-seven, sometime around then. I mentioned an article by Dumbledore to the Healer-Midwife I was training under. She was an older witch, and she was a bit of a gossip, but she told me something about this Dumbledore, this old school friend of my parents, that I hadn’t heard before and that I found surprising, although I did later hear other similar stories.”

“Mother, I don’t want to hear this.” Minerva withdrew her hand from her mother’s and began to stand.

“Please, Minerva, listen,” Egeria said gently. “Your Albus is a wonderful wizard, an admirable man, and I am very, very happy that you and he are together as you are. And I think you need to hear what I have to say.”

Minerva sat reluctantly and nodded. “I think I already know some of what you are about to tell me, but go ahead.”

Egeria smiled and patted Minerva’s leg. “Healer White told me that when her sister was living in Prague in the sixties, there was a young, auburn-haired wizard named Albus who ‘entertained’ the witches. Apparently this young man was also something of a drinker and . . . well, one of the witches whom this young wizard entertained was the Healer’s sister.” Egeria noticed that her daughter had closed her eyes, but she continued with her story. “He was sometimes recommended as offering a very good time, but, according to Healer White, he began to go downhill and became unpleasant company. I later heard from others who said that this young wizard had sunk into a life of drink and potions, and he’d even been thought dead for a long time, until he turned up in Britain again a few years later, scarcely recognisable as the young man who had gone so badly to seed, but also quite unlike the wizard who had first left Britain a decade before, when his wife had died. Many people doubted the truth of the stories, others enjoyed them, taking some pleasure in the notion that a seemingly respectable wizard was not so respectable underneath it all, but the stories died away. They are not often heard any longer, except by oblique reference. But I needed to tell you, because you might hear something from some uncharitable person, or from someone bitter who bears Albus a grudge. But know that from what I have heard and what I believe, Albus went through a very difficult period in his youth. First his wife died, then there was an incident with a wizard when he was trying to defend a friend, and then a few years later, he comes home, pulls his mother back from the brink of death, he believes, only to have her die just as she appears to be achieving a full recovery. 

“Albus is a powerful wizard, as you know, Minerva, and quite probably the greatest genius of the wizarding world in several generations. That can put pressure on a young man, especially one who has grown up without his father, wanting to live up to an impossible standard, wanting to please a person who isn’t there to notice. My parents never lost their respect for him, though, and they knew him far better than any of the gossip-mongers could. And we have all seen the sacrifices Albus has been willing to make for the wizarding world. He is a good, kind, loving man, and I think that you, my sweet, young daughter, are going to be very good for him. And he for you, too. And you must not listen to anyone, even Albus, who implies anything different.”

The two witches sat in the garden for a while, listening to the buzzing of the bees and feeling the cool breeze come in off the unseen ocean.

“I think I knew most of what you told me, Mother,” Minerva finally said softly. “He told me some of it, including about his behaviour. It was just a few weeks ago. I don’t know why he felt he had to tell me then, when he had scarcely told me anything of his past before, but I think that he believed that I might not care for him any longer, that my opinion of him would suffer for knowing it, but it didn’t. Albus endured a great deal of pain and distress, and he survived it and became a better human being. He was reborn, in a way, he says. But thank you for telling me what you know and how you know it. And that you have always known, but you have always trusted him nonetheless.”

“Always, Minerva. Your father, I believe, is ignorant of this history – though I doubt very much that Siofre is – but I know that Merwyn trusts Albus, too. That isn’t the only reason that I brought this up, though, sweetheart,” Egeria said. “Nor was it to warn you of the nasty gossips in the world and what they might say. But you know, especially since Albus knows that you are fully aware of his past – since he himself informed you of it – he might fear that you would see his physical affection and remember his behaviour all those years ago, in a different lifetime, and that you would feel repulsed.”

“It’s worse than that, Mother,” Minerva said, finding it odd to be speaking to her mother about this topic, but at the same time, relieved that there was someone she could trust to talk to. “He was seeing Valerianna Yaxley a few years ago –”

“Yes, I’d heard about that. But Albus stopped seeing her. I understand that he is the one who ended it.”

Minerva nodded. “He ended it because he caught her in bed with another wizard.”

“Oh, for – !” Egeria exclaimed, aghast. “Well, I’m glad for your sake that he did, but what a terrible thing for poor Albus!”

“Yes, and when he caught her at it, she told him that he was disgusting and unattractive, all manner of dreadful things. She was very angry when she said it, and she convinced him that what she said was true. So not only did she injure him by having sex with a wizard under Albus’s own roof – yes, Mother, in his own _bed_ – but then her words affected him for all this time after. He was certain I would find his touch disgusting and him – I can’t even say it. It makes me absolutely sick. Valerianna Yaxley makes me ill.” Angry tears rose in her eyes, thinking about it.

“Well, you simply need to not only convince him that you most certainly do find him attractive, but that it can be fun. That you can enjoy each other,” Egeria said. “I am sure that you two will work it out. He certainly always seemed quite robust to me. I think that between the two of you, you will overcome whatever insecurities he may still have.”

“It does make me slightly concerned that he might believe that I am using him as those other witches did so long ago, but I think that he knows me well enough and knows that I love him, so that he would see that there are very essential differences. I hope so, anyway,” Minerva said. She smiled at her mother. “Thank you, Mother. I never would have dreamed of discussing any of this with you. It seems too embarrassing. But it was a relief, actually.”

“Good, I am glad, sweetness. And if you need any tips about birth control or any other spells –”

“If I do, I will likely ask someone else. I haven’t forgotten the contraceptive charms you taught me before, after all,” Minerva said. “And as for the other spells, I’m sorry, Mother, but there really is a limit to what I feel comfortable discussing with my own mother!”

Egeria laughed. “Very well, but if you ever want a friendly ear, I’m here for that, as well.”

“I will remember that,” Minerva replied.

“Now, why don’t you go see if Albus requires rescuing. Tea will be in about a half hour. It will just be something light today, tea and scones, unless you’d like something more.”

“Actually, Mother, I’m starving. I ate a good lunch, but practising with Malcolm really seemed to take a lot of energy, and I’m hungry again.”

“All right,” Egeria said, standing. “I’ll go speak with Fwisky about making some sandwiches, too.”

Minerva found her father and Albus in the library looking at something written in Pali. Merwyn had unbuttoned his over-robe and was making notes on a small scrap of parchment.

Albus looked up and smiled brightly when he saw Minerva. “Hello, my dear! Your father was just showing me some rather puzzling text. Are you through assisting your mother? Can you join us?”

“I can join you, but I can’t read Pali or Sanskrit or whatever that is,” Minerva said, hoping that wasn’t something else that Albus assumed that she could do. “Tea will be in twenty minutes or so.”

“We were just about finished with this, anyway, Min,” Merwyn said. He looked over at Albus. “Do you mind if I go see what Egeria’s up to?”

“No, not at all,” Albus replied. “This was quite enjoyable, though.”

“I believe Mother is in the kitchen with Fwisky,” Minerva said.

Her father closed the door behind him when he left the library, and Minerva reached out and took Albus’s hand. Albus stepped closer and put his arms around her, sighing. Minerva gladly returned his embrace. 

“Did you really enjoy yourself, Albus?” Minerva asked. “Or were you just being polite?”

“I did, and,” Albus said, “I was quite relieved that we only discussed this Pali text he’d been having difficulty with. I think it was because the concepts in it were not very familiar to him. But I had been concerned he had brought me up here to, well, to discuss you. And our relationship. But other than saying that he was glad that you were able to convince me to come, he didn’t mention it at all.”

Minerva nodded. “I thought they would be pleased, and I know Mother is. She told me that just now. I don’t think she has any reservations at all, if she ever had any.”

“That is a relief, then,” Albus said. “Not that it would have been determinative of anything, but it would be hard on you, and I would have been uncomfortable.”

Minerva raised her face to him and said, “Kiss me, Albus, please. It’s been hours since our last proper kiss.”

Albus grinned at her. “Hours? Has it been hours? And you would like a proper kiss? Let me see if I can manage a proper kiss.”

Albus raised one hand to cradle the back of her head, then he very slowly approached her, his lips coming a breath away from hers. “Minerva,” he said in a low voice, his lips just brushing hers as he said her name. “Minerva.”

His lips brushed hers again, just for a moment, then he softly kissed her. He repeated his soft kiss, this time taking her lower lip between his and simply holding it between them before he kissed her full on the mouth again. Then Albus gently sucked her lower lip before stroking it with a feathery touch of his tongue. Minerva moaned, and Albus moved his lips over hers, softly and sensuously, then he deepened the kiss, pulling her toward him, and Minerva’s embrace tightened. Finally, he ended the kiss much as he had begun it, with soft brushes of lip on lip.

Albus looked down at her and said in a warm voice, “Was that a proper kiss, my dear?”

Minerva opened her eyes. “Mmm.” She could barely think, but she said, “If a proper kiss makes you melt, that was a proper kiss.” Minerva let out a breath and lay her head against him. “I love you, Albus.”

“And I, you, my dearest Minerva,” Albus said softly.

They stood there like that for a few minutes, just savouring the embrace, then a sharp crack interrupted their moment of calm. Albus started to let go of Minerva, but she held onto him.

“Madam Egeria says that you should show the Professor where he may freshen up for tea,” Orents said. “It will be served in the morning room in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you, Orents,” Minerva said.

The house-elf bobbed his head at her cheerfully, then with another crack, he was gone.

Minerva led Albus upstairs to the first floor. “I told Mother we still hadn’t decided whether we would stay the night or not, and she was fine with whatever we choose to do,” she told him.

She brought him to the large, bright room at the end of the west wing of the house. “This room is for your use, whether we stay or not.” Minerva hesitated, then she decided that she shouldn’t mention to Albus that her mother had said she didn’t care whether they used one room or two. “There’s a bath and a loo here,” she said, gesturing at two closed doors, “and my room is right here, next to yours. If you need to use the loo or bath and these are in use, there’s another down near Malcolm’s old room, as well. To the left of the stairs we just came up. Mother and Dad are on the second floor, so you can’t disturb them.”

Albus nodded. His bag was at the foot of the large bed, and clean towels had been set beside it. 

“I’m just going to run down the hall and use the other loo. I’ll be back in just a few minutes and we can go down together, all right?” Minerva said.

Albus nodded again. “Thank you, my dear.”

Ten minutes later, they walked down the stairs together. 

“It is odd to be in this house like this again. I used to come here occasionally before . . . before I went away, before Collum died. Dervilia and I actually stayed here once for a few days just after we were married. Aberforth, too. We were in the other side of the house, where you say Malcolm’s room is now, I remember. It is very much the same, and yet changed. Everything is . . . peculiar. It’s somewhat unsettling, if I may admit that to you,” Albus said. “I had actually almost forgotten that until we started up the stairs, then I remembered with almost a sense of déjà vu.”

Minerva stopped on the landing. “I’m sorry, Albus. Has this been terribly uncomfortable for you?” she asked with genuine concern.

“No, simply . . . odd, disorienting, I suppose,” Albus replied, though Minerva thought that he did look tired and drawn. “It was so long ago, it is almost like remembering a dream. Collum was actually almost five years younger than I, in Aberforth’s year, but he was in my House, and I was also good friends with Perseus. Perseus and Crispinian were cousins of some sort, and Crispy was great friends with Collum, who was only a couple years younger than he. Anyway, for some reason – I don’t remember why, now – we were all here for a few days that summer after my NEWTs. I had just married, and I remember that Dervilia persuaded me that we should accept the invitation because I would be beginning my apprenticeship soon and would have much less time for my friends. I hadn’t been inclined to, wanting to spend the time with her, and feeling that they were all still children while I was a married man – at all of eighteen! But we actually had a good time. I remember that the girls – Siofre and Gwyn – visited once for the day and gave Dervilia some relief from our masculine company.” 

Now Minerva was beginning to feel peculiar. Gwynllian and Siofre, the “girls,” were her grandmothers. Perseus was Gwynllian’s brother, and Crispinian was her other grandfather. For a dizzying moment, Minerva felt as though she had stepped back in time, to a point when her Great-uncle Perseus was just a boy, friends with Crispinian, not knowing that Crispinian would marry his sister, Gwyn, nor that Collum would marry Siofre and die in an accident when his son, Merwyn, was just a baby. And Albus and Dervilia . . . that their happiness would be very short-lived.

Minerva shook herself internally. She looked up at Albus with a smile and said, “Let’s go have our tea, shall we?”

Albus smiled. “Excellent idea, my dear.”

Minerva took Albus’s arm and they walked together to the east-facing morning room for their tea.

* * *

By the time they had finished their tea, Minerva felt fully returned to the present, and she was pleased to see that Albus seemed to be restored, as well. Conversation had ranged from the coming school year and Minerva’s first year as Head of Gryffindor, to Robert Pretnick’s sad demise, to advances in Potions, to Thea’s health and that of her baby, due in October. 

“Now, Minerva, you said that you and Albus wished to take a walk. Why don’t you do that now? You have quite a bit of time before dinner. It’s windy, but still fine.” Egeria turned to Albus. “Do you need anything? I am sure that we can find something for you if you do.”

“I believe I have what I need, but I shall certainly let you know if I don’t,” Albus replied with a smile.

The two went back upstairs, Minerva saying that she was going to change for their walk, as well. As Minerva found some appropriate robes in the wardrobe in her room, she thought again of Albus, changing clothes in the room next to hers. Wondering when he would finally make love to her, and whether he would always be shy around her, she wished she could join him as he disrobed, and that they could delay their walk . . . Minerva rather doubted he would remain shy, but she knew that he still wanted to go slowly and romance her, despite their lovely experience on her couch the previous day. But now that they had accomplished that, broken that barrier, perhaps he would make love to her soon. She had the impression, though, that he wanted to wait until they were on holiday. Minerva didn’t want to wait that long, but she would be patient for him. After what he had said about having suddenly remembered being here as a young man with the teenagers who were to become her grandparents, Minerva could understand better some of Albus’s general discomfort. But they had overcome his Valerianna-induced insecurities, they could surely overcome any brought on by the difference in their ages.

Minerva dressed in some old long-sleeved, rust-coloured robes with a tartan bodice, shortening the skirts a few inches, and pulled on her walking boots. She considered bringing a short jacket or cloak, but decided that the sun was bright and, with a few warming charms, her robes would be sufficient. Rummaging through her bag, she located the folded parchments she had brought with her. Smiling, she placed them in her deep pocket, casting a charm to keep them safe.

There was a soft rap at her door, and Minerva opened it to find Albus waiting for her, wearing the same robes he had worn the day he had brought her on a picnic on the mountain across from Hogwarts.

Minerva smiled and said, “You look very handsome, as always!”

“Except when I wear those grey robes?” Albus asked with a twinkle.

She laughed. “ _You_ still look handsome from the neck up in those, but the robes themselves!” Minerva gave a mock shudder. “I do hope you weren’t terribly offended,” she said as she closed the door and they started down the hall. 

“No, particularly not once I took a good look at them myself. Wilspy said they weren’t even suitable for rags, so I simply disintegrated them,” Albus said.

The two left the house and Minerva led him to her favourite path along the edge of the cliff. The path, such as it was, eventually disappeared as the ground became rockier and steeper. The wind grew sharper, and Minerva paused to cast a warming charm, offering one to Albus, who declined, saying he found the exertion and her company warming enough. Minerva couldn’t help but smile at him.

“How is it that you can make me so happy just by saying something like that?” she asked, pausing to turn and hold his hands, which, despite his declaration that he was warm, seemed somewhat cold to her.

“I am a fortunate wizard,” Albus replied, his eyes sparkling. He leaned forward slightly and kissed her forehead. “Do you have a destination in mind?”

“There is a spot, one of the highest on the property, that I like. It is a bit tricky to get to. If you don’t feel comfortable with the climb, we can Apparate. I could go ahead of you so you could easily see where you were going, whether we go by foot or Apparate,” Minerva said, “or I could give you a Side-Along.”

“I am game for the climb, I believe,” Albus said.

“It’s only another quarter mile, but it’s quite steep. We’ll have a nice appetite for dinner.”

The two made their way up the rocky slope.

“You actually do this frequently?” Albus asked.

“As often as practical, given that I don’t live here. This is only one of the walks I enjoy, though. I also enjoy walking east into the wood, or down to the sea,” Minerva replied. She drew her wand and cast a gloving spell on her hands. “You might want to protect your hands. The last bit is quite sheer. You will need to be able to grab on occasionally.” She cast one more charm to shorten her skirts another few inches.

Albus looked to his left, down the cliff side. The sound of the sea was closer, and he could hear the waves on the rocks below. “I hope you are careful, Minerva. We are very near the edge, and it is a very long way down.”

Minerva nodded. “I am always careful,” she said. She looked back and smiled at him. “Don’t like heights? I would think with your Animagus form, this would seem like nothing to you.”

“I haven’t wings at the moment, though, Minerva, and you never have any. I must admit that I dislike the thought of you clambering around on these rocks alone,” Albus admitted, “with no one here to stop your fall. And you have never learned to fly without a broom. I just worry that you might injure yourself, or worse.”

Minerva laughed. “Fly without a broom? No, haven’t mastered that, wouldn’t try. It’s not possible.”

It was Albus’s turn to laugh. “Not impossible, merely very rare in this part of the world. And the Ministry would like to keep it that way. Hard to regulate that sort of thing. Most witches and wizards couldn’t accomplish it, anyway.”

Minerva stopped and looked back at him. “You _are_ joking, aren’t you?”

“Not at all. I rarely do it, myself, although when I was with Master Nyima, I became quite adept. I would sometimes fly with Mother Dragon. I think that is one reason she took a liking for me, actually.”

Minerva looked at him a moment, digesting this information, then she shook her head and continued the climb. Well, she hadn’t believed it was possible to become as completely invisible as Albus could, either. In fact, at the time, she had actually thought that she had always believed becoming invisible was as impossible as flight without a Charmed object. Apparently, it was, though not the way that she had believed. She should never underestimate Albus Dumbledore.

A few minutes later, Minerva paused again and pointed. “There, Albus. Do you see that large rock? On the other side of that, there is a lovely smooth, flat spot with another rock on the opposite side, as well. It’s fairly sheltered from the wind on three sides, and there’s a natural sort of bench there. I have occasionally thought of Transfiguring it, doing something to make it more comfortable, but I like it as it is, actually. There’s room for two, though,” she added with a smile. “So, would you prefer me to go on ahead so you can Apparate up to me, or would you like to climb?”

“You know, ever since we spoke of it, I’ve had a desire to fly. Would you feel abandoned if I were to transform and fly up there?” Albus asked.

“Not at all,” Minerva said with a smile. “I’m glad to know you want to exercise your Animagus form.”

“All right. But wait to climb up until I’m there, so I can catch you if you fall,” Albus said.

Minerva shook her head. “I won’t fall. I’d rather just keep moving. And you can always swoop down and catch me in your phoenix form,” she said with a smile.

Albus, somewhat reluctantly, agreed. He Transfigured into a phoenix and immediately shot up into the sky. Minerva watched him a moment, exhilarated. She couldn’t imagine any other wizard ever taking a phoenix form. It was rare enough for an Animagus to take on the form of a magical creature, but a phoenix – Albus must be unique in that, she thought, just as he was unique in so many other ways. 

Minerva began to climb again, her arms and legs growing sore. Despite her daily regimen of walks and taking the many flights of stairs at Hogwarts, she was tired now, and would be very glad to reach her destination and sit on the warm rocks with Albus. Albus flew up, down, and around her, never coming too close to Minerva and startling her, but remaining reassuringly nearby. Finally Minerva pulled herself up the last few feet, and Albus settled on top of the rock just above her head and sang happily.

Minerva looked up at Albus and smiled, and his blue phoenix eyes twinkled down at her. “Yes, Albus, it is very beautiful here, isn’t it?” She stood and looked out over the ocean below for a while, listening to Albus’s song. The sun was lower in the sky, but it still shone warmly, and Minerva let out a sigh of perfect happiness and contentment.

Albus finished his song and hopped down onto the ledge that formed a natural bench behind her. With an impressive flash of fire, he transformed back into his ordinary form. He stepped down and put his arms around Minerva, pulling her back against his chest and kissing the top of her head. 

“It is very beautiful, my dear, but its beauty cannot match yours,” Albus murmured.

Minerva turned in his arms and kissed him. “I love you, Albus. I love you, I love you, I love you.” She grinned. “It is so wonderful to be able to say that and know you won’t pat me on the back and tell me that you are ‘fond’ of me, too.”

“Ah – yes, that.” Albus looked out over her head. “My birthday,” he said. “You told me you loved me.”

Minerva nodded and held him more closely.

“I was so startled . . . I actually had wished that you loved me, as you know. I was fearful that somehow, my wish had caused you to say that. Obviously, I realised the absurdity of that fear immediately, but I still was at a loss for what to say. I was sure that if I told you I loved you, I wouldn’t be able to stop with that and that you would learn precisely how strongly I felt about you. That thought terrified me. I was so certain that you would be appalled, that you would feel sorry for me, pity me.”

“I pity both of us, that we were unable to admit our feelings to each other for so long,” Minerva said. “But that’s all over, now. Let’s sit a while.”

Albus agreed by backing up slightly, then letting go of Minerva to wave his hand and clear dirt and debris from the ledge. They sat, and Albus put his arms around her.

“Mmm, this is the nicest part of the climb,” Minerva said, leaning against him. She scootched even closer and lay across him. 

The sun was warm and the breeze, brisk. Minerva looked up at him, smiling. Albus kissed her forehead and touched her cheek as she reached up to caress his face. She kissed his lips lightly, then once more as Albus closed his eyes, savouring the moment, the warmth of the sun, the cool wind, Minerva, soft in his arms. 

Albus opened his eyes as Minerva smiled up at him. “Minerva, Minerva . . . you are really here, my dearest.”

“Yes, I am really here,” she replied, laying her palm against his cheek, cool and pink from the wind and his exertion.

“I had a dream . . . it seemed hardly a dream, it was so real. And this, it was just like this, Minerva,” he said softly. “And when I woke from the dream, you were there, waking me, and I was very confused. And now, you are here, but it is not a dream.”

“No, not a dream,” Minerva said, and she reached up to kiss him again. “Much nicer than any dream,” she added before kissing him again.

They sat for a while like that, kissing and speaking of nothing in particular. Finally, Albus suggested that perhaps they ought to be getting back to the house.

“Not yet, Albus. Let’s stay longer. We can Apparate back. Or you could fly – in your phoenix form – and give me a lift! You used to threaten me with that, remember?” She asked with a grin.

Albus smiled. “Yes, that was a long time ago. I never would have done, you know. But it bothered me, the way you would wander about in your Tabby form, seemingly oblivious to the dangers around you. You still seem not to be completely aware of how vulnerable you are in your Animagus form,” Albus said.

“I am. I am normally quite cautious. Not as cautious as some would have me be, but where would be the fun in that? And as a student, I never went into the Forest in my Animagus form. You just were worried because of that time when the dog chased me and I forgot that I could transform. I was very embarrassed. I don’t know which embarrassed me more, having let the dog chase me all the way back from Hogsmeade, or having you see me in tears when I finally reached the gates and returned to my ordinary form,” Minerva said with a laugh. “But I would trust you to carry me, you know.”

“Mm, we will see,” Albus said before kissing her on the forehead again. “But we can stay longer. It is nice here.”

“It is. Very romantic, I think. Though not as romantic as your rooftop the other night. That was wonderful,” Minerva said with a sigh.

“And you were wonderful – and very, very warm.” Albus kissed her lips. “Very warm,” he murmured.

Minerva reached up and put her arms around his neck. She moaned softly as Albus caressed her from her breast to her hip and back again. 

“I would like to see you that warm again, my dear, but somewhere more . . . secure than this,” Albus said, pulling her into his embrace.

“I think you could make me very warm, very easily,” Minerva said softly.

“Yes, but . . . I believe that the next time, I would like to make you even . . . warmer. As you were last night,” Albus whispered. “That was very stimulating. You were irrepressible. I had quite nice dreams last night. And I didn’t wake myself from them.”

“Well, I’m glad of that!” Minerva said looking at him, puzzlement in her eyes. “Why ever would you wake yourself from them?”

“Oh, various reasons,” Albus said. “Not wanting to imagine things that I could never have, not wanting to tempt myself into imprudence, but chiefly out of respect for you, my dear.”

Minerva caressed his face, thinking about what he said. “Feel free to dream or imagine whatever you wish, Albus. Perhaps you might even be inspired,” Minerva said, a sparkle in her eyes.

“I will certainly let you know if I am,” Albus replied with a soft kiss on her cheek.

“You know, speaking of inspiration, I love the poem you wrote for me.”

“I am glad. I know it doesn’t scan and its metre and rhythm are very far from perfect – ”

“Shh.” Minerva stopped him, bringing her fingertips to his lips, and said, “It was perfect to me, Albus. It is beautiful. I have read it a few times since, but I would love to hear you read it to me. Would you, Albus?”

“Oh, if you would like, I will sometime,” Albus said.

“Now?” Minerva asked, shifting, then feeling around her deep pocket to find the parchment she had placed there before their walk. She pulled it out. “Read it to me now, Albus, please?”

Albus looked at her hesitantly, wanting to decline, but not wanting to refuse her. “Yes, all right, I will.”

“Cast a charm first – I don’t want the wind taking the parchment from your hand and lose it forever. I would be very unhappy if I were to lose it,” Minerva said.

Albus cast the spell, pocketed his wand again, then took the folded letter from Minerva’s hand. He brought the second page forward and blinked at it.

“I need my glasses, my dear. They’re in an inner pocket of my over-robe. You’ll need to sit up a bit.” Albus put his glasses on and Minerva settled back against him.

“Read the entire poem, Albus, even the first lines. They were sweet and amusing,” Minerva said.

Albus read over the poem and the words that followed it. He did feel strongly for Minerva, and the verses did catch some bit of his love for her. He kissed Minerva’s temple, then he began to read the words that he had written weeks before, beginning softly, and his voice growing slightly hoarse with emotion as he remembered how he had missed Minerva when he wrote it and how desperate he had been when he had finally sent it to her with the letter admitting his love for her.

_How do I respect thee? May I count the ways?_  
 _Sweeter than any putrid potion,_  
 _More scintillating than Transfiguration class,_  
 _Of greater worth than any treaty,_  
 _Thus I respect thee._

_I respect thee as night respects the dawn, and day, the dusk._  
 _Beyond twilight’s dim reach and unto the noon-day sun,_  
 _Thus do I respect thee._  
 _How do I esteem thee? Shall I count the ways?_  
 _Unto heaven’s vast extent,_  
 _Far beyond the reach of phoenix’ flight,_  
 _Where no hoary mountain peak may grasp,_  
 _Beyond summer’s heat or winter’s rime,_  
 _Thus do I esteem thee._  
 _I regard thee humbly,_  
 _As strength and will and hope,_  
 _Undulled by care of time_  
 _Or wear of woe, shine from thee._

_I shall esteem thee more as life falls long,_  
 _As spark and breath, no longer strong,_  
 _Companion sun’s borrowed light,_  
 _Fading unto pale moon, and then to night._  
 _Yet my regard for thee can but wax and grow,_  
 _An expanding passion to onward flow_  
 _And fill my heart, my mind, my soul,_  
 _With thoughts of thee and only thee again,_  
 _Turning once and always unto thee,_  
 _To find thee only ever there._

_For thus I love thee, countless ways,_  
 _Far beyond death’s frail caul,_  
 _Unfettered by life’s scanty bonds,_  
 _Loving thee without beginning,_  
 _Loving thee without ending,_  
 _With all I am and have to give._  
 _Thus do I love thee and thee alone,_  
 _My life, my hope, my dearest one._

“You are my life and my hope, Albus,” Minerva said as he finished. There were tears in her eyes. “My life and my hope. And I will love you forever.”


	131. Realising Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Albus spend the rest of the day at the McGonagalls. The next day is spent on Hogwarts business, but they have the evening to themselves.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Egeria Egidius, Merwyn McGonagall, Sylvanus Kettleburn, Malcolm McGonagall, and other Hogwarts staff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some explicit sexual content in this chapter.

**CXXXI: Realising Love**

Minerva sat up and kissed Albus’s cool, wind-reddened cheek. 

“This has been a lovely afternoon, Minerva,” Albus said, putting an arm around her. “I am glad I agreed to accept the invitation. I do hope it wasn’t the calm before the storm, however, and that it doesn’t take a turn for the worse at dinner.”

“Albus Dumbledore! Where does this come from? Are you normally a closet pessimist and I just never knew it?” Minerva asked, but she didn’t wait for an answer, instead, gesturing out toward the sea and adding, “There is a storm brewing, though. I think we ought to get back now.”

The sky was iron grey, the winds were stirring the waves, and the sound of the sea slapping the rocks below was louder than it had been. 

Albus nodded. “Yes, we should get back to the house.” He stood, pulling Minerva to her feet and kissing the top of her head. “Shall we Apparate? I don’t care for the idea of being caught in a storm up here.”

“That’s a good idea. There is a small cave a little ways away, just off the path we followed up here. I had to duck in there one summer when I was a child, before I could Apparate, when I hadn’t realised how close the storm was. Mother and Dad were rather frantic at the thought of me out here in the storm. I didn’t like the cave very much – you know me and closed, dark spaces. I didn’t have my wand with me, either, since I was still underage, and so I couldn’t have any light,” Minerva said. “It was dark, cold, and damp. I was pretty miserable. The rain didn’t let up until almost midnight, and I remember that I decided to start for home even though it was still raining – that soft, pervasive, misting rain we get up here sometimes. The stones were slippery, and I fell several times. It was the only time that I was actually afraid that I might fall over the edge. But Mother had Apparated to find Malcolm as soon as the lightning subsided, and about halfway back to the house, I saw a light and a figure on the path. It was Malcolm, calling out for me, his wand held up in a Lumos. I was so grateful to see him. I was soaked to the bone, shivering with cold. He put his warm, heavy, wonderfully dry wool cloak around me, then he picked me up and Apparated me home. It was one of the few times anyone Apparated me that I didn’t become sick, but that could just be because I already felt so sick and scared. Malcolm was a good big brother, in his own way.”

Albus kissed the side of her head. “I am glad to hear that. It’s good to know that he can be reliable when needed.”

Minerva sighed and leaned against him. “I suppose we should go, or we’ll have to camp out in that little cave. Even with you here with me, and my wand at hand, I wouldn’t want to have to do that.”

“I’ll Apparate us both, if that is agreeable to you,” Albus said.

“Very.” She looked up at him. “You are extremely attractive at the moment, though, with the wind in your hair like it is. . . . You don’t suppose . . .”

“What?”

“Can you, well, perhaps not . . . I was just wondering how it would feel to kiss you when you Apparate.”

Albus’s eyes sparkled, and he put his arms around Minerva, holding her closely. He gently kissed Minerva’s lips, then as he deepened the kiss and pulled her against him, Minerva felt a shimmer of his magic, and when Albus broke the kiss and she opened her eyes, she saw that they were in front of the house. 

Minerva smiled. “You are very talented, Albus.”

Albus grinned and winked at her. “I do like to try something new occasionally.”

Cold, fat drops of rain began to fall, and the two hurried into the house. Merwyn stuck his head out of the library and offered them each a warming Scotch. Albus accepted, but Minerva demurred, saying she would prefer either a sherry or a Gillywater. A few minutes later, Minerva and Albus were sitting on the sofa, sipping a sherry and a whisky, respectively, and Merwyn adding another splash of whisky to his own glass.

Egeria came in and said, “I’ll have a whisky, too, Merwyn. Then why don’t we go into the sitting room? We _do_ have one.”

“I think we’re all comfortably settled here, dearest,” Merwyn said, giving her a bus on the cheek as he handed her her glass.

“But there are more windows. We can watch the storm from there,” Egeria said, still standing near the door.

“Mm, I think you have an unnatural appreciation of precipitation,” Merwyn said, but he turned and said to Albus and Minerva, “Would you care to join us in the sitting room and watch the rain? It is most entertaining. Or so I have been told.” Egeria elbowed him lightly in the ribs and he grinned.

Albus said that he wanted to change before dinner, and Minerva agreed. It didn’t take them long, and they soon rejoined Merwyn and Egeria in the sitting room. They settled down comfortably, a fire blazing in the fireplace, and watched the rain come down in hard sheets, pounding on the windows, the wind whipping the branches of the bushes and flattening some of the more delicate flowering plants.

“I am glad that Johannes helped me in the gardens,” Egeria said. “Even with the ordinary charms, these storms used to be hard on my poor plants. But these new charms he placed, and the microclimate charms he helped me to recast, they are very robust. The gardens have been holding up very well. He is a gem. I am sure he will do quite well in business for himself.”

Conversation turned to Hogwarts and the various staffing changes coming in the next year. At twenty-five past seven, Orents popped into the sitting room and announced that dinner would be served in five minutes. Egeria excused herself to see if Fwisky needed her in the kitchens, and a sudden awkward silence fell over the remaining three, seeming to emanate from Albus and radiate outward to encompass the other two.

Merwyn took the last swallow of his whisky, then said, “So, Albus, have you had a holiday at all this summer? From everything I’ve heard, it’s been nothing but work for you.”

“I took a couple of days and went to visit Thea and Robert,” Albus replied, “and I stopped at my cottage to take care of a few maintenance tasks.”

Merwyn smiled. “Thea was looking quite well the last time we saw her. Egeria went again on Monday, just for the afternoon, and she said that Thea is not showing the slightest sign of illness, and the baby is growing very well. She believes her to be past the danger point and that she will give birth to a healthy baby girl in late October.”

“I am sure that Gertrude will be very pleased,” Minerva said. “I assume that she knows already, though. But I know that it had bothered her terribly, and I am certain she will enjoy having a grandchild.”

Merwyn smiled softly. “I remember when Melina was born. Alessandrina was so happy, and Murdoch was beside himself. I don’t think he knew which way was up. Such a pretty baby, she was.”

“All babies are pretty, Dad.”

Merwyn shook his head. “Some are downright ugly, although fortunately most outgrow that quickly. But all babies are adorable and lovable. And according to Egeria, they all smell wonderful.”

“They do . . . there’s just something about a baby. Baby head, especially. You just want to pick them up and cuddle them and smell their sweet little heads,” Minerva said, a silly smile on her face.

“Mmm, until they need their nappies changing,” Merwyn said. “Then they don’t smell so sweet. But I’m glad that Melina and Brennan have decided to wait a few years before starting a family. Although Brennan doesn’t want to wait too long. He says he doesn’t want to be an old man raising his kids, ready to retire and still with children to support.” Suddenly Merwyn seemed flustered, almost taking a drink from his empty glass. “Of course, Brennan is a Muggle. Things are different for Muggles. And it’s time now for dinner. Better go in.”

Merwyn stood and started out of the sitting room back toward the dining room. Minerva reached for Albus’s hand, but he seemed not to notice, and he followed her father out into the hall. Minerva furrowed her brow then sighed. Albus had seemed uncomfortable even before they had begun to talk about babies, and then her father mentioned Brennan and his age . . . probably the best way to repair the awkwardness in this instance was simply to move on past it and not create a bigger issue of it. 

Dinner was, fortunately, much more relaxed, with Egeria adroitly steering the conversation. Minerva had to admire her mother and her ability to keep the discussion interesting but away from anything that might tend to lead Albus to feel uncomfortable. By the end of the meal as they were eating their Stilton and pears, everyone was relaxed and Albus seemed to have forgotten his earlier moment of discomfort. All moved on to the library, where Egeria poured them each a glass of Drambuie and Merwyn invited Albus for a game of chess.

Albus looked over at Minerva questioningly. Minerva grinned. “Go ahead! I’d like to see you two play a game. I might learn a thing or two that I could use against you – and it will be much easier to pay attention than when Dad plays with Malcolm.”

As Merwyn set up the chessboard, Albus asked, “Why is that?”

“Malcolm gets his pieces to play in a violent and almost bloodthirsty way. I have never seen anything quite like it. They howl and clash their armour and behave like little barbarians,” Minerva said.

Merwyn grinned. “I occasionally consider playing with the Muggle set with him, but it’s funny to see him go through his antics and then his disappointment when he still loses.”

Albus chuckled and the two men sat down on either side of the board, Merwyn offering Albus white. 

As Albus moved out his queen’s pawn, he said, “That is actually helpful for me to know for Saturday. He will probably try something similar to throw me off.” Albus grinned. “I look forward to that!”

“He was asking me about the wards and whether you would have an advantage over him and whether there would be any restrictions on him because of them,” Minerva said. “I didn’t know what to tell him.”

Albus shook his head. “Theoretically, I could have an advantage because we will be at Hogwarts, but I won’t use that in this instance. I have a sufficient natural advantage over him.”

“I wouldn’t be complacent, though, Albus,” Minerva said. “He may not have your skill or power, but he might still have some tricks up his sleeves.”

“I am counting on that. Malcolm strikes me as a resourceful and inventive wizard. I hope this will be at least somewhat taxing for me. I haven’t many opportunities to exercise these skills of late, and I do not want to fall out of practice.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Minerva asked.

Albus nodded. “It would. But it is not a topic for a night such as this, relaxing with friends.”

“No, it isn’t – let me get on with beating him,” Merwyn said, grinning.

The two men played as Minerva looked on and Egeria read the journal, _Modern British Healcraft_. Finally, Merwyn sat back in his seat and watched as Albus made a final move, placing him in checkmate.

“So, are you two staying the night?” Egeria asked. “You needn’t of course, but you might prefer to leave in the morning after breakfast. The weather is still fairly nasty. Whether you Apparated or Flooed, you would still have a rather wet walk up to the castle.”

Albus looked at Minerva. “If Minerva would like to stay, that would be fine with me. We could leave in the morning, as you say, Egeria.”

Minerva nodded. “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you, Mother.”

“Nonsense – it is your home. No thanks needed. Nor from you, Albus. You must feel right at home here, as well. In fact, we will add you to the family wards, won’t we, Merwyn? That way, you can Apparate directly into the house or Floo through without calling ahead. No standing on ceremony.” At Albus’s half-formed protest, Egeria added, “Whether you take advantage of it or not, is up to you, but we will add you in the morning before you leave. And I do hope you will avail yourself of the convenience.”

Albus, seeing that protest was futile, said, “Thank you, Egeria, that is very gracious of you. I do appreciate it. Thank you both for a very lovely evening.”

“Now, if you will excuse us, I believe that we will retire for the night,” Egeria said, placing a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “But you two feel free to play chess or do whatever you like. We will see you in the morning.”

As the two left, bidding Minerva and Albus good-night, Albus could have sworn he saw Merwyn pat Egeria on the bottom as they went out the door. 

“Would you like to play a game of chess, my dear?” Albus asked, turning to Minerva.

“Not really. I’m actually quite tired. It’s been quite a day, between practice with Malcolm this morning and our walk this evening. Why don’t we just sit a while and enjoy the fire, then we can go up to bed?”

Albus joined Minerva on the sofa, putting his arm around her as she settled her head on his shoulder. 

“It was a very nice day, Minerva,” Albus said, turning his head and giving her a light kiss. “I am glad I agreed to come. Your parents were . . . well, they were themselves.”

“I didn’t expect anything else of them,” Minerva said. “I was a little worried that one or the other might give you a bit too much of a welcome, with long speeches about how they thought our relationship was good and they wish us well, and so forth – which could be uncomfortable for you – but they didn’t. It was good of Mother to want to include you in the family wards, though I did get the sense from you that you weren’t very happy with the idea.”

“I don’t mind, really. I was simply surprised that they would want to extend them to me,” Albus replied.

“You aren’t precisely a stranger, Albus, and you have been a visitor here in the past. It would be quite convenient if I am ever here and you come out to join me later,” Minerva said. “But you can still Apparate to the front garden, if you prefer, and knock on the door. Feeling at home, though, would be much more convenient.”

Albus chuckled. “I suppose it would be.”

“I’m sorry, Albus, but my eyes are just closing of their own accord here. Why don’t we go up and get ready for bed, hmm?” Minerva suggested.

The two went upstairs, Minerva again going down the hall to use the bathroom at the other end of the house. She pondered taking a shower, then decided that would wake her up, so she just washed then changed into her nightgown and pulled on her dressing gown. She returned to her bedroom just as Albus was stepping out of the bathroom dressed in his nightshirt, his robes over one arm and his boots and socks in his other hand. 

“Even though I brought a nightshirt, I didn’t really anticipate staying,” Albus said awkwardly. “I didn’t bring a dressing gown or slippers.”

“Oh, well, I can help you with that. I’ll just be a minute!”

“You needn’t bother, I – ”

“It’s no bother. Be right back!” Minerva said cheerfully. 

She turned and ran back up toward Malcolm’s room, where she opened the wardrobe and found an old dressing gown of green and blue tartan wool. She could just give him some of her socks to Transfigure into a pair of slippers. Minerva hurried back down the hall and rapped on Albus’s partially open door. 

“Come in,” Albus called.

“Here – it’s something old of Malcolm’s. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. I was going to get you something to Transfigure into slippers, but I see you’ve managed,” Minerva said, noticing the fluffy grey slippers on his feet. 

“Yes, I Transfigured the woolen socks I wore on our walk,” Albus explained as he stood from his perch at the foot of the bed and took the dressing gown from Minerva. “Thank you, my dear. I don’t know as I will need it, but it is nice to have.”

“I thought we might have some tea before bed. I can call Orents, but I usually just go down to the kitchen and fix it myself. Would you like to join me?” Minerva asked.

Albus nodded and shrugged on the dressing gown and tied the sash about him. He followed Minerva down to the kitchen, where Orents and Quimpy were sitting at the house-elves' small table drinking butterbeer together.

“Don’t get up,” Minerva said. “We’re just down to get ourselves a cup of tea. How are you, Quimpy?”

“Just dandy, Miss Minerva, but busy busy with Miss Melina’s wedding coming and setting up her new house,” Quimpy replied.

“Well, I’m happy you could drop by and visit your brother. Did you see Fwisky, too?” Minerva asked.

“Yes, but she went to bed. She gets tired more now,” Quimpy said sadly.

Orents added, more brightly, “But she feels better during the day.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Minerva replied. Turning to Albus, she explained, “Tchierie, Fwisky’s mate, died in June.”

“Ah, my condolences,” Albus said, addressing Orents and Quimpy, who bobbed their heads in response.

Minerva made them tea, a blend of different mints and catnip, and Albus Levitated the tray for her.

“I thought we could have it in your room,” Minerva said. “It has that nice little table and chairs. My room just has the desk, a straight-back chair, and a rocking chair.”

Albus nodded in agreement and followed her up the stairs, the tray floating smoothly in front of him. When they reached the bedroom, he set the tray down on the table. Minerva began to pour their tea, adding a little honey to Albus’s.

“Are you going to sit down, Albus?” 

“Oh, yes, of course.” Albus sat in the other little chair across from her.

“I should have asked whether you wanted a book or something to read before bed,” Minerva said before taking a sip of her tea. “I have a few in my room, or you could go back and borrow something from the library.”

“I am rather tired, but perhaps something light,” Albus replied.

“That’s about all that is left in my room. I brought most of my books with me, so there are only a few novels and some books that I enjoyed as a child,” Minerva replied.

“Oh? What children’s books?” Albus asked, his interest suddenly piqued.

“Well, I think there’s still a copy of _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_ and _Through the Looking-Glass_ , some Sir Walter Scott, of course, a rather luridly illustrated copy of Spenser’s _Faerie Queene_ , and _Emil und die Detective_ – Dad’s idea of an educational book. He didn’t give up hope for years that I would follow in his footsteps. But he was happy to see me strike off into Transfiguration,” Minerva said. “And there’s fairy tales, both the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Andersen. The Hans Christian Andersen stories always made me cry, so I didn’t read them as much.”

“I read those fairy tales when I was a boy, too. Some of the Grimm stories were quite grisly,” Albus said. “The Andersen tales were sad, but they were beautiful, and I preferred them. My mother liked poetry, so I also read quite a bit of poetry growing up. It was how I learned to read, actually. And I know of the Alice stories, of course, and have read _Alice in Wonderland_ , but I never read _Through the Looking-Glass_.”

“No? Well, why don’t you borrow that tonight, then, and you can bring it with you. We’ll bring the set of Lewis Carroll with us. There’s another volume with some of his poems. The drawings in all of them are nice.”

They finished their tea and Minerva stood. She looked at Albus. “Are you coming?” When Albus looked at her blankly, she said, “To fetch the book. Unless you’re too tired. You seem sleepy.”

Albus smiled. “I am a little sleepy, but it would be pleasant to have something light to read.”

Minerva led him into her bedroom and showed him the few books on the shelves. “Here’s _Through the Looking-Glass_ , but if you’d like any of the others instead, help yourself.”

“Oh, _Rob Roy_!” Albus exclaimed. “I enjoyed that as a boy. My Uncle Christopher gave it to me for my tenth birthday. I don’t know whatever happened to it.”

“Here, it’s yours, then, Albus,” Minerva said, handing it to him, “if you ever want to reread it. And there’s _Ivanhoe_ and _St. Ronan’s Well_ , too.”

“Oh, I can’t take your book, Minerva – ”

“Don’t be absurd, Albus. Of course you can,” she said with a laugh. 

Albus grinned at her. “I’ll relive my childhood, then, rereading it. But I’ll start with the Lewis Carroll tonight, I think,” he said, picking up the Scott and _Through the Looking-Glass_.

“Sleep well, Albus,” Minerva said. “I’ll wake you in the morning, if you’re not up.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Albus replied. “It has been a lovely day.”

“It has been – but don’t leave just yet,” Minerva said with a smile, placing her hands on his shoulders. “I need another proper kiss – and we also need to ensure that doppelganger-Albus doesn’t make a surprise reappearance!”

Albus set the books down on the bed. Minerva’s hair was down and gathered loosely behind her head. She was completely appealing and attractive at that moment. He caressed her cheek, then placed a finger beneath her chin to tilt her face toward him, but he didn’t kiss her yet. He looked into her eyes as he slowly approached her, then he paused and let out a sigh.

“You are too beautiful for words, Minerva, so wonderful,” he said softly, “and so very, very attractive. You were worth waiting a lifetime for.”

Albus brought his lips to hers and kissed her gently, then kissed her once more softly. “Good night, sweet dreams, my dear.”

Minerva smiled and drew her hands down his chest. “Good night, Albus. I will see you in the morning.”

Minerva watched as Albus stepped out her door with his books, giving her a last little wave. It was hard to see him go, return to his room and his separate bed, but hopefully, if she were patient, he would lose his final reservations and they could spend some nights together before school started and that became nearly impossible. She closed her door most of the way, but didn’t latch it, and then opened her window and got into bed. 

The thought of the beginning of the school year depressed her. She and Albus would have so many duties, there would be so many people around, the full staff would be there, all meals would be taken in the Great Hall with the students . . . how would they ever have any privacy or any time alone together, she wondered. They would simply have to be inventive, use their time wisely. 

Minerva extinguished her lights and rolled over. She could see that Albus’s light was still on, and feeling some comfort in the knowledge that Albus was close by, just in the next room, lying in bed with one of her favourite childhood books, Minerva gazed at the light seeping in through her door, her eyelids growing heavier, until, finally, she fell asleep.

Minerva woke a little before six, the pale early morning light waking her gently. She rose quietly and went down the hall to take a quick shower and dress. Fifteen minutes later, she was showered, dressed, and ready to start her day. 

Albus had closed his door in the night, and Minerva tapped on it softly, not wanting to jolt him from his sleep. Slowly and quietly, she opened the door. Albus was lying on his side, sound asleep. It was early still. He had said that he had an appointment at eleven, although he did have work to do that day. Still, it seemed a pity to disturb his sleep. Minerva stood in the doorway for a moment, torn between waking him, closing the door and letting him sleep longer, and shedding her robes and joining him. In the end, she did none of those things, instead, transforming with a small pop, padding across the room, and jumping lightly up onto the foot of the bed. 

She walked gingerly up toward the head of the bed, then looked down into Albus’s face. Albus turned slightly in his sleep. Minerva lay down next to him, resting her paws and head on his chest, enjoying his warmth, and gradually drifted into a light sleep.

An hour later, Minerva began to purr as she woke to someone petting her.

“Minerva, Minerva, Minerva,” Albus said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Whatever shall I do with you, my dear?”

Minerva just purred more loudly and snuggled closer to him. Albus rolled onto his back, slid a hand beneath her, and lifted her fully onto his chest. Minerva didn’t even open her eyes, simply curling up and settling back into a light sleep as Albus stroked her fur. Finally, Albus put an arm around her and sat up, cradling her against him. Minerva opened her eyes and blinked at him.

“Good morning, my dear! I do believe it is time for me to get up now.”

Minerva bumped his chin with her head, then leapt to the floor as Albus released her. With a slight snap, she was back in her ordinary form. 

“Good morning, Albus! I hope you don’t mind me joining you as I did. It simply seemed a pity to wake you when you were sleeping so nicely, and you looked so warm and cozy, I couldn’t help but join you,” Minerva said with a smile.

Albus chuckled. “It was rather a nice way to wake up, actually. But now, I need to get up and dress. Is breakfast at any particular time?”

“No, but – ” Minerva paused and cast a _Tempus_. Seven-fifteen. “ – Mother is likely drinking her second cup of tea now, and eating her breakfast, so we could join her, if you like. Or we could call Orents and have him bring us breakfast here, whichever you prefer.”

“I think it would be nice to join your mother. I won’t be long.”

Minerva bent and gave him a kiss on the cheek then left him to change. “I’ll just go on down now, unless you’d rather I wait for you. We breakfast in the morning room, where we had our tea yesterday.”

Albus told her to go down and he would be along shortly.

After breakfast, Minerva asked Albus whether he had time for a walk before they left for Hogwarts. 

“I’m sorry, my dear, but I have so many things to do today, especially as we will be gone tomorrow, as well, that I need to get back. And I do want to be free this evening. But please don’t let that keep you from staying and enjoying the morning with your parents,” Albus replied.

“It was just a thought. Perhaps next time,” Minerva said. “I will Apparate back with you.”

Egeria and Merwyn said good-bye to the two in the front hall, and Merwyn cast the few spells necessary to add Albus to the family wards so that he could Apparate or Floo directly into the house. Moments later, Albus and Minerva were at the Hogwarts gates. As they walked back up to the castle, Albus remarked that he believed that he would be hiring the new Care of Magical Creatures teacher that morning, Kettleburn, whom Wilhelmina had spoken with the day before. 

“That only leaves Flying and Quidditch. I thought I might ask your brother if he would mind taking those on, at least until we find someone else to do it,” Albus said. “I assume he knows enough about Quidditch to be able to referee – was he on the Quidditch team in school?”

“Yes, he was a Beater, actually,” Minerva replied. “He didn’t really have the build for it, but he made up for it in aggressiveness, from what I understand. I don’t know if he’s played since then, though.”

“If he can Apparate-by-Broom – which we shall see tomorrow – he can manage Flying and Quidditch, then, I’m sure,” Albus said with a nod. 

They reached the second floor, and they parted company until lunch, making tentative plans to meet after dinner. Kettleburn would be staying for lunch, and Albus doubted he would have any free time in the afternoon.

Minerva’s day went quickly. She spent most of it on Hogwarts business, as she really had little to do to prepare for the wedding the next day. If the weather was fine, she would wear her saffron and raspberry robes, and if it wasn’t, she would grit her teeth and wear her Muggle suit. The day before, she had confirmed with her mother that her wedding present to Melina and Brennan had arrived at the house. Her mother had picked it up for her when she went shopping in Muggle Edinburgh. Minerva thought it a very dull wedding present, but Melina had said she wanted a Muggle electric iron, so that is what Minerva got her. Her mother had bought her a Hoover and some electric lamps for their sitting room. Although Brennan had some Muggle appliances and lamps, the house was a large one to furnish, and Melina wanted new appliances rather than the old ones from Brennan’s flat. 

The wedding was going to be a small, quiet affair, which was just as well, as it was in the registry office. The ceremony was at nine o’clock, and the wedding breakfast was to be held in a nearby Muggle restaurant. Other than Murdoch’s immediate family, Melina had only invited Uncle Perseus and Aunt Helen, and, of course, Jenny, Albus, Quin, Poppy, and Gertrude. Brennan’s mother was not up to the trip, so they were planning on visiting her at the end of their honeymoon, but his brother, his wife, and a handful of Melina and Brennan’s mutual Muggle friends were coming.

At lunch, Minerva met Kettleburn, who had accepted Albus’s offer and would arrive on the first of December, overlapping with Wilhelmina by a few weeks so that she could show him around and introduce him to the students. Kettleburn was an amusing, middle-aged wizard, lean and wiry, missing a few “minor appendages,” as he put it, with a slight limp caused by some missing flesh in one leg, where a beast had taken a chomp out of him. Minerva had to keep herself from spitting out her soup when Malcolm leaned over and asked her, in a whisper, whether she thought that Kettleburn planned on being eaten a little at a time or whether he might make a full meal for some creature before that happened.

Minerva’s afternoon was as quiet as her morning had been, and she took a walk before dinner, catching sight of Malcolm on his broom, high above the castle. She watched him for a while, her heart in her throat when, leaning close to the handle, he did loops and hair-pin turns, but he remained in complete control of his broom and the broom’s charms appeared to keep him well-seated. Finally, deciding that he was not going to be landing any time soon, Minerva returned to the castle and to her office until dinner. 

There were more staff at dinner than there had been in weeks. Both Pringle and Ogg had returned early to assess their areas of responsibility and get any maintenance done before classes began, and Madam Perlecta had also returned early. If they were curious about Malcolm’s presence at the table, they said nothing, and Albus announced that lunch and dinner would be served in the Great Hall beginning with Saturday’s lunch.

After eating his custard, but not taking any biscuits, Minerva noticed, Albus stood and asked her if she would care to join him for a game of chess. Minerva nodded, and the two walked up to the gargoyle together, chatting about their day. As soon as the gargoyle closed the entrance behind them, Minerva threw her arms around Albus and kissed him.

“Oh, I thought I would burst, waiting for this,” she said, kissing him again.

Albus chuckled and returned her kiss. “I missed you, too, Minerva. Somehow, despite being busy all day, I felt that it was taking far too long for the dinner hour to arrive.” He kissed her again, and they reached the top of the stairs.

“What did you think of Kettleburn?” Albus asked.

“He seemed nice. A bit eccentric and, um, blasé about the loss of his fingers, toes, and other miscellaneous chunks of himself, but nice. And well-qualified, I thought,” Minerva responded.

Albus grinned. “He does seem a bit unconcerned about the gradual loss of limb by attrition, doesn’t he? But he seems very knowledgeable, and hopefully he will not be losing many more pieces of himself in the near-future.”

The two went upstairs and Albus set up the chessboard for them.

“We’re really playing chess?” Minerva asked.

Albus looked up, surprised. “I thought you wanted to – if you don’t, we don’t have to, naturally.”

“No, we can play chess. I just thought that we might spend time just getting to know each other better,” Minerva said.

Albus looked puzzled. “Getting to know each other better? I think we are past the favourite colours, favourite foods, favourite seasons conversations.”

Minerva laughed. “I meant in the ways that we don’t know each other as well, Albus. You are such a dear!” She leaned over and kissed his cheek before sitting in the chair opposite him. “I won last time, so I’ll play white this game.”

“Ah, I see . . .” Albus’s cheeks went pink as he realised what Minerva was saying. “Well, we have had a busy few days, and we need to be in Edinburgh early tomorrow for your niece’s wedding, so I thought a relaxing game or two of chess might be nice,” Albus said.

Minerva won the first game and lost the second, then Albus called for tea and they curled up together on the sofa, and Minerva drank in his kisses, ignoring her tea altogether. Finally, Albus declared that he would walk her back to her rooms. They could take the backstairs which were so handy to Gryffindor Tower. Minerva stifled a sigh, but agreed. She didn’t think that she could bear being so close to him only to be parted from him again. At least they had come to an agreeable compromise about their holiday, and that was one less area of tension between them. The sexual tension between them, however, simply seemed to be growing, from Minerva’s point-of-view, anyway. And she didn’t think that it was becoming any easier for Albus either. But they were headed for his backstairs and her rooms, where he clearly planned to bid her good-night to return to his own suite.

Minerva stopped before Albus reached the final step. Sensing this, Albus turned slightly, looking up at her in the flickering torchlight.

“All right, there, Minerva? It’s only a few more steps, my dear,” he said, concerned that her claustrophobia was bothering her despite the fact that he had led her down this narrow stone stairway many times.

“No,” Minerva said softly. “I’m not all right.” 

When they had passed through Albus’s bedroom on the way to his backstairs, Minerva wished they were at their final destination. She understood his desire to court her properly, but she didn’t think she could bear being properly courted much longer. When he turned further toward her, she placed a hand on each shoulder and stepped down one more step so that she was pressed against him.

“Hold me, please, Albus,” she whispered, putting one hand behind his neck, threaded through his hair, sliding the other one down his side, and laying her head on his shoulder.

Albus did as she asked, and said, “It’s all right, my dear. I have you. It’s just a short ways further – Minerva?”

She had moved her hand to the small of his back, and now it crept lower as she felt the curve of his buttocks beneath his robes, and she wished he weren’t wearing two layers. She felt him gasp as her fingers explored his cleft through the fabric and her lips found his neck. She nuzzled him, moving his hair and beard aside, baring the side of his neck to the tip of an exploring tongue. 

“Minerva – um – ” Minerva felt Albus swallow. “You . . . I . . .”

Minerva just said, “Mmm,” and pressed against him harder, forcing him to take a step down, and she stepped down with him, deliberately moving her hips to provide him a brief massage. She kissed his neck, then sucked it, nipping slightly. Only mildly concerned that he might pull away, she moved her hand from the back of his head down to his hips, then reached between them. Albus took the final step down, and Minerva followed, backing him into the door. Then she stopped, placed both hands lightly on his chest, and looked up at him.

“Don’t you . . . don’t you want me, Albus?” she asked softly, drawing her hands down, parting his outer robe, then lightly caressing his chest. “Is there something I can do . . . so that you want me? Something that would make me more desirable?”

“Of course I want you, Minerva,” he said, his voice coming out hoarsely. He swallowed. “You know that I do . . . I just . . . I don’t want you ever to feel . . . used or as though that’s all that I want from you.”

“I could use a Glamour, if you like. If you want something . . . different,” Minerva offered softly, knowing full well that he did not want anything different. She looked down. “If I’m not attractive enough for you, if that’s the problem – ”

“No, no, that’s not it. It’s not. Truly,” Albus said urgently, running his hands up and down her arms. “There is no witch, no woman, on earth who is more attractive than you are to me. You must know how much I desire you.”

Minerva looked up at him, letting a breath out slowly, lips parted. She moved one hand around beneath his outer robe so that it was under his arm, then moved the other one slowly downward, watching his reaction as she did so. She stopped as she caressed his lower abdomen then placed her hand on his hip. She stood on her toes and kissed his mouth lightly but lingeringly, followed by sensuously pulling his lower lip between hers and flicking it with the tip of her tongue as she sucked it gently. 

Barely breaking the kiss, she whispered, “Then show me. Show me your desire, Albus. Show me . . . please.”

When their lips met again, he responded, pulling her closer and pressing his hips forward. He broke the kiss and gasped into her ear, his hand squeezing her buttocks and pulling her tightly against him. “You can feel that, you can feel my desire, my desire for you.”

“And what do you desire? Show me what you desire, please, Albus!”

“Oh, my love, my dearest,” he said, trying to disengage from her embrace, “we should wait . . . at least not here,” he added when he felt her sag in disappointment.

“Now, Albus, please . . . I need you now, not, not later . . . later, too, but now, please,” she said, kissing his chest as she spoke. “You know how much I want you . . . I demonstrated that quite clearly on Tuesday, I think, and it was lovely . . . but I can’t last. I can’t wait any longer for you . . . for you to want me, for you to take me, for you to make love to me. I need you, Albus.” Minerva looked up at him. Her heart was pounding. “I know you love me, now please show me how much you want me, that you need me, too, please,” she finished softly, looking back down, “please, I want you to . . . to take me, please. I will beg – ”

“No,” Albus said gruffly. “Do not. Never.”

He kissed her forehead, then her eyes, then her cheeks, and as he began to kiss her mouth, his hands went to her waist and he turned her to his left, pushing her gently to the stone wall. 

“I want you, Minerva. I want you . . . I want you . . . I want you so much, and I so want to be romantic, to show you all my love and adoration,” Albus said, kissing her mouth and throat, bringing his hands to her breasts then back down again. “I could take you now, and, oh, how I have wanted to make love to you, but you deserve something special. Not here, now.” He pulled at a lace on her bodice, and her robes loosened to his touch. “You do . . . deserve something special,” he said between gasps and kisses as he sucked at her throat, and, one hand still at her waist, he moved aside her robe, baring a breast until he covered it with his hand. “I can’t just . . . not here.”

“Yes . . . oh, gods, Albus, please . . . you drive me mad,” Minerva said, trying to shrug off her gown. “Please . . .”

“Oh, Minerva . . .” 

Albus rested his forehead on her shoulder and let out a shuddering breath, but his hand, seemingly of its own accord, fondled her breast, then cupped it, a thumb teasing her nipple, before moving her robe further aside, down off her shoulder. He turned his head and kissed her throat as his other hand rose and shoved her robe down from her other shoulder. Minerva could feel lips caressing her collar bone as his hands played with her, teasing her nipples. She attempted to move her arms to pull him closer, but the robe constricted her movements, and his hands pressed against her breasts, the stone wall cold against her back and his breath hot against her throat. 

Minerva moaned softly as Albus gently nipped and sucked at the tender skin near her pulse point and one of his hands groped downward, moving her robes lower, bunching them about her waist and her wrists. His fingers played softly across the sensitive skin below her navel, dancing their way lower. No longer protesting, Albus’s voice now murmured half-intelligible endearments as he continued finding new places on her neck and shoulders to kiss her, sucking, nipping, licking, and his left hand adored her right breast as his right hand slipped still lower, insinuating itself between her clothing and her skin, finding where her feminine thatch of hair began. Albus moaned in longing and frustration as the robes, fallen snug about Minerva’s hips, denied him any further access to her hidden crux. 

He withdrew his hand, bringing it back to her breasts, then he lowered his head more, kissing the valley between them as his fingertips teased the nipples. Albus moved his hands to her arms, grasping them and bracing himself as he slowly kissed his way down her body to her stomach, then took a return path that brought his lips to a peaked nipple, where he suckled first lightly, then taking more of her breast in his mouth, he gently drew his teeth over her skin, flush in the torchlight, to her nipple, flicking his tongue over it as he moaned lowly, and Minerva feeling the vibration of his voice all the way to her throbbing clitoris. She wriggled, begging him with her body, but he suckled the nipple then moved to the other breast, again nipping, flicking and suckling, before he moved further down, sliding his hands to her wrists as he knelt before her and kissed her stomach, tantalising, feather-light kisses followed by occasional quick flicks of his tongue.

“Oh, gods, Albus, I cannot bear it,” Minerva cried, gasping and rocking her hips out from the wall, her desire inflamed by his touch, but Albus only pressed her wrists to the wall and nuzzled her where her robes gathered at her hips.

“You wanted me to show you my desire, Minerva, my desire is you and this is what I desire, and how I desire you, my love,” Albus answered, his voice low and deep. “This is how I desire you, how I make love to you, how I take you, if you will have me do so here, now, in this place.” His breath was a warm, tickling breeze over her skin. “Unless you would have me stop.”

“Don’t stop, Albus, please, yes . . . don’t stop,” Minerva moaned.

A whispered spell raised her skirts, and Albus trembled, a shuddering breath issuing from between parted lips as he looked at her thighs then slowly began kissing them gently, moving from the inside of one leg to the other.

Minerva threw back her head and cried out. “Oh, gods, Albus.” Her breathing quickened. He had not yet even touched her throbbing heat and she believed she would come that very moment. “Please . . . please . . .” she moaned, not even sure what she begged for, but knowing that Albus held it.

Albus whispered another spell and Minerva’s robes rose higher about her waist. Swallowing, he approached her and nuzzled her through her knickers, then, without moving away, Albus whispered another spell, and with his breath on her crux, her knickers were banished and his mouth was at her source of heat. 

As Albus nuzzled her, then flicked his tongue out experimentally, finding her clitoris briefly, Minerva thought she would die right there. She seemed unable to do anything but breath in, and when his tongue began to pleasure her, she finally let her breath out in a gasping cry and gripped his shoulders tightly, bunching his robes in her fists. His fingers began to gently stroke Minerva’s inner thighs as his tongue flicked over her nub, then his mouth moved higher, kissing as it went, and one hand went to her wet heat, rubbing and thrusting alternately. His head moved above the bunched robes again, and Albus began to kiss and lick her stomach, not with the tantalisingly light, teasing kisses of before, but with equally arousing gentle nips, until finally he rose from his knees, placed his left hand at her shoulder, pressing her to the wall, his fingers still at play at her clitoris and vagina, bringing her close to release but never allowing her to come. Minerva was certain she would expire before she came, but Albus then kissed her mouth, drawing her tongue into his own mouth, closing his lips around it, sucking her tongue in rhythm with his thrusting hand, and she came in waves of pleasure, moaning into his mouth as he suckled her tongue, her hands grasping at his waist, arms still restrained by her robes.

Minerva didn’t think she could feel any passion greater than she did in that moment, but then his robes were open and his penis was pressed, large and warm, against her stomach, and even as she still came around his fingers, she wanted him in her, and she lifted a leg, putting it around his hips, trying to mount him, to impale herself on his hard erection. Albus pulled back from the kiss, his breath coming in gasps, and he looked into her eyes as he reached behind her and lifted her up. Still watching her face, he moved his hips until she could feel the head of his penis poised at her entrance. He bent his head and kissed her lightly, softly, gently as he thrust upward and entered her. At his entrance, Minerva gasped, pulling his breath into her own.

Albus kissed her once more as he thrust, then he breathed into her ear, panting, and saying, “I love you, Minerva, I love you . . . Minerva, my dearest Minerva, my love, my sweet, sweet love, you above all, you . . . you . . . you, Minerva, my love . . .”

He drew back, looking at her in the flickering torchlight, watching her as he thrust, and as she came again, Albus’s eyes filled with tears and he said, “You, Minerva, you, my love, Minerva, Minerva, Minerva, my love. . . .”

Minerva was filled with wave upon wave of pleasure. She could no longer see Albus’s face, but only hear his voice as she came around him, her vision filled with stars and her limbs insensible, feeling only the explosion at her core, then intense pleasure rushing through her, like fire, like water, like air, like life, and Albus’s magic surrounded her, lifting her, and her own breath seemed to escape her as she felt the pulse of his life and his energy in and around her. Minerva heard his voice still, speaking of his love, speaking her name, calling her to him, and she collapsed forward against him, held by his strength and supported by his love. 

As Minerva tried to regain control of her panting breath, her head limp on his shoulder, feeling his kisses in her hair, she became aware that he was still holding her, and he was still inside her, still large and hard. Swallowing and trying to draw some moisture into her parched mouth, she finally whispered his name.

“Yes, my dear?” Albus said softly, barely ceasing his kisses, and stroking her back with one hand.

“Albus . . . you’re still . . . that is . . . are you. . . .” She swallowed again. Her passion had exploded in a way she had never experienced before, but perhaps he had been dissatisfied. “I mean to say, it feels as though . . . you did not . . .” Despite having abandoned herself to her passion, she could not find the words to ask him her question.

“I will admit it was surpassingly difficult, my love,” Albus whispered, “but if you are asking what I believe you are . . . I am holding that in reserve, with the assistance of a bit of a charm, until we can make it back to my bedroom, where I can continue to make love to you and finish demonstrating to you how very, very much I love you, desire you, need you, adore you.”


	132. Melina Marries Her Muggle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Albus spend more time together, then attend Melina's wedding.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Melina McGonagall, and others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexually explicit content.

**CXXXII: Melina Marries Her Muggle**

Albus carried Minerva back up the stairs, his right arm around her, the other, under her thighs. 

“I would bring you to your rooms, my dear, but I would rather that I were the only one to enjoy this particular vision of you,” Albus murmured into her ear. 

“Mmm,” was the only response that Minerva could manage as the motion as Albus walked up the stairs was stimulating her again, and despite having felt as though she had reached the peak of arousal and surpassed it, and that she was now past being aroused, her body was responding to the sensation of Albus still inside her and her breasts gently rubbing against his beard.

“You are the most beautiful, most passionate, most wonderful woman in the world,” Albus whispered. “I could never have dreamed of such a witch, nor dreamed she could love me as you do. I love you, my sweetest, dearest Minerva.”

They reached the top of the stairs, and Albus paused to kiss Minerva, lightly at first, then with growing passion. Finally, still kissing her, Albus reached out with his right hand and touched the door, only breaking his kiss to say, “Peppermint pillows,” causing Minerva to giggle.

Albus grinned at her. “They really are a superlative sweet, Minerva. You should try them!”

Minerva laughed more at that as the door opened. Albus kissed her cheek softly as he carried her into his bedroom. He stood beside the bed for a moment, just looking at Minerva, then he sat on the edge of the bed. Minerva leaned forward and kissed him.

Running her hands over his back, Minerva said, “I do believe you are wearing too many clothes.”

Albus simply smiled and lay back on the bed, bringing Minerva with him. He rolled over onto his side and whispered, “You do, do you?” He kissed her mouth, drawing gently on her lips and teasing her tongue with his own.

He began to move his hips, just a slight movement at first, and was rewarded when Minerva’s breathing quickened. He moved more, drawing out of her and pushing back in, repeatedly pumping into her until she broke their kiss with a gasp. 

“I think I rather like having you around me like this, Minerva,” Albus said, his own breath coming in gasps. “If I am wearing you around me, then it doesn’t matter whatever else I might be wearing. Mmm, so wonderful, so good . . .”

Minerva’s hands found the front of his robes and she began to unbutton them. When she tried to push them from his shoulders, Albus cooperated by rolling Minerva onto her back and letting her push them down and off. Minerva’s eyes shone and she ran her hands down his chest before he leaned in closer to kiss her. As he kissed her and fondled her breasts with one hand, he began to move within her again. Soon, Minerva was grasping at his back and his hair, trying to pull him more deeply within her with her legs, and crying out his name as she came again, and Albus, with a gasp and a few final, vigorous pushes, came, only sighing out and holding Minerva tightly to him. 

As Albus caught his breath, Minerva kept her arms around him, and when he made a move to roll off of her, she whispered, “No, please, not yet. Stay – unless you’re uncomfortable.”

“Not uncomfortable, but aren’t I heavy?”

“Mmhm, wonderfully so,” Minerva said with a sigh. “But not too heavy.”

Albus turned his head and kissed her temple, then relaxed completely. “I love you, my dear Minerva.”

“And I love you, Albus,” Minerva replied softly. “This was more wonderful than anything I could have imagined.” She stroked her fingers through his hair. “Thank you for indulging me.”

Albus chuckled. “It was difficult not to, and now I wonder at how I was able to resist for so long.” He sighed. “But . . . I wish I could make love to you all night long and that we had nowhere to be in the morning. I had wanted to be able to make this perfect and romantic for you, my love, and although I certainly can’t regret it at all, I do wish we were already on our holiday and we could take our leisure with each other. I did so want this to be romantic for you, as perfect as possible.”

Minerva smiled. “It was as perfect as possible, Albus. I am very, very satisfied, and in the stairwell . . . you did take your leisure with me there, and to very good effect, I must say.”

Smiling, Albus raised up to look at her. “It was easy with you, to make love to you. I simply love to touch you, kiss you, caress you . . . and more. And to feel how much pleasure I can bring you, that in itself is wonderful. I hope I am always able to bring you pleasure, as well as joy and contentment.”

“You do, more than I could have dreamed,” Minerva said.

Albus kissed her lips lightly, and very gently disengaged himself from her. He grinned. “Time to be rid of the boots, I believe, my dear.”

Minerva reluctantly let go of him as he rolled off of her and sat up. His robes were in a pool at the side of the bed, and he pulled off his boots and socks and dropped them beside his clothes. 

He lay back down beside Minerva and ran his hand along her side. When Albus’s hand reached her robes, which were bunched about her waist, he said, “This can’t be comfortable. All the way on or all the way off?”

“Off, I should think!” Minerva said with a smile.

“Mmm. Allow me, then,” Albus said in a low voice, his hand again travelling up her side and taking a detour to her breast. 

He rolled toward her and gently kissed her breast, then, as he began to gently lick, nip, and suck her nipple, he brought both hands to her waist and found the few hooks that kept the skirts tight around her. With their release, he pushed her robes down and Minerva toed off her shoes. Albus briefly kissed and fondled her other breast before kissing his way down her body. He pushed the robes down and onto the floor to join his. His access now completely unobstructed, Albus knelt beside the bed and slowly began to roll down one of Minerva’s stockings, kissing her leg as he went, then did the same with her other stocking. He kissed his way back up her legs, first kissing one side and then the other, until he reached her hips. Albus settled back up on the bed beside Minerva and pulled her to him, sighing as he held her in his arms.

“I keep wondering whether I will wake up to discover this is a dream, but it is too wonderful to be a dream,” Minerva said, kissing his shoulder then his cheek. “And you are so tremendously real and warm.”

Albus kissed Minerva lightly then said, “We would be warmer if we got into bed. If you would like to, that is. For a while, anyway.”

“Mm, yes,” Minerva said.

Albus took her hand and sat up with her, kissing her lips and seeming to forget why they had sat up, kissing her repeatedly. Minerva moved to sit on his lap, encircling him with her legs, and pressing herself against Albus’s growing erection. Albus continued to kiss her, then reached between them to fondle her right breast; with his right hand, he cast a spell to pull the covers back from the bed. Minerva began to slide against his penis, causing Albus to break their kiss and gasp.

“Oh, Minerva, that’s . . . oh . . .”

Minerva continued to move against him, and they kissed each other in any spot they could reach. Albus kissed Minerva’s ear, then moved his tongue in a spiral around it before taking her earlobe between his lips. Minerva reached between them and began to caress the head of his penis as she continued to slide her warm, wet clitoris against him.

“Minerva, oh, gods . . . I want you again,” Albus breathed into her ear.

“What do you want, Albus? Please tell me. I want to hear it. Please say it,” Minerva whispered, “as you did before. Those words, please . . .”

Albus swallowed then kissed her ear lightly before whispering, “Fuck Albus Dumbledore.”

“Oh, that sounds . . . that sounds so erotic when you whisper it like that,” Minerva said softly.

“Will you, then?” Albus whispered. “Will you?”

Minerva pushed Albus back against the bed, then she kissed his lips, drawing his tongue into her mouth as she began to slide back and forth on his cock. Albus moaned as she reached between them and guided his penis to her entrance then very slowly surrounded him, pushing back against his cock until he was fully sheathed within her. Minerva rotated her hips first in one direction then in the other, flexing her muscles, tightening around him, to massage his erection. Albus broke away from her kiss to gasp at the sensation.

“You like this?” Minerva whispered. 

“Yes . . . ahh, gods . . . yes,” Albus managed to reply, his voice hoarse with desire.

Minerva sat up on his cock, looking down at where their bodies joined and then up at Albus’s face. She began to move back and forth, rising slightly each time, and coming down with her clit rubbing on his pelvis. 

“You feel so wonderful in me, Albus, so good, so full,” Minerva gasped as she began to move faster. She closed her eyes, concentrating completely on the sensation of his erection as it stimulated her, Albus’s hands at her hips.

“Ah, yes, Minerva, yes, come . . . come . . .” Albus urged as he watched Minerva’s face and saw her expression change as her passion grew.

Minerva began to come, gasping and calling out, aware only of Albus and of her orgasm as her vagina contracted around him. Albus, unable to restrain himself any longer, moved his hands to Minerva’s back and quickly flipped her over. As she still came around his erection, Albus closed her legs with his own; she was tight around him, and he pumped, harder and harder, unable to speak except to gasp Minerva’s name, and as Minerva’s orgasm finally began to fade, he pushed deep into her and released, shuddering and holding onto her.

“Minerva, Minerva, my love, my delight, my sweet, sweet delight,” he gasped. “I love you so . . . I love you so, my sweet delight.”

“Albus, Albus . . . mmm, my darling Albus,” Minerva moaned softly.

They lay in the quiet for a while, catching their breath, as Minerva caressed Albus’s back. She felt utterly sated, warm, and complete, and perfectly happy to have him resting on top of her as he was.

Albus, gradually returning to himself, blinked his eyes open. “Minerva?” he said softly.

“Mmmm . . .” Minerva was gently running her hands over his back.

“I . . . I hope that I haven’t been . . . I don’t want you to find me crude,” Albus said hesitantly.

“I am the one who wanted to hear you say what you did,” Minerva replied, yawning. “Mm. That was very, very nice.”

“And I wasn’t too rough?” Albus asked.

“No, not at all. And there can be a place for a little bit of . . . vigour, too,” Minerva said. “Not roughness, but . . . a lot of energy.” She giggled softly. “And you _do_ have a lot of energy.”

“Oh, good . . . you know, despite . . . well, despite my years, and my, um, earlier experience, I am not used to talking about this sort of thing in a relationship,” Albus said, “but I want to . . . I want you to feel you can tell me what you like, or if I do something that you don’t like.”

“All right . . . I liked this very much. Everything you have done tonight,” Minerva said. “And I want you to feel the same, Albus. I want to know when you enjoy something, or if there’s something that you don’t like. For example, if you don’t like saying those words, that’s all right. I liked it. Coming from your lips, they sound . . . well . . .” Minerva could feel herself blush. “They sound rather naughty, which can be arousing. Not all of the time, obviously, but . . . but if you don’t feel comfortable with it, then that’s all right.”

“No, I don’t mind. But I don’t usually . . . I don’t want you to think I disrespect you when I say something like that,” Albus said. “I love you, and I want making love to you to make you feel loved. I never want you to feel bad because of something I might do or say.”

Minerva turned her head and kissed him. “I won’t. I am sure you will always make me feel loved, Albus. If there’s ever anything I don’t like, or that doesn’t feel good, whether in general or just in that moment because of my mood, I will tell you, but I don’t think you’d ever make me feel disrespected or unloved. Your love for me is very evident in everything you say and do.” Minerva thought a moment. “You know . . . if there’s ever anything you’d like to do or to try, but you’re nervous about it, just tell me, or we can just try it. If either of us doesn’t like it, we can just say that it’s something that’s better off remaining a fantasy. How does that sound?”

Albus nodded and slowly rolled off of her. He cast a mild cleansing charm on them both then, with a wave of his hand, he drew the covers up over them. Minerva snuggled up against him.

“I like that idea . . . Have you . . . well, this may sound egotistical of me,” Albus said hesitantly.

“What?” Minerva asked, thinking that he hardly had the largest ego of any wizard she’d met, and he could still use a little more self-confidence in bed.

“Nothing,” Albus replied, his eyes closed.

“Please tell me, Albus,” Minerva asked gently.

“Have you ever . . . you mentioned fantasy. Have you ever had one? About me?” Albus asked.

Minerva laughed. “I tried very hard not to because I didn’t want to torment myself, but unlike you, I was not very successful in keeping myself from imagining what it might be like to make love to you. And so, yes, I have had fantasies and dreams about you. Some of the fantasies are not possible, anyway, but that’s sometimes the nature of a fantasy.”

“Really? What sort of fantasy wouldn’t be possible?” Albus asked, intrigued, and his curiosity overcoming his embarrassment.

“Oh, just . . . you know . . .” Now it was Minerva’s turn to be slightly uncomfortable.

“Now I’m quite curious,” Albus said. “Sex on a broom?” he asked.

“No!” Minerva replied. She looked at him. “Why? Do you have fantasies about having sex on a broom?”

“No, but I understand it is a common fantasy, and I think it would be rather difficult and dangerous, if not impossible,” Albus answered.

Minerva looked at him and smiled affectionately. She couldn’t very well ask him to be open about what he would like if she were unwilling to share even a simple fantasy. “All right, don’t laugh – or you may laugh, if you like, but don’t laugh too hard – but I had a fantasy that you took me against the wall back behind Greenhouse Three while there were people wandering about the gardens and we could have been discovered at any moment.”

Albus’s eyebrows rose. “Really? When was this?” he asked, sure that it had to have been sometime in the last few days.

“It was while you were on holiday, and I had come back to the school early, but you weren’t here,” Minerva said. “I was just remembering some of the lovely time we had spent together recently, and I thought of our walk near the greenhouses, and one thought led to another.”

“Sometime I would like to hear this fantasy of yours,” Albus said in a low voice, caressing her breast. “If you would like to share it, of course.”

Minerva smiled. “I will do that – if you will also share one of yours about me,” she said.

“Oh, well, I have tried not to think about you that way, you know,” Albus said. “I did have a dream once, though. I knew I was dreaming but couldn’t bring myself to wake up.”

“I don’t blame you,” Minerva said. “You must have been very frustrated. Or I hope you were, at least a little. Because you were attracted to me, I mean.”

“Very – I was very attracted to you, and I lived in fear that I would betray my attraction.”

“Hence our misunderstanding last week,” Minerva said. “But come now, I told you what my fantasy was. What was your dream? And don’t tell me you can’t remember it.”

“I do remember it, very clearly. I dreamed we were in my office and I didn’t let you leave. And I, um, we did it standing up, up against the door,” Albus said, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

“My goodness! That does sound intriguing – and like something that we might actually be able to accomplish at some time,” Minerva said with a grin.

Albus returned her smile. “There are portraits there, my dear.”

“Oh, portraits! I don’t care about portraits. Not much. Unless they started talking to us while we were in the middle of something – that would be very disconcerting,” Minerva said with a little laugh.

Albus chuckled. “It would be! Can you imagine if they started to give us advice?”

Minerva laughed. “Well, they _are_ there to advise the Headmaster, after all. Perhaps Dilys might have a few ideas on how to satisfy a witch!”

They both laughed, then Albus said, “Actually, according to Dilys, Eliphelet was quite a ladies’ man when he was Headmaster. Or he believed himself to be. He apparently would have relations with any witch who was in the least bit willing, and make passes at others. But I didn’t get the feeling that Dilys was particularly impressed by his performance. Or his lack of discrimination.”

“Lack of discrimination?” Minerva asked. “Oh, do tell!”

“Well, she said – and I think this is what gave rise to the dream I had – that he would have had Dustern on the settee and followed it up with raising Perlecta’s skirts and taking her against the door,” Albus said, trying not to feel embarrassed.

“Oh, my!” Minerva laughed. “They certainly are different types – and the thought of Dustern! I shouldn’t be uncharitable, but she is not particularly attractive.”

“No, I never found her so. Although when I first began teaching here, before we began having our differences, I had the impression that she found me . . . um, I don’t know, appealing, I suppose,” Albus said, feeling as though he were sounding egotistical.

“I wouldn’t be in the least bit surprised if she did,” Minerva said, nodding. “In fact, not only does it make sense simply because you _are_ an extremely attractive wizard, but it also would explain the depth of her dislike for you. It seemed to go beyond mere professional differences, and yet I never got the sense that you had some kind of personal falling out. But if she had been attracted to you and you didn’t respond to her” – Minerva shrugged – “that could lead her to feel more resentment toward you when you did have differences of opinion.”

“Possibly. That hadn’t occurred to me,” Albus said. He turned his head and kissed her softly. “I love you, my dear, I love you and I can scarcely believe how very blessed I am that you love me as you do.”

“For a long time, I had been resigned to loving you and never being with you,” Minerva said, “so I feel as though I have been blessed, as well.”

Albus caressed her, and when she yawned, he said, “I do not like saying this, my dear, but I do believe it is time for us to dress and for me to walk you to your rooms. It must be midnight, at least.”

Minerva stiffened. “Back to my rooms . . . I can’t stay? You don’t want me to stay?”

“I do want you to stay, Minerva, I do, truly, but . . . I have had this notion, this . . . desire for the ideal first time making love with you. And this was wonderful, as was Tuesday, in your sitting room, and I wouldn’t wish that we had waited for a perfect moment, but . . . can you understand when I say that I want our first night together to be particularly special? That I want it to be romantic and wonderful, with no demands awaiting us in the morning? Tomorrow, we have to be up and out of the castle early. Hardly conducive to, well, to waking you the way I would like to. Can you understand that?”

Minerva, who had initially felt the beginnings of resentment and hurt bubbling in her, melted at his words. “Yes,” she said softly. “I do not want to leave, but I can understand.” She raised her head and looked at him and at his worried expression. “And I will look forward to that night, that special night, and I hope that I will not need to wait long for it.” She kissed him softly, then added. “Let’s get dressed, then, and you can walk me back.”

Albus visibly relaxed, and he smiled at her. “You are more wonderful with every passing day, Minerva. You know that, don’t you?”

“Mm, as long as you recognise that!” she joked, pushing the warm covers off of Albus. “Cast us a nice warming charm. I don’t want to get cold when I’m dressing.”

Albus chuckled and Summoned his wand, then he cast a warming charm that encompassed the entire room. He swung his legs around and got out of bed. “You may wish to use the loo, so I’ll warm it there, as well,” he said as he crossed the room.

Minerva smiled. “You are very considerate. Thank you, Albus!” 

Reluctantly, despite her agreement with his proposal, Minerva forced herself from the bed and found her robes, her stockings, and her shoes. Because the robes had three layers to them and it had been a warm day, she hadn’t worn a chemise. She looked around, then shook out her robes. No knickers. 

“Albus!” she called.

Albus came out of the loo, apparently having taken advantage of his brief trip, and said, “Yes, my dear?”

“Where are my knickers?”

Albus stopped stock-still in the centre of the room, a blank expression on his face. “You know . . . I am not sure. I simply banished them without much thought.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t really need them,” Minerva said, “but I do hope you didn’t accidentally banish them to the staff room, or some such place.”

“I am sure they will turn up,” Albus replied. “They are probably in the laundry somewhere.”

“I hope so,” Minerva said, doing up the charmed hooks on the skirts of her over-robe and then lacing the bodice of her under-robe. 

She sat to draw on her stockings, and Albus quickly averted his gaze and Summoned his own robes. Minerva looked up at him.

“Everything all right, Albus?”

“Fine, my dear, but you have the most attractive ankles and calves – I do not want to become distracted. I need to keep my mind on the current mission,” Albus said, blushing as he slipped his own robes on and buttoned them manually.

Minerva smiled. He found her ankles and calves attractive. He really was too sweet sometimes. “And what would that ‘mission’ be?” she asked teasingly.

“Getting you back to your rooms without ravishing you on the way there,” Albus said, looking over at her and giving her a shy little grin.

“We shall have to try that variation sometime, though,” Minerva said with a laugh.

Albus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I am desperately trying not to imagine what that might be like, my dear. Please do not test me!” he said with a chuckle.

“Very well, I’ll be good – for now! But I do look forward to that. Until then, my mind will be filled with dreams and fantasies of how you might ravish me, you know!”

“And you will have to share those with me,” Albus said, coming over to her and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Now, the first decision is whether to take the backstairs or to go down through the office and then take another way back up to your rooms.”

“As much as I would like to prolong our time together, Albus, I do not wish to encounter anyone else at the moment,” she replied, “and I think that would be best accomplished by taking the backstairs.”

Albus agreed, and when they reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned to her, smiling. “What would you have done if I had said I wanted you to use a Glamour?”

“I would have been utterly shocked,” Minerva said with a laugh.

“You really are a little vixen, you know that, don’t you, my dear?” Albus asked teasingly.

Minerva shrugged slightly, still smiling. “I did try.”

“I hope that it is a side of you that we will see again,” Albus replied. “It was quite enticing.”

“I will exercise my imagination, then,” Minerva said, putting her arms around him.

Albus kissed her softly, then held her in his arms for a moment. “We had better go, my dear,” he whispered. 

Minerva nodded and let him open the door for them. It seemed to take no time at all for them to reach her rooms. They instantly noticed something different: the Silent Knight had his helmet off, and he was seated, leaning up against a tree, holding an apple in his hand and seeming to examine it. It had one bite from it. When he saw them, he pushed himself up to his feet.

“My lady,” he said, bowing, his long, straw-blond hair falling over his eyes. “How may I serve you?”

“You don’t have your helmet on,” Minerva remarked, surprised.

“Would you like me to put it back on, my lady?” he asked deferentially. “It is the first time in several hundred years that I have removed it.”

“No, it is fine – why haven’t you removed it in hundreds of years? Or, more to the point, why have you removed it tonight?” Minerva asked.

“Ah, that is a very long story, but I do feel the geas lighten. It is held by a mere thread, my lady, and I could tell you my tale now, if you wish to hear it,” the Knight said.

“We would like to hear it sometime soon,” Minerva said, “but it is late now. Perhaps tomorrow, or the day after?”

The Knight nodded. “As you wish, my lady. If my geas is entirely lifted, I do not know what may happen, however. But perhaps that shall still give us the time for the tale to be told. Do you wish to enter, my lady?”

“Yes, we would, thank you,” Minerva answered. She turned to Albus. “Come in just for a moment?”

Albus followed her into her sitting room and she closed the door behind them.

“With more people in the castle, I didn’t want to say good-night to you out in the corridor,” Minerva explained.

“Or kiss me good-night?” Albus asked before leaning forward and brushing his lips over hers. “I had a wonderful evening. I wish we didn’t need to leave in the morning. Would you like to have breakfast with me? Something quick? We should leave no later than eight-thirty.”

“That means it will be a short night for you again,” Minerva said. “I’m sorry.”

“I am not. I will sleep very well tonight.” He leaned forward and kissed her again. “So, breakfast?”

“Yes, seven-thirty?” she asked.

“Good. I will see you then.” Albus reached behind himself for the doorknob, gave Minerva one more kiss, then whispered. “Good night, my sweet, sweet delight.”

Minerva was smiling as he left. She didn’t know whether she would sleep that night, she was so very happy, so filled with a sense of joy and contentment, but she got ready for bed in her usual manner. She set her wizarding alarm clock for six forty-five, and when she got into bed, she fell deeply asleep, dreaming of Albus.

* * *

Minerva stepped out onto the damp pavement, waiting for Albus. The marriage ceremony had been brief and to the point, though the gentleman performing the wedding had been quite pleasant, almost jovial, and Melina, in her pretty white lace and silk dress, was every bit the beautiful and joyful bride. Brennan, dressed in his best charcoal grey suit, a red carnation in his buttonhole, was nervous and had dropped the ring when his best man, a Muggle named Geoff, handed it to him. Minerva could see every witch and wizard in the room twitch as they restrained the automatic urge to utter an _Accio_. But the ring had rolled beneath Albus’s chair, and he easily bent and retrieved it for them, handing it to Brennan with a wink and a smile that put the younger man at ease, almost as if by magic. 

Albus was dressed in the same suit he had worn to deliver Pretnick’s letter, but had a white boutonniere and tie with Gryffindor red and gold diagonal stripes, rather than the bow tie he normally wore with his Muggle attire, and his Glamour had shortened his beard only slightly and brought his hair up to just brush his shoulders. After the wedding, Albus had taken Brennan, Melina, and Murdoch into a small room near the registry office, having spoken to the registrar of marriages and told him something vague about estate planning and inheritances and needing to speak with the bride and groom alone for a few minutes. Albus had said that it wouldn’t take long and had whisked Melina, Brennan, and Murdoch into the room to remove the heavy binding he had placed on Melina and Brennan the month before and to replace it with a light marriage binding. In principle, he had told Minerva over breakfast, he didn’t really approve of marriage bindings – most of the traditional ones anyway – but this would be the lightest binding, the only one actually possible to cast on a mixed marriage, and it would ease the couple’s way with the Ministry. As a part of his wedding present, he had given Melina a Portkey that would bring them to the atrium of the Ministry so that they could register their marriage later that afternoon.

“A Muggle marriage is always valid in the wizarding world,” Albus had explained, “whether it’s registered or not. It can be registered at any time or never. But since Brennan is a Muggle, it is important for Melina – and for Brennan – that he be recognised as a member of a wizarding family, so they should register it immediately.”

Minerva was waiting, therefore, for Albus and for her brother, her niece, and her niece’s new husband. She looked up to the sky. It was threatening rain again, and Albus had their umbrella. He had Transfigured one for them before they Apparated to Edinburgh, saying an _Impervius_ Charm just wouldn’t do amongst Muggles. She wished now that she had taken her parents up on their offer to wait with her, but she had sent them on to the restaurant, saying that at least someone of the family should be there when the other guests began to arrive. 

She wiggled her toes. She really had to see whether she could find a more comfortable pair of Muggle shoes. Or just put a charm on them. That might be most sensible. She, too, was wearing the same suit that she had worn to deliver Pretnick’s relatives, and although she found it less than comfortable, Albus had expressed his appreciation for it. Minerva was beginning to believe that he would find her attractive in a potato sack. She smirked to herself. Of course, a potato sack would be very revealing, quite short, in fact. They might have some fun with that . . . 

It began to rain, and Minerva went back up the stairs and into the building, entering just as Albus and the others were coming toward her.

“It’s raining,” Minerva said, resisting the urge to take Albus’s arm. “Good that we have the umbrella.”

“I’ll run out and bring the car around,” Brennan said. “I’ll be just a minute.”

“Car?” Murdoch said.

“Yes, but it’s quite all right, Dad – Brennan will be driving, not me!” Melina said.

“Here, take the umbrella,” Albus said, holding it out to him.

“Ta!”

As they waited for Brennan to come back with the car, Melina said, “Geoff had wanted to drive us, but we told him and Jenny we preferred to have them go on to the restaurant and make certain that everything was ready for our arrival. Geoff found it puzzling that we wouldn’t be going along, but I told them there was family business that we needed to take care of. I’m afraid that Jenny told him you were my uncle, Professor, so if he, or anyone else, mentions it –”

“Ah, I will be quite the genial uncle for you, then, my dear,” Albus said. “And perhaps that might finally encourage you to call me ‘Albus’?”

Melina grinned at him. “I could try. Maybe I could start by calling you ‘Uncle Albus,’” she said.

“How is he supposed to be related?” Minerva asked, feeling slightly unsettled. “It is rather peculiar.”

“Oh, a lot of people call relatives ‘uncle’ or ‘cousin’ when it would be too hard to call them by whatever they really are – can you imagine introducing someone by saying, ‘this is my second cousin, once-removed, on my mother’s side’?” Melina giggled giddily. “You can just be a vague sort of relative like that. Maybe by marriage or something. Anyway, I doubt anyone will ask. If they do, just say something about the family tree being complicated, or something.”

Albus laughed, then Murdoch called out from where he stood by the door, telling them that Brennan had arrived with the automobile.

Minerva was displeased when she saw that Albus would not be seated beside her, but then Egeria showed her that he was to sit across from her. Of course, Melina and Jenny couldn’t have known that she would have wanted to sit next to him, but Egeria had, and she told Minerva that she had changed the place cards around when she and Merwyn had arrived to bring Albus to sit closer to Minerva. Melina and Jenny’s aim had been to distribute the witches and wizards among the Muggles in the hopes that they would remember not to discuss anything of the wizarding world if each one was seated beside at least one Muggle.

Albus found his place and smiled and winked at Minerva as he sat down across from her. She grinned back at him. Soon, Minerva was sipping her mimosa and chatting with Brennan’s brother’s wife, a pleasant middle-aged woman, while Albus discussed internal combustion engines with her husband, Daniel. Albus seemed to know something about the Muggle contraptions, somewhat to Minerva’s surprise. Daniel was apparently a mechanic and loved to discuss his work.

As she listened to Sarah, Daniel’s wife, discuss their three children, one of whom was starting at university that year, Minerva kept looking at Albus out of the corner of her eye. She knew that he had special plans for them that afternoon, and she guessed that they were weather-dependent, since he had said that he hoped the rain would be gone from Hogwarts by the afternoon. He certainly did enjoy surprising her and romancing her, Minerva thought. She wished she could reach across the table and take his hand as Egeria had just taken Merwyn’s hand. 

Gertrude and Malcolm were, as far as Minerva could tell, the only wizarding couple seated together. Other wizarding couples were seated across from one another, even if they weren’t seated entirely apart – although Murdoch and Poppy were at opposite ends of the table, Murdoch across from the best man and Poppy seated across from Quin. But since Murdoch had sat beside Poppy after having presented his daughter to her groom, Minerva didn’t think that it meant that they were no longer on good terms. It was odd, though, to see Gertrude and Malcolm seated together, beside one another as they were. Minerva didn’t know whether that indicated that Melina thought they were a couple and yet somehow inseparable by the width of the table, or that Melina hadn’t a clue that they were together, but had seated them next to each other for some completely different reason.

Minerva took a bite of her quiche, wishing that they could leave soon, but knowing it would hurt Melina’s feelings if they were to go early. Albus was laughing at something that Joshua, one of Melina and Brennan’s Muggle friends had just said to him, and pleasurable shivers went through Minerva. She _really_ wanted to be alone with Albus. She slipped off one of her court shoes and reached out with her foot, finding Albus’s leg easily. When he looked over at her with a startled expression, she just smiled at him and moved her foot over his ankle, her toes under his trouser leg. He blinked, then returned her smile.

It was a relief when the happy couple left the restaurant a half hour later, leaving the guests to their own devices, which meant drinks all around, according to Murdoch. Minerva got up and went over to Murdoch to let him know that she and Albus would be leaving. She bent to speak with him, and he turned.

Grinning up at his sister, Murdoch gave her a wink and said, “So, you and Albus will be off?”

“Yes. I am sorry, but we had plans at Hogwarts –” Minerva began.

“That’s just fine, M’nervy! You and Albus go have a good afternoon,” Murdoch said cheerfully. “I hope you enjoyed being within a stone’s throw of him rather than at opposite ends of the table. Once Mother moved Poppy, she had to move everyone else down one so you and Albus could sit across from each other, so Poppy and I haven’t had much opportunity to talk. But Mother assured me it was in good cause!”

Minerva, wondering how much her mother had told Murdoch and how much he may have guessed, returned to Albus and touched his shoulder lightly. He excused himself from the table, offered Minerva his arm, and the two left, stopping only at the coat check to retrieve their umbrella and Albus’s homburg.

When they stepped outside, Albus smiled to see the sun shining.

“Ah, very good! Perhaps we will have some luck and the sun will be shining at Hogwarts, as well,” he said.

“So, what are we doing this afternoon?” Minerva asked.

“I would like it to be just a bit of a surprise for a little while longer,” Albus replied. “It isn’t anything very fancy, just something I thought you would enjoy, but it is dependent on our having fine weather this afternoon.”

“All right, Albus,” Minerva said with a smile. “I am sure I will be pleased, whatever it is you have planned.”

“Let’s find a nice spot to leave from, then, shall we?”

They Apparated to the gates and began to walk back up to the castle.

“I will be very glad to get out of these Muggle clothes,” Minerva remarked, “and into something more comfortable.”

Albus grinned at her. “Would you require any assistance in that area, Professor McGonagall?”

She returned his smile and said, “I just might, at that, Professor Dumbledore.”

“Well, then, shall I accompany you to your rooms and lend you a hand?” Albus asked.

“Indeed, that would be most appreciated,” Minerva replied. “And you might also assist me in selecting something appropriate for this afternoon’s outing, if you would be so kind.”

“I shall endeavour to be of some help in whatever you may need, my dear Professor,” Albus said with a twinkle. 

“Let’s take the Floo from my office, then, Professor Dumbledore, so that we may embark upon this activity as soon as possible,” Minerva said, barely restraining a mirthful grin.

“A very sound suggestion, Professor McGonagall,” Albus said, not restraining his own grin and giving her a wink, as well.

The two hastened up the stairs to the large oak doors, eager to reach Minerva’s office and her Floo and even more eager to attain the privacy of her suite.


	133. Abiding Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus and Minerva return to the castle after Melina's wedding and have fun removing their Muggle attire.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sexual content.

* * *

**CXXXIII: Abiding Love**

Minerva Flooed through to her sitting room first, and Albus followed quickly. 

As soon as Albus stepped out onto the carpet, Minerva looked at him, trying to maintain a serious expression, but her eyes sparkled and she said, “So, Professor Dumbledore, you offered your assistance. How do you believe you may be of the most help?”

“Ah, Professor McGonagall, I have a few ideas, which may be best demonstrated,” Albus replied with a smile. “Perhaps I might first begin by offering to take your jacket?”

Albus helped Minerva from her suit jacket and placed it neatly on the back of one of her straight-backed wooden chairs.

“I believe it will be easier for me to perform my duties if I remove my own jacket, as well,” he said, removing his jacket and placing it on the other chair, but leaving his waistcoat on. “And if you would come and stand here, my dear,” he added, indicating a point beside the small table. 

Minerva came and stood in front of him, but he took her by the shoulders and turned her so that she was no longer facing him. “Like this, perhaps, my dear Professor,” Albus said in a soft, low voice that sent a frisson through her. “Mmm. Very good.”

Minerva felt his lips on the back of her neck, and his hands slid from her shoulders, his arms coming around her in a partial embrace, but his hands stopped at her breasts. As Albus’s lips moved over the nape of her neck, his hands gently kneaded her breasts through her blouse. 

Albus nuzzled the side of her neck then whispered, “Shall I proceed, then, Professor McGonagall?”

“You certainly may, Professor Dumbledore,” Minerva answered. Her eyes were closed and a pleasant warmth and tingling had begun to flow and spread throughout her body, but particularly lower in her, where her moisture was growing. His voice, his laughter, and his sheer presence had been stimulating her all morning, and now that they were in the privacy of her rooms, she fought her impatience to have him touch her most sensitive spots, and simply enjoyed the sensations of his lips and fingers caressing her.

As he continued to find new places on her neck to kiss her, Albus moved his hands down her abdomen, caressing her stomach and chest then returning to his gentle massage of her breasts.

“You have the most beautiful breasts, my dear,” he said in a low voice as his fingers teased her nipples through the silk blouse. “They are . . . mmm, absolute perfection.”

“I am very glad that they meet your approval,” Minerva said, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance, but feeling quite breathless.

“Very much,” Albus murmured.

Albus moved his kisses lower on her back as his hands stroked downward and he came to kneel behind her. He sat back on his heels as he ran his hands down her legs. He softly caressed the fronts of her legs then the backs of her calves, first cupping them with his palms and then grazing them with his fingers, down to her ankles then up her calves to the backs of her knees, hidden beneath her blue skirt. 

Albus swallowed, then said, “Lovely legs, my dear. Very pretty ankles and calves.” His fingers caressed her as he spoke, wandering again from her ankles up her legs to just beneath her skirt. “And nice silk stockings,” he whispered as his explorations brought his fingertips up her thighs. “A charm, I see,” Albus remarked as his fingers found the tops of her stockings and tentatively sought any Muggle undergarment holding them in place.

His fingers continued to caress her legs, now concentrating on the bare skin of Minerva’s thighs above the stockings. When his fingers began gentle, teasing touches of her inner thighs, Albus smiled to hear Minerva’s intake of breath at the sensation, and he urged her to open her stance as his hands moved higher, approaching but not yet touching her warm crux.

“Mmm,” Albus let out a sigh as he straightened, placing his cheek against her. He turned his head and kissed her lower back, then he whispered, “I believe I may be of assistance here.”

He brought both hands to her right leg and inserted a finger beneath her stocking, releasing its charm, then he slowly rolled the stocking down her thigh, caressing her skin as he did so. When he reached her knee, he moved both hands up her leg again, this time allowing one of his hands to briefly, teasingly, meet her crux. Albus was again rewarded by a gasp.

“Is everything well, Professor McGonagall?” he asked in a low voice. “Is my assistance satisfactory?”

“Oh, quite,” Minerva said. She was now gripping the edge of the table. “Quite satisfactory, indeed.”

“I shall attempt to be most thorough,” Albus said as he brought his hands to her left leg and began to roll down her other stocking, again caressing her thigh as he did so and stopping at her knee.

“I appreciate care and attention to detail, Professor Dumbledore,” Minerva responded. Albus caressed her inner thighs, and she gasped. “Ahhh . . . yes, your care is very much appreciated.”

Albus returned to removing Minerva’s stockings, slowly rolling down her right one. As he began to bare her leg below the hem of her skirt, he followed the progress of his fingers with his lips, gently and sensuously kissing her calves.

“Oh, gods . . .” Minerva didn’t think she could bear this slow, tortuous pace, and yet she didn’t want him to change anything he was doing. “Please, proceed as you are, Professor Dumbledore.”

“Have I told you,” Albus asked, his breath warm on her left calf as he pushed down the stocking on that leg, “that your burr is most pleasing?”

“I don’t believe you have mentioned that, no,” Minerva answered, trying to think through the haze of sensation that Albus’s kisses and caresses were creating in her.

“Oh, most pleasing, my dear Professor,” Albus said just before caressing her calf with the tip of his tongue. “It is quite . . . stimulating to hear you say my name as you do.”

“Is it, now, Professor Dumbledore?” Minerva asked rhetorically, her voice low. 

“Oh, yes. In fact, as we were walking back to the castle, I was most . . . stimulated at the prospect of our afternoon together, and when you said my name, it was even more arousing,” Albus said, his hands again wandering up under Minerva’s skirt before travelling back down to her ankles.

Albus pushed the stocking all the way down and said, “You may step out of your shoe now, my dear.”

He removed first one shoe and stocking for her then the other before beginning to kiss her calves once more. This time, however, he did not stop at the hem of her skirt, but continued up the back of one thigh, then down the other leg, his head under her skirt. His hands went to the waistband, exploring until he found where a hook fastened the skirt on the left side. He unhooked it then slowly drew down the zip, and Minerva’s skirt fell to the floor in a pool at her feet. She was wearing no slip, only her knickers, and Albus kissed each side of her buttocks through the thin material, biting her once gently, eliciting another gasp, just before he brought two fingers to her crux to touch her through her knickers. Minerva spread her legs further, leaning forward and holding onto the table.

“Professor Dumbledore, you are very adept,” Minerva said, gasping again as one of Albus’s fingers pressed against the fabric of her knickers and up between her own soft folds.

“I did offer my assistance to you, and I shall endeavour to do my best,” Albus said, his voice roughened with his own mounting desire. “I cannot help but notice that your knickers are a bit damp. More than a bit. That cannot be comfortable, wearing damp knickers. Shall I assist you with them?”

“Yes, please, Headmaster,” Minerva said.

Albus brought his hands up to her sides and pulled her knickers down around her ankles. He lifted one of her feet and then the other, removing the underwear and the skirt and Levitating them across the room to the sofa.

“You didn’t banish them,” Minerva remarked with a smile.

“Not this time, no,” Albus replied. He still had not told Minerva where he had found her other knickers, just that he had. She had questioned mildly him about it at breakfast, but he had only grown pink and smiled, telling her that she could retrieve them later that day, if she wished.

Albus brought his hands back up her legs, but to Minerva’s frustration, he did not approach any of the areas he had newly revealed, except to kiss her buttocks once more. She felt him rise to his feet and stand behind her, his hands moving back to her breasts and then turning her to face him. He kissed her lips lightly.

“Would you care for further aid, Professor McGonagall?”

“That I would,” Minerva replied, putting her arms around him and looking up into his eyes. “If, of course, you care to give it, Professor Dumbledore.”

Albus chuckled. He placed his hands on her bare buttocks and pulled her toward him, pressing her up against his body. She could feel his erection through his trousers.

“I would certainly care to,” Albus replied. “However, I believe that I am somewhat overdressed and encumbered by my clothing.”

“Perhaps I might be of some help there,” Minerva said with a smirk, bringing her hands around and beginning to unbutton the gold buttons of his waistcoat. She pushed the waistcoat from his shoulders and sent it flying across the room to join her skirt, then she tugged at his tie, loosening it, as she began to kiss his lips lightly. His tie loose, she proceeded to unbutton his shirt and then pull the shirttails from his trousers and push his braces down.

Albus shrugged out of his braces as he returned Minerva’s kisses. He reached behind her with both hands and undid his cufflinks, allowing them to simply fall to the floor. Minerva finished loosening his tie and Levitated it over to the sofa, never breaking her kisses or turning her attention from her next task: the removal of Albus’s shirt. With his cufflinks gone, it was a quick matter to push the shirt off and send it to join the rest of the clothes, now in a disorderly heap, but then she encountered his vest. 

“Off with the vest, please,” Minerva ordered.

Albus grinned down at her. “Yes, ma’am.” 

He pulled the undergarment off over his head, shaking out his hair and beard as he did, and Minerva began to unbutton his trousers with deft fingers. She pushed them down, then knelt and untied the lace on his left shoe, but then impatiently charmed the other lace untied. Minerva held each shoe as Albus stepped out of it and the corresponding trouser leg simultaneously. Kneeling still, she looked up and smiled at the bulge she saw. 

“Would you care for some help with your socks and . . . the rest?” she asked with a coy smile.

“That would be most kind of you, my dear Professor,” Albus said, gripping the back of the chair beside him as she quickly helped him by removing his socks. 

Minerva wanted to take her time with Albus as he had with her, but she didn’t think that she could manage it on this occasion. On another one, perhaps, she thought, and she briefly but sensuously kissed both his thighs before running her hands up to his buttocks and massaging them as she stood, gracefully returning to her feet. She kept one hand behind him, slipping it beneath his waistband to continue massaging his buttocks. The other hand she brought around to touch his erection through the fabric, looking at him, her lips slightly parted, as she ran two fingers along his length.

“You are in excellent condition, Professor,” she said in a low voice. “Quite impressive.”

She slipped her fingers into his y-fronts, the balls of her fingers now rubbing against the soft skin of his penis.

“But these are quite tight,” Minerva remarked, withdrawing her fingers from their brief exploration and bringing both hands to the front of his waistband. “I think you might be more comfortable and less encumbered if they were removed.”

She pulled the waistband out and then down to reveal Albus’s fully erect penis. She let escape a slow breath and licked her lips as she pushed the pants further down, Albus helping and then stepping out of them. 

“Is that an improvement, Professor Dumbledore?” Minerva asked as she ran three fingers lightly up his shaft to the head of his penis, pleased to see his cock jump in her hand.

“I am certainly less constrained,” Albus said with a smile.

Minerva stood back a little bit to look at him, standing nude before her. She reached out and touched the head of his cock again. 

“You have a very . . . proud and splendid member, Professor,” Minerva said, in both mock seriousness and genuine admiration. “Quite the cock-of-the-walk,” she added with a little grin, “and rightly so.” She stroked two fingertips from his balls up his shaft to the head of his penis. “It is quite glorious, and certainly very” – Minerva licked her lips – “very appealing.”

Albus swallowed, his grip on the chair so tight, his knuckles were white. “Thank you very much, Professor McGonagall. I am glad that it is pleasing to you.”

“Very, very pleasing,” Minerva said softly, encircling his erection with her hand and gently stroking upward. 

Albus cleared his throat. “But now that I am unencumbered, I believe that I may resume lending my assistance to you, my dear. I would not wish to shirk my duty.”

“Yes, you did promise to help me with my Muggle attire, and I am still wearing this blouse,” Minerva replied nodding and releasing his cock, but not before brushing her thumb across the head, causing Albus to spasmodically close his eyes and swallow.

Albus unbuttoned Minerva’s silk blouse and removed it, then he touched the top button on her chemise, and it and all of the other tiny mother-of-pearl buttons released. He reached under her chemise with both hands at her breasts, then he pushed it off of her.

“I hope that you are more comfortable now that you are out of your Muggle clothes, Professor McGonagall,” Albus said as he flicked his fingertips over her nipples. “You look quite comfortable, if I may say so, and your breasts,” he added looking down to where he was caressing her creamy skin and rosy nipples, “your breasts look especially perky and relieved to be free of clothing.”

“They are very happy,” Minerva replied, her eyes half-closed, “as am I.”

“I think that after a full morning encased in those Muggle garments, they may require some special attention, however,” Albus said in faux seriousness. “Perhaps other areas might, as well. May I proceed and see whether I may bring them further . . . relief?”

“Most certainly, Professor. Whatever you believe best,” Minerva replied, her eyes roving his body. “My gods, you are magnificent.” She blushed. “That is, I am certain that you are fit for the task at hand, Headmaster. And I trust your judgment.” 

Albus grinned and backed her up to the little table, then he lifted her up to sit on it. At a discreet gesture from him, the table’s legs lengthened until her breasts were even with his head.

“I believe I had best begin here, then,” Albus said, bringing his lips to one nipple and circling the other with a teasing fingertip. He suckled and flicked his tongue over her peaked nipple as he teased the other breast with tantalising touches. He pulled back and looked up at Minerva, whose face was now quite flushed and her breathing rapid. “Was that useful? Might it be advantageous for me to continue?”

Minerva nodded. “Yes, please, do!”

Albus began to kiss and suck Minerva’s other breast as his thumb flicked across her dampened nipple. Minerva rested some of her weight on her left hand as she watched Albus suckle her breast. She brought her other hand to his head and threaded her fingers through the long hair at his back, her nails digging slightly into the skin of his broad shoulders.

“Mmm, I could do that for hours, my dear Professor,” Albus said, drawing back slightly then nuzzling her breast, “but I did promise to provide some attention to other areas, as well. We wouldn’t want this to feel neglected, for example.” He placed the heel of his right hand against her thatch of hair and slid a finger between her folds, pressing it against her clitoris and moving it back and forth rapidly. Minerva gasped at the suddenness of the sensation.

Albus flicked his tongue out and teased her left nipple just once more before stepping back, removing his hand, and gesturing for the table to rise further. He smiled. “Is this acceptable, my dear Professor? You do have a head for heights, I have noticed,” Albus said. “Both in your ordinary form and as your Tabby-self.”

“Yes, yes, it’s just fine,” Minerva said breathlessly.

“Then just lie back,” Albus said, pulling her legs toward him and placing them over his shoulders. “Just lie back and relax. Let me continue to be of assistance to you, my dear.”

Albus stepped in toward the table, pulling Minerva just a bit closer to the edge. Minerva had lain back when he had instructed her to, but she raised her head to watch as Albus’s head approached her crux. His eyes were dilated and focussed on her and on his goal. She saw as he watched himself part her folds; the tip of his tongue appeared as he licked his lips in anticipation.

Albus moved his fingers between her folds, opening them, then he flicked a finger experimentally across her swollen clitoris. Minerva gasped and lay her head back down, arching slightly at the sensation. Next, he ran a single finger down over her clitoris to her opening. He paused and looked up and across her body, seeking her face.

“Is this all right, my dear?” he asked in a whisper. “May I . . . this way, here?”

Minerva would have laughed if she were able. “If you don’t continue, Albus, I will have to jump down from the table and insist that you do. But I do like this position,” she said. “It is quite inventive, Professor Dumbledore.”

“Mmm, and there is that enticing burr again,” Albus said. “It is so erotic to hear you say that, it makes me want to do this.” He slid his finger into her vagina. “Oh, yes,” he said, “yes, so warm and wet . . . you are very wet all over, my dear Professor. So much so that I must do something about it, I believe.”

Casting another glance across her body to reassure himself of Minerva’s reaction, he began to quickly move his finger in and out of her. “Oh, yes, very, very wet. Definitely in need of greater assistance.”

Albus moved both hands to either thigh, then he nuzzled Minerva’s crux, inhaling before running the tip of his tongue around the edge of her entrance. He slipped his tongue into her briefly, but then ran it up to her clitoris, making Minerva gasp. First, he kissed and lapped at the insides of her folds, humming and murmuring against her, then he began to lick her clit with a few long strokes of his tongue. His tongue circled her clit and then, with just the tip, he began to flick her nub rapidly. 

Minerva couldn’t restrain her moans any longer, and she brought her legs behind his head and pulled him in toward her. Albus obliged her desire by increasing the pressure of his tongue on her clitoris and slipping his hand up between her legs and sliding two fingers into her. He felt about inside of her for a moment, then he found a spot and began to press it rhythmically. Minerva shouted and grasped at the air, finally finding the edges of the table and holding on as tightly as she could, arching her back as Albus pleasured her with his tongue and his fingers. 

“Oh, gods . . . it’s . . . Albus . . . oh, oh . . . oh, gods, Albus!” Minerva almost screamed as she came, and she felt a flow of wetness as Albus lapped and sucked at her, his fingers still pleasuring her. The force of her orgasm seemed to cause the muscles in her limbs to contract as she arched and rose up off the table, barely touching it, and her heels digging in between Albus’s shoulder blades. Her orgasm seemed to go on and on, attenuated by Albus’s continued licks and thrusts of his fingers as his hand now moved even more rapidly. As she reached the peak of her orgasm, Albus left his hand still, holding the tips of his fingers against the wall of her vagina as his tongue slowed its own circuit.

Minerva collapsed, gasping, her entire body limp, her legs now just hanging over Albus’s shoulders. Albus slowly withdrew his hand, then he gently kissed her several times, her clitoris, her folds, her dark hair, and then he held onto her legs and stepped back and out from under them. He brought her legs together and then kissed her knees before easing her further onto the table.

With a whisper and a slight flick of his finger, Albus lowered the table slowly until it was at his waist height. He reached out with both hands and slowly drew them down Minerva’s sides and then rested them on her thighs.

Looking down at her with a smile on his face, Albus said softly, “Now, you also requested assistance selecting appropriate clothing for this afternoon’s outing.”

“Mmm,” Minerva murmured, blinking up at him. “We will need to go into the bedroom to do that, Professor Dumbledore. And I do believe that I need to lie down for a little while first. Would you join me? You may need to recuperate some, yourself. And,” she said, eying his full erection, “you do appear to be in need of some attention, as well.”

“Do you believe so, Professor?” Albus looked down at the focus of Minerva’s attention. “He seems quite happy,” Albus said with a grin. He looked back up at her with a twinkle in his eye. “It must be your very charming company, my dear.”

Minerva reached out with a lazy fingertip and touched the edge of his crown, her own grin growing to see his cock twitch in response. “He is quite lively,” she said, “and very alert.”

Minerva rolled over onto her side as she grasped his cock. “Feels quite good, too,” she murmured, watching herself stroke him. She looked up at Albus to see him transfixed by the sight of her hand on him. “How do you think it feels, Headmaster?”

Albus cleared his throat. “Oh, um, well. Quite well, yes.”

Minerva grasped him more firmly and pulled, causing him to take a few steps around toward her, but not close enough, to her way of thinking. “Over here, Professor Dumbledore, please,” she said, steering him closer to her head. “I would like to examine this more closely.”

Her visual examination, as she put it, was cursory, as she explored his cock and then his balls with her fingertips. She wished she had her wand, but as she didn’t, she asked Albus to lower the table another few inches.

“Perfect,” she said, when he had done that and she was now at eye-level with his erection. More happily for her, however, she was now able not only to explore him with her hand and eye, but also with her mouth and tongue.

Minerva moved her head closer to the edge of the table and placed a gentle kiss on the tip of his penis. She heard him gasp slightly, and she resisted the urge to look up at him and seek his approval. Instead, she kissed the head of his cock again, then flicked out her tongue and licked at the droplet that had beaded on it. The tip of her tongue circled the edge of crown, and then she licked across it, first in one direction then the other. She closed her lips around him and gently sucked, flicking her tongue across his slit.

Albus took in a jerking breath, then whispered, “Minerva . . . oh, my dear . . . you needn’t . . . just because I –”

Minerva pulled back just long enough to say, “Shhh!” then she immediately resumed, lowering her mouth to fully surround him and reaching around behind him, squeezing his buttocks, and pulling him closer. The head of his penis hit the back of her throat, but she was prepared and swallowed around him. Albus gasped again at the new sensation and gripped her shoulders.

Minerva hummed as she drew up along his cock, raising her head and pressing her tongue against him. She closed her lips tightly around him as she raised and lowered her head, and she swirled her tongue around his crown as she came up. 

Finally, Albus gasped, and he said, “Enough . . . enough for now. Please.” He urged her head back up, and Minerva looked up at him. His eyes were closed and he was breathing hard.

Minerva smiled, then she leaned forward and kissed him once more gently at the base of his penis. Raising herself up on one elbow, she said, “I do believe you are in very good condition, indeed, Professor Dumbledore. The Muggle underwear does not seemed to have had any deleterious effects on your lovely assets.” She fondled his balls then held them cupped in her hand. “But I do believe that we should perform further tests to see whether my initial assessment is accurate,” she said, smiling up at him.

“I would very much approve of that, my dear Professor,” Albus said, reaching down and placing one warm hand around hers, but not removing it from its gentle cradling. He leaned over and kissed her upturned face. “I love you, Minerva McGonagall. I love you dearly,” he breathed and kissed her lips again.

“I love you, Albus Dumbledore,” Minerva whispered back. “I love you forever.”

Albus put his arms around her and lifted her off the table, holding her close and breathing in her scent. 

“You mentioned something about a little lie-down, my dear. Shall we?” Albus suggested.

Minerva smiled. “Yes, let’s.” 

She took his hand and led him into her bedroom. She pulled back the covers on the bed. “Do you have a preferred side?” she asked.

“The side next to you, my love,” Albus said softly.

Minerva turned and looked up at him, seeming to search his face. “How did I ever become the fortunate witch? It doesn’t seem possible.”

“Fortunate witch?” Albus asked her, genuinely puzzled.

“To have your love,” Minerva said, reaching up and caressing his face. “I don’t understand it at all. I should be doomed. I should be doomed to always seeing you, loving you, and never having you, never having your love. I believed it impossible.”

“No, no, my dear,” Albus said, shaking his head. “You are too beautiful and too wonderful to ever be doomed, and it would be a tragedy if you were. And I do love you. I would have tried to have been happy for you if you had loved another, if you had desired some other wizard, and you do deserve to be happy. But I am very glad that you love me as you do.” Albus kissed her gently.

Minerva pulled him down onto the bed with her. “On the right, then,” she said.

Albus’s eyebrows rose in question.

“My right side, to be closer to your heart,” Minerva clarified.

Albus smiled and moved over, making room for her to curl up next to him, then he pulled the covers up over them both. Minerva rested her head on his chest, then turned and kissed him through his beard. Sighing, she said, “Must we go anywhere this afternoon, Albus?”

“Well, it isn’t a matter of necessity, but I do believe you will enjoy it. And we do have to eat,” Albus replied.

“We could call for food here,” Minerva pointed out.

“Yes . . . but I did rather have this in mind for a while, particularly over the last few days,” Albus said. “But if you would prefer not to . . .”

“I don’t know what I would prefer, as I don’t know what you have planned,” Minerva replied.

“True, and although I did want it to be a bit of a surprise, it isn’t a very big one, anyway, so I suppose I can tell you now,” Albus said. “I had thought that we could go back to that spot on the mountain, the one across from the school, and have a picnic lunch. If you would like to. I thought we could spend the rest of the afternoon there . . . and we would be away from any prying eyes and out of reach of any staff members who might think they would like to pop in and have a chat with one or the other of us.”

“Then let’s do that, Professor Dumbledore,” Minerva said. “But after our nap.”

She raised up and looked down at him. “You really are very thoughtful and romantic. Thank you. I hope you know how much I appreciate it.”

Her hand found his penis again, only slightly relaxed, and at her touch, Albus made a low sound in his throat. 

“You like this, when I touch you like this?” Minerva asked softly as she stroked his cock.

“Very much . . . and what you did before, that was bloody marvellous – I’m sorry, my dear,” he said, turning his head to look at her, but she just grinned at him.

“I’m glad it was bloody marvellous,” Minerva said teasingly. “I enjoyed it, myself, especially since I certainly hoped you were enjoying it.”

“I didn’t use a charm that time, but it was a near thing, Minerva – I shall have to become more adept at practising my self-control, I can see that,” Albus said, grinning back at her.

“Mmm, although the charm does sound convenient, it can’t be comfortable to use,” Minerva said, thinking that she certainly wouldn’t want to use a charm to keep herself from having an orgasm.

“Well, that particular charm is not terribly comfortable, admittedly, but it can be very useful, as you could tell last night,” Albus said, closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation of Minerva’s casual caresses. “There is another one, though . . . if you . . . that is, if you might . . . if it’s one that you would approve of. It’s not a particularly common spell.”

“What is it?” Minerva asked, sitting up a bit further and resting her hand across his penis. This sounded interesting.

“It’s, um, it’s cast on the um, on my . . . on me,” Albus said.

“Here?” Minerva asked, giving his penis a squeeze.

Albus nodded. “Precisely.”

“It’s not one of those artificial erection spells, is it?” Minerva asked. She doubted very much that Albus would need one of those, and if he ever did, then sex just wouldn’t be in the cards that day. The notion of having sex with an artificially stimulated man didn’t appeal to her. It was one thing for couples in which there was a physical malady of some sort, but otherwise . . . if it were just so that they could have sex when he couldn’t become aroused – even if it was because they had just had intercourse and he wanted to recover more quickly – it wasn’t an idea she liked. Minerva preferred knowing that Albus was getting some pleasure from it and from her, and from what she knew of such spells, they were not very enjoyable, although they could allow the wizard to have some additional stamina. Additional stamina didn’t seem anything that Albus needed, and she liked seeing how he reacted to her presence and her touch. Casting a spell on his penis just didn’t seem the same to her. “I don’t think that would be very necessary. And it doesn’t seem like anything you would enjoy.”

Albus seemed to blush. “Actually, it is something I would enjoy, but only if it appeals to you, my dear. But it’s not one of those spells.”

“What is it, then?”

Albus just stared at the ceiling for a moment, then he said, “Rather ridiculous, isn’t it, that I can make love to you as I did, and yet . . . I can’t bring myself to explain what this spell does.”

Minerva kissed his cheek. “No, not ridiculous. Rather sweet.” Remembering her vow to be patient with him, and perfectly pleased with the results of her patience to that point, she would continue being patient, she thought – even if she had, at the end, seduced him rather shamelessly last night. But if Albus hadn’t been equally ready to make love to her, Minerva was sure that he could have found some way around it if he had really wanted to.

She smiled down at him. “When you are ready, you can perhaps demonstrate the spell for me. I am sure that if it is something that you will enjoy, I would, too.” 

Minerva realised as she said this that she was placing rather a lot of faith in Albus not having some peculiar fetish. Perhaps it would enlarge his penis – another thing that he _definitely_ did not need – or do something peculiar to its shape or texture. She had read of such spells, after all, but she wanted his penis to, well, feel like his penis when it was in her, and not have unnatural contours or additional bits that were supposedly stimulating. It rather turned her stomach, in fact. She had seen a wizard’s magazine once that had advertised such a spell, with a full colour moving photograph demonstrating the results of the spell, before, during, and after, and it had put her off sex for days after. Rudolf couldn’t understand her sudden lack of desire, but had just put it down to a witch’s moodiness.

Although she wouldn’t mind trying something a little bit . . . _unusual_ with Albus if it was something he was interested in doing, Minerva would prefer to be forewarned and to know that she could change her mind if it turned out to be something that was far less than arousing for her. But rather than worry about that at the moment, she bent and kissed him, moving to lie on top of him. Albus’s arms went around her as he returned her kisses. Perhaps she could make him more comfortable talking about sex with her, she thought.

Looking down into his eyes, Minerva smiled softly and said, “You know, there have been a few things you have done that I have especially enjoyed, Professor Dumbledore – one thing in particular for which you seem to have an impressive talent, in fact, and then there was something else you did last night that, well, I have never felt anything quite like it before.”

“Is that so, Professor McGonagall?” Albus said, his eyes sparkling. “Would you care to share with me what those things might be, so that I am sure to repeat the performance in the future – and hoping that I am able to live up to your expectations!”

Minerva kissed his lips lightly, then she said, looking steadily into his eyes, “I love the way you use your tongue, Professor Dumbledore. You have a most talented tongue. Even thinking about it, the way that you use your tongue and mouth, makes me quite aroused.”

“Does it indeed, Professor?” Albus asked. He moved one hand down her back. “I shall have to test the veracity of that last statement,” he said as he reached between her legs and slipped his fingers down to her folds. “Mmm, yes, quite aroused. And you like it when I lick you here?” he whispered, touching her clitoris.

“Very, very much,” Minerva said, closing her eyes and trying to control her breathing. 

“And when I put my tongue here?” he asked very softly as he ran his finger around her entrance.

Minerva swallowed and nodded. “Yes, that too.”

“And when I lick you from here,” Albus said, inserting his finger in her vagina and then drawing it out and over her clitoris, “to here, you like that as well?”

“Mmhm, yes,” Minerva said, resisting the urge to push against his finger.

“And what was it I did last night that you liked? That you hadn’t felt before?” he asked hoarsely.

“In the stairwell, as you were fingering me, you began to suck my tongue,” Minerva whispered. “It was entirely unexpected and . . . very arousing the way that you did it.”

“Was it really?” Albus asked. He smiled. “I am glad that it was satisfactory.”

“It was very satisfying, Professor Dumbledore, not merely satisfactory.” She looked down at him. “You have no idea how very satisfying.”

“I am very glad. I found it very satisfying, myself,” he answered with a smile. “And I do love seeing you so excited.”

Albus had continued to move his finger in and out of her, almost languidly, and gently teasing her clitoris. Minerva could feel how very aroused he was, and she was equally aroused, and certainly more than ready to continue what they had begun in the sitting room.

“So, Professor Dumbledore, you enjoy touching me and tonguing me, but I must ask, do you enjoy fucking me, too?” Minerva whispered, but enunciating very clearly. She liked to hear him say things like that, and she hoped that he didn’t find the language too crude coming from her. He did seem sensitive about things like that, and worried about being crude himself.

Albus’s eyes seemed to grow larger for just a moment, then, still smiling, he said, “Could you repeat the question, Professor McGonagall?”

“Do you enjoy fucking me, Professor Dumbledore?” she asked, still whispering and yet excited by her own question and the words she had used.

“Oh, very much, my dear Professor, if I understood the question correctly,” Albus said, a playful grin on his face. “And I must say, I do understand why you enjoyed hearing me say those words last night. They sound rather titillating coming from your lips, Professor McGonagall, my severe Scottish Transfiguration mistress and very respectable Head of Gryffindor House.”

“I’m glad you enjoy fucking me, because I like it when you do,” Minerva said, pleased that he was entering into the spirit of her play.

“You like it when I do what, Professor?” Albus asked, feigning puzzlement.

Minerva leaned in close and whispered into his ear, “I like it when you fuck me. I like it when you have your cock in me and are thrusting inside of me. I like to come when you fuck me.”

“Do you really?” Albus whispered, his fingers now moving faster. “Do you like it when I lie on top of you and fuck you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And did you like it when I fucked you against the wall?” he whispered. “When I took you against the cold stone wall?”

“Yes,” Minerva said, swallowing. “Yes, I liked it when you fucked me against the wall.”

“And you told me that you had a fantasy that we were behind Greenhouse Three and I took you there,” Albus said. “When you told me that, did you mean that I fucked you against the wall there?”

“Yes, yes, that’s what I meant,” Minerva said. She couldn’t restrain herself and she wiggled against his hand. “Oh, gods, Albus . . . just . . . do it now.”

“Do what? Tell me, Professor McGonagall. What do you want me to do?” Albus whispered.

“I want you to fuck me now,” Minerva whispered.

“Can you say that more loudly?” Albus asked, now fully engaged in Minerva’s game.

“Fuck me now, Headmaster Dumbledore,” Minerva said.

Albus flipped her over. He looked down at her, a mischievous grin on his face. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Albus positioned himself above her, the head of his cock at her clitoris. He took his penis in his hand and rubbed the tip of his cock against her. “You are very ready, I believe. And I know that I am.”

He found her entrance and he pushed in, but only with the head of his cock. He withdrew completely, then repeated the same movement, stretching and stimulating Minerva’s opening. Minerva tilted her hips.

“Patience, patience, Professor McGonagall,” Albus whispered, then repeating the same shallow entry, again pulling out completely before reentering her. He did this several times, and Minerva’s breathing began to come in gasps. 

When she was moaning and grasping at anything within reach, Albus suddenly entered her fully. Minerva let out a shout and he began to thrust, as hard and fast as he had been slow and tantalising before. When she arched her back, Albus paused to pull her toward him as he rose onto his knees and sat back on his heels. With not even a whispered spell, Minerva felt a charmed cushion of air supporting her from beneath as Albus resumed pumping within her from his new position. Whatever he was doing, Minerva didn’t care, as she started to come, beginning with shivers and tremors and going on to an explosion of an orgasm that seemed to encompass her entire body with wave after wave of pleasure. She heard her own voice calling Albus’s name, and then his calling out in answer to hers, and she felt him thrust hard into her and pull her toward him as he came.

Minerva lay back in a haze, exhausted and sated. She felt the charm beneath her gently release, slowly lowering her to the bed, and Albus lay down beside her, one arm across her, his breathing still ragged. As she regained her own breathing, she looked over at him with some concern. His arm was still around her, but he was lying partially on his stomach, his face turned away from her. She remembered her concern from earlier in the summer that he was too old for such activity. She no longer believed that, if she ever had done and not simply used it as a way of avoiding the thought that he might be sexually involved with another witch, such as Gertrude, but it could still be the case that Albus was pushing himself too much, exerting himself too hard, and tiring himself. He was over eighty years older than she, after all. 

Minerva reached out a hand and gently ran it over his back. He was sweating, as would any man after that exertion, and his heart was pounding, though no more so than her own, and she could feel his pulse slowing as he lay there quietly, but his breathing still seemed somewhat laboured. She rolled over onto her side to be closer to him, and she kissed the top of his shoulder, the closest bit of skin to her lips.

“You all right, love?” she asked softly.

Albus nodded. She heard him take a breath then clear his throat. 

“I’m fine, my dear.” He turned his head toward her. “Really, I am,” he said softly.

Minerva saw tears glittering still on his eyelashes, and she looked at him in wonderment. With gentle fingertips, she caressed his cheek and felt they were damp. She did not know what to say or what to ask. A few times, Rudolf had shed tears as he came, but they were brief and short-lived, a product of the intense emotion of the moment. 

“What is it, then?” she asked finally.

Albus closed his eyes for a moment, and when he reopened them, his bright blue eyes looked directly into hers. “It is you, your beauty, your youth . . . and that I do not deserve you, nor do I deserve such joy and happiness. And also . . .”

“Yes?” Minerva asked, wanting to hear everything.

“And the thought that . . . it is hard to capture in words . . . the thought that that was just a fleeting moment in my life. That this time with you is fleeting. And that I could eventually lose you, that there is no such thing as forever,” Albus said softly. He did not tell her that for a moment, just for a moment, he believed it to be a certainty that he would lose her. It seemed to go hand-in-hand with not deserving her and not deserving the happiness he had been experiencing with her.

Minerva shook her head and continued to caress his face. “Every moment is fleeting, but when I am with you and I come, there is a moment when I feel as though that moment contains eternity, and in that eternity abides my love for you. And my love for you, Albus, is not fleeting. I do love you. I love you forever.” She kissed his lips. “And you cannot lose me, especially not now. You have held my heart for so long, even when I rather desperately wished that you did not. Now you cannot lose me, not really. Even if something were to happen to me, if I were to die in some bizarre accident or were to contract a fatal illness, you still would not really lose me. Because I have given you my heart, Albus, I have given you my heart. I hope that you can accept that. I believe what you wrote in your poem, Albus, that your love for me will not fade with time but will only grow. Believe the same of me. Please.”

Albus leaned over and kissed her. “I do now, with you here. But that does not change the fact that I still believe myself undeserving of it and that something will happen to . . . to make it right, to make things even, that you will be taken away from me somehow because that is what I deserve, and not this happiness.”

“Oh, Albus! Of course you deserve happiness, as much as being happy has anything to do with what one may deserve or not – which isn’t much, I think. You have the capacity for happiness and joy, and if you have that capacity, you certainly should take advantage of it. There are poor unfortunate souls who have no capacity for happiness, regardless of their lot in life, or they have narrowed and shrunk that capacity down to the size of a thimble through their own miserliness. You haven’t done that, Albus, even with the pain you have had in life, you haven’t done that.” Minerva thought for a moment. “And there are people who may feel pleasure and seek it out, but whose happiness or capacity for true happiness I question. The way you describe Grindelwald, for example. It doesn’t sound as though he was ever happy, nor would he have been happy even if every soul on the planet had called him master. He had his pleasures, but I doubt they gave him any happiness or joy. Probably because he didn’t love anyone but himself.” Minerva smiled at Albus. “You love, though. And of course, loving can result in pain sometimes, but I think it’s also where we find happiness, don’t you, Albus?”

Albus kissed her lightly. “I do, indeed. And you are right. I don’t know, I just had a moment of sudden bleakness when I thought of losing you, and it seemed for a moment that it was only right and just if I were to lose you, but that is nonsensical.” He grinned. “You love me, after all, even though I am a foolish old codger sometimes.”

Minerva playfully pretended to slap him. “Now _those_ are words I don’t want to hear. Forbidden from your vocabulary, at least when speaking of the wizard whom I love and adore!” she scolded.

“Yes, ma’am, Professor McGonagall,” Albus said cheekily, his good humour restored. “But I am getting very hungry. The brunch was nice, but that was hours ago. Perhaps we should have some tea and biscuits before we leave on our picnic.”

“A good suggestion, but we can’t leave as we are, anyway,” Minerva pointed out. “And you were going to help me choose something to wear.”

“Ah, yes, you won’t allow me to shirk my duties, will you?” He rolled over and was about to get out of bed, when he spied Minerva’s bedside table. He sat up and looked at it. “The little photograph.” He picked up the picture. “You did put the rose there, then,” he said, looking at the frame with the dried rose affixed to the corner.

“Yes, I did. Before I had seen your frame, in fact. That is one thing that struck me so strongly when I saw how you had decorated it,” Minerva admitted.

“And the two white stones and the nazar,” Albus said as he replaced the picture in its position just behind the stones.

“Yes, that’s what I was trying to hide from you that day you came into my bedroom to see where I would put my new photograph of the two of us, which, as you can see, is still in its own place on the vanity,” Minerva said, gesturing toward the dressing table.

Albus turned more to look at her. “That was a wonderful evening, wasn’t it?” he asked softly. “The entire day was. I enjoyed it more than I had any day in very many years, though that probably sounds silly to you.” 

“No, it doesn’t. When we were out that evening, I kept wishing I could allow myself to believe that it was a real date,” Minerva replied.

“It was, in a way. And if ever I had believed that it was possible for you to love me and that my own feelings for you were not entirely inappropriate, then that night is when I would have told you of my love, I am sure,” Albus said. “Instead, I began to tell you of our wands, which then led to me later telling you . . . about how they came to be in the first place.” He thought for a moment. “I think that by telling you all that about myself, by entrusting you with so much of my story, some things which I had never told anyone else, it was my way of becoming as close as possible to you without telling you how much I love you.”

“You did tell me that you love me. That night, you did, the night you told me about yourself. You said it without thinking, I believe,” Minerva said, smiling at his startled expression. “You told me that you had to hide the people whom you loved from Grindelwald, how you could not think of them so he would not know you loved them. You named me among those you loved.”

“I did . . . yes, I suppose I did,” Albus said, remembering.

“Of course, I then told myself that you had named others for whom you felt no romantic love, but it still brought me a measure of happiness, particularly since just a couple days earlier, you had told me that you were ‘fond’ of me,” Minerva added. “This seemed to confirm that you still did love me, even if you still only loved me as you had when I was – when I was younger.”

“When you were a student, you mean to say,” Albus said softly, looking away again.

“Yes,” Minerva said simply.

Albus nodded. “Yes, I did love you then, but it is different now. The way I loved you changed.”

“I know, Albus. But I am glad of it; not just of how you love me now, but that you loved me then. When my mother told me that you loved me when I was a student, I was glad of it, but I was also sure that your love for me had remained the same as it was, and that made me despair. Each time I felt a reason for hope that you might love me, it was always accompanied by a shadow of despair that told me it wasn’t possible. Fortunately, recently I was listening more to the hope than the despair most of the time.”

Albus’s brain had stopped at one phrase of Minerva’s. Ignoring the rest of what she had said, Albus asked, “Your mother told you I loved you?”

“Yes, she said that you loved me when I was a student. That if you hadn’t loved me, you couldn’t have staunched the drain as you did. She said that she knew then that her faith in you was not misplaced and that you would do whatever was necessary to protect me. She said that your love was perfectly altruistic and unselfish,” Minerva said. “Of course, I was happy to hear that, but confused, as well.”

“I see . . .” Albus thought for a moment, then said, returning to the present, “I suppose I should get dressed. Let me know if you do want assistance selecting your robes, though, my dear.” He looked around. “I do wish I had a dressing gown, though. As comfortable as I was a little while ago, I do not feel comfortable wandering about your suite in my altogether.”

Minerva laughed. “Wait a moment, Albus.” She sat up and Summoned her wand from the sitting room, and it flew, still in her Muggle handbag, into the bedroom. Minerva took her wand and waved it again, Summoning a fluffy white towel from the bathroom. “Blampa insists on bringing me piles of towels. I always have extra,” she explained. 

She thought for a moment, then grinned and waved her wand. “Here you go, Albus,” Minerva said, handing him his new dressing gown.

Albus laughed and put on his new robe. No longer terry cloth, but of soft woven silk, the dressing gown was ankle length, with vertical stripes of varying widths in red, gold, green, silver, blue, bronze, yellow, and black. The same coloured stripes ran diagonally on the large, billowy sleeves; each sleeve ended with a wide cuff, one in green with black piping and one in red with yellow piping. The wide hem was of bronze with a gold edge, and the shawl collar was bright blue with silver piping. The sash was striped in bronze and black. It was garish, but peculiarly appealing at the same time.

“It is Hogwarts-themed,” Minerva explained unnecessarily. “I thought since you were Headmaster, I would use all the colours of the different Houses. It isn’t as ugly as I thought it would be,” she observed as Albus stood and walked around the bed.

“It isn’t at all. I expected something quite functional but perfectly sensible, my dear, and you certainly surprised me!” Albus said, eyes twinkling. “Thank you very much!” He bent and kissed her.

“You are welcome! Now you don’t even need to get dressed in those Muggle clothes again. You can just Floo through to your office,” Minerva said.

“Oh, well, I don’t know . . .”

“Why ever not?” Minerva asked, getting out of bed herself. “You just need to get undressed again in order to get ready to go on our picnic. And I don’t know about you, but I want a shower now.” She really wanted a shower with Albus, but if they did that, they would never go on the picnic that he seemed to look forward to so much. Besides, he probably still wasn’t quite ready for that yet.

“Yes, but . . . if there is someone in the office –”

“Who would be in your office?” Minerva asked somewhat impatiently. He did seem to have a talent to make things complicated sometimes, while at other times, he seemed to make everything simplicity itself, even when it wasn’t. “Look, I’ll throw on my dressing gown and call through. If there is anyone there, I’ll say I was calling you, and then you can dress and take your stairs or Floo, whatever you prefer. If there is no one there, you can Floo to your office with no worries.”

Albus nodded. “Most sensible, my dear.” He did not relish the thought of putting his Muggle attire back on.

“You could even just walk like that to your backstair, if you wanted, Albus,” Minerva pointed out as she stood and walked over to her wardrobe. “You could just do your invisibility trick. That way you would avoid anyone who might be in your office and still remain unseen.”

“Very good. I am not accustomed to this, I suppose,” Albus said. “In fact, that is what I will do. No need to call through, Minerva. I’ll just take my backstairs directly to my bedroom.”

Minerva opened her wardrobe. “Good. Now . . . I thought I would wear these robes this afternoon, and bring my tartan cape,” she said, pulling a set of mossy green robes from her wardrobe. They had designs in rusty brown running through them, and a border of the same rust colour along the hem and cuffs. They were warm, comfortable, and durable. The sun was shining, but it was still damp and somewhat chilly for August, even in the Highlands.

Albus smiled. “Those are very pretty on you, my dear. And quite practical, as well.”

Minerva put on a lightweight dressing gown, but didn’t close it. 

“Shall I meet you up in your sitting room, or down in the front hall?” Minerva asked as they walked into the sitting room.

“I don’t know how long either of us will take . . . I could come by and pick you up, and we could have our tea and biscuits before we leave. That way I could, um, bring you your knickers,” Albus said with a slightly embarrassed smile.

Minerva grinned at him. “All right. I’ll make us tea, then, as soon as I’m out of my shower. But you have to tell me where you found my knickers,” she insisted. “I shall surely die of curiosity if you don’t!”

Albus blushed. “Last night when I went to bed, I rolled over onto my side, trying to get comfortable, and put my hand under my pillow, as I often do, and I felt something unusual. Your knickers were under my pillow.”

Minerva laughed, and Albus joined her. “That is very sweet, Albus.” She reached up and kissed him. “So,” she said, a teasing grin on her face, “what did you do when you discovered them?”

Albus’s blush grew. “Oh, I, um . . . well, I put them back.” When Minerva laughed again, he added, “It seemed a safe and sensible place to keep them!”

“Yes, of course it did, Albus.” She hugged him, leaning against his chest. “I love you, you know, Albus.”

Albus returned her embrace. “I am beginning to get the idea you might have just a wee bit of affection for me,” he said with a smile. He kissed Minerva’s forehead. “Now I must leave, or we will be picnicking at midnight. It doesn’t stay light as long as it did, so we don’t want to delay.”

“Of course,” Minerva answered, smiling up at him. “Although a midnight picnic could be quite romantic.”

Albus kissed her lightly before sitting down next to the pile of clothes on the sofa. “I shall remember that,” he said as he began to sort out his clothes from hers.

Albus found his socks, and as he pulled them on, they Transfigured into soft slippers with stripes matching those in his new dressing gown. 

“Very nice,” Minerva said, again impressed by Albus’s abilities. She wondered if the day would ever come when she was not impressed by his magical talents and imagination.

He grinned up at her. “It wouldn’t do to be wearing a pair of dull slippers with this beautiful robe – I think I may make the Transfiguration permanent, in fact.”

“Go right ahead,” Minerva said. “You know, I had to ask Blampa to bring me uncharmed towels. When I first tried to Transfigure a towel, I discovered they had an Anti-transfiguration Charm on them. I didn’t remember that from when I was a student.”

“Oh, yes, there was an incident a couple years ago with some students. A series of some rather unpleasant practical jokes. All of the general Hogwarts linens – towels, sheets, and so forth – now have an Anti-transfiguration Charm on them. Of course, with members of staff, there is no need for it, but most staff don’t think to Transfigure their towels and don’t even notice it,” Albus replied with a smile.

“I wanted to make table linens, as I didn’t have any but I didn’t want to ask Blampa for Hogwarts napkins and such. It was for our first breakfast together,” Minerva explained. “I used some old scarves instead.”

“And the table was very pretty, I remember, as were you,” Albus said. “You looked so fetching in that yellow frock. It was quite distracting, my dear.”

“Really?” Minerva grinned. “I must remember that!”

“Mmm, I had to retire to the loo and cast a Cooling Charm on, um, certain parts of my anatomy. I didn’t have my wand with me, and the entire room felt like an icebox,” Albus said with a grin.

Minerva’s own grin grew. “That _is_ nice to know.”

“Mmm, now I’m off to change. I’ll be as quick as I can!” Albus said, rising with an armful of clothing and going to her door.

“All right,” Minerva replied, walking over to the door with him. “I look forward to it!”

As Minerva was speaking, Albus disappeared. She blinked and focussed on where he had been standing. She couldn’t detect a thing, although he was close enough to her that she could feel his magic quite clearly, perhaps even more strongly than she had when he was visible.

“I will see you soon, Minerva,” Albus said.

Minerva felt a warm hand on her cheek then his lips on hers, and then the door was open and she sensed that he stepped through. The door closed with a soft click, and Minerva felt alone again. But Albus would be back. She smiled and went into her bathroom to take a very fast shower so that she could have tea ready for him when he returned.


	134. Sweet Delight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Albus go on the picnic he planned for them.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sexual content.

**CXXXIV: Sweet Delight**

“Minerva?”

Minerva heard Albus calling her from the sitting room, and she hurried from the bedroom where she had been finishing fixing her hair. Merely because they were going on a picnic was no reason for her to look scruffy, after all.

“I didn’t think you would mind if I let myself in,” Albus said as he recovered from the kiss that Minerva gave him.

“Not at all. I’m glad you did!” Minerva replied with a broad smile. It was good to see him becoming more comfortable with her. “I made tea for us, and there are biscuits. Ginger newts, of course, and some iced lemon shortbread that Poppy introduced me to. I thought you might enjoy those.”

The two sat down at the table and Albus smiled. “Very prettily laid table, Minerva,” he remarked. Minerva had gone to more effort than she usually would for just serving tea and a few biscuits. “Shall I be mother?” he asked as he reached for the teapot.

“Thank you, Albus,” Minerva replied. “I thought that even though we haven’t much time, we could still have something nice.”

Minerva had charmed the tablecloth with a delicate, subtle design of climbing ivy and yew branches, and she had charmed a little painted red rose on either side of her ordinary white teapot, likewise decorating the plain white teacups. She had thought of all the effort that Albus had gone to over the last days to create special occasions for her, and although she knew that he enjoyed doing it for her, she wanted to return his gestures in some small way.

After Albus had fixed her tea precisely as she liked it, a little milk, no sugar, and his with milk and two teaspoons of sugar, he said, “As I was getting dressed and putting my Muggle clothes away and in the laundry, I had a chuckle thinking about your father and his aversion to trousers.”

Minerva laughed. “Yes, and he was most relieved to learn he wouldn’t have to wear trousers to the wedding today!”

“Very clever solution, I thought,” Albus said with a smile. “And he had no need to make use of the advice I gave him regarding Muggle undergarments, either.”

“Yes, well, it was Mother’s idea, actually,” Minerva said. “She thought that if all the McGonagall men were clad in matching kilts and jackets, it would dress up the wedding some, as well as avoiding the need to get Dad into trousers. Malcolm grumbled a bit that he couldn’t wear his favourite jacket, but I think he actually likes the new one that Mother got him. Morgan complained because he doesn’t like wearing a kilt. He says it’s draughty and he’s got knobby knees, but something Fiona told him – and I don’t care to speculate what it might have been! – quite changed his attitude. I understand he’s been wearing a kilt almost constantly for the last week, ever since his wife talked him into it. Murdoch, of course, was quite easy going about it, although he seems at home in trousers, since he wears them frequently, himself.”

“Your three brothers are quite the handsome lads,” Albus observed, “though of very different types.”

Murdoch could almost be described as brawny, and was certainly quite hearty – tall, broad, and heavily-muscled – and Malcolm, though equally tall and broad-shouldered, was of a slimmer, leaner build. Morgan was the shortest of the three brothers, just an inch taller than Minerva herself, with light brown hair and brown eyes that seemed almost golden in certain lights, and he was the least active of the three, though still lithe and quick-looking. Fiona was almost his height, with fiery red hair and a passionate nature, much more out-going than her husband, but still with a warmth and sweetness that matched Morgan’s own. They did hang on to one another in public a bit too much for Minerva’s taste, and it must have been torture for them to be seated across from one another at brunch that morning, but Minerva did like her middle brother and his wife. She should have made time to see them that summer, Minerva thought regretfully, but she had been rather absorbed in her own life. Still, she _had_ invited them to her tea, and they had declined, so it wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried.

“Yes, they all looked rather handsome today, and I thought that Mother was looking quite lovely, too,” Minerva said. Fwisky had likely helped Egeria with her hair, as it was in a much more complicated arrangement than she usually managed. She had been wearing an ankle-length pleated skirt of the same tartan as the men’s kilts, a white blouse with a wide, ruffled, self-tie down the front with a pearl stick-pin, and a short jacket similar to those the men were wearing, which picked up one of deep greens in the plaid. It was an attractive outfit and not out-of-place at an informal morning wedding. Minerva almost wished she had worn something similar, but perhaps undressing might not have been as enjoyable. 

“What is that smile for?” Albus asked, noting the gleam in Minerva’s eye.

“I was thinking that I might have worn something like Mother’s outfit, but undressing would not have been as enjoyable,” Minerva said, smiling more broadly.

Albus grinned. “You appreciated my assistance, then?”

“Very much so,” Minerva answered, her eyes sparkling. “That was the only reason I was at all reluctant to go on our picnic. But I am quite looking forward to it now. And I feel as though I need the walk.”

Albus was wearing robes of the same colour as the rusty designs in Minerva’s robes that day, with a chevron pattern woven into the fabric, creating an impression that the material shimmered as he moved. The collar and cuffs were of a darker rust with a floral design embroidered in gold, and his under-robe was of the same darker colour. The over-robe was slit at the sides, corresponding to the deep pleats of the under-robe. Minerva thought he looked quite handsome, and told him so.

“Thank you, my dear,” Albus replied, successfully subduing his blush, but with a pleased smile on his face. “And you, as always, look wonderful. I shall be quite disappointed to see the beginning of the school year and your teaching robes emerging once more.”

“Ah, but you will also be able to remove those robes, Albus,” Minerva said, “if, of course, you are as adept at removing wizarding clothing as you are Muggle attire!”

Albus grinned. “I may need to practise. Would you mind if we practised frequently?”

“I suppose we could,” Minerva agreed with a grin. “But I don’t look forward to our busy schedules,” she added more soberly. “Actually, I do look forward to it, in a way, but I regret that we will have so much less time together, and that our free time might not always coincide.”

Albus reached across the table and took her hand. “We will just have to work on it. It will take some doing, but I am sure we can find time to be together. And it is yet one more reason to look forward to our little holiday!” he said, squeezing her hand.

Minerva smiled. “Yes, it is, isn’t it? Ready to leave for our picnic now?”

“Yes – but first,” he said, reaching into his pocket, “I do have something of yours to return.” He held out her knickers to her.

“Thank you,” Minerva said, grinning. “Are you certain you wouldn’t want to sleep with them again tonight?” she teased.

Albus did blush at that. “No, no, that is . . . um, that is fine.”

They stood and Minerva put her arms around him. “You know, you needn’t be embarrassed. I actually slept with your robes once. Not that I had intended to, of course.”

Albus looked surprised and very confused. “How is that?”

“Your birthday, remember? You left your rose and gold robes here? I held onto them and, well, they smelled like you, so I lay down with them and held them close,” Minerva confided. “I had been disappointed in your response to my profession of love, and it comforted me to hold on to them and breath in your scent. I must have just fallen asleep with them. I don’t even recall doing it, or even getting into bed that night. When I woke up the next morning, I was still holding them close. I cast a freshening charm so that my foolishness wouldn’t be evident.”

Albus squeezed her more tightly. “I am sorry . . . I responded the only way I knew how at the time. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Ever. I love you.”

“I know, and I understand,” Minerva said. “Now let’s be off – where’s the picnic basket?”

“Wilspy will bring it when I call her,” Albus replied, taking Minerva’s hand. “I _am_ looking forward to this. I am glad it is agreeable to you.”

Minerva smiled up at him. “Anything to spend more undisturbed time alone with you, my sweet Albus. And that is a lovely spot.”

* * *

It was almost four-thirty when they reached their picnic spot on the mountain. They barely took a moment to enjoy the view before they sat down on their blanket and cushions, and Albus set up their meal, which could hardly be called lunch any longer, it was so late.

After they had eaten their fill of bread, cheese, cold chicken, tomatoes, and some spicy deviled eggs, Albus pulled a small, oddly-shaped, long-handled, covered pot from the picnic basket.

“What’s that?”

Albus glanced up at her and grinned. “You don’t recognise this?” he asked, seeming pleased with himself.

Minerva shook her head. “Looks like a peculiar kind of cauldron to me,” she said, trying to swallow the last of her Wensleydale with a sip of her Sylvaner. 

Albus laughed. He drew two long rods from the basket, each with a tiny, two-pronged fork at the end, as Minerva looked on with interest. Perhaps they were going to do some sort of Alchemy, she thought, and when she voiced this speculation, Albus just laughed again.

“No, not Alchemy. Something more enjoyable even than that,” he said. “You really don’t know? Wonderful!” His pleasure at surprising Minerva was evident in his smile. “You will enjoy this, I believe, my dear.”

The next thing he pulled from the basket was an oval china bowl with a lid on it. He removed the lid to reveal strawberries and smallish cubes of what appeared to be pound cake. Albus waved his hand over the pot, then removed the lid with a flourish.

“Voila!” he said. 

Minerva could smell chocolate and some kind of liqueur. She leaned forward to look into the pot. It was three-quarters full of smooth, warm, melted chocolate.

“Fondue,” Albus explained. “You take one of these, put a strawberry or a bit of cake on the end, and dip it in the melted chocolate.”

Albus put a strawberry on the end of one of the long forks and dipped it into the chocolate, swirling it slightly as he lifted it out. He held it toward Minerva, who leaned forward and ate the strawberry directly from the skewer. Her eyes closed, and she chewed slowly and appreciatively.

“That is wonderful, Albus,” Minerva said with a satisfied sigh. “Is there Cointreau in it?”

Albus nodded. “Yes, mainly Cointreau and dark chocolate. Honeydukes, of course,” he added with a grin.

Minerva picked up the other skewer and put a cube of cake on it, dipped it into the chocolate, then offered it to Albus, who smiled before he closed his mouth around the delicious morsel.

They fed each other strawberries and cake, dipping them in the warm fondue, until every berry and every crumb of cake had been eaten. Albus put the pot back into the basket and cleared away the remnants of their picnic with a sweep of his wand. He moved closer to Minerva and pulled her over into his embrace.

“That was lovely, Albus. Thank you so very much,” Minerva said, kissing his cheek.

“You are most welcome,” Albus replied. “I hoped you would enjoy it.”

“Mmm, I did, very, but now I am quite sleepy,” she said.

“Then we can take a bit of a kip. We’re in no hurry today, after all.” Albus waved his wand and conjured a soft tartan afghan, covering them with it. “Comfortable?”

Minerva nodded. She was resting her head on his chest, his arms were around her, she was holding him; she couldn’t be more comfortable. “It’s perfect.”

Almost an hour later, Minerva stretched as she opened her eyes and blinked sleepily. It was clearly quite a bit later than when she had fallen asleep, but remembering what Albus had said about them not having to hurry, she didn’t check the time, but only rose up on one arm to look down at Albus’s face. He was asleep, his lips slightly parted, his breathing slow and even. She usually found it difficult to fall asleep with someone else present – it had taken her some time to become used to sleeping with Rudolf when she first moved in with him – but it wasn’t difficult at all with Albus. It simply seemed natural to fall asleep with him, and equally natural to awaken in his arms. She wondered when he would decide that they could spend the night together. Not that night, certainly, not with the duel with Malcolm in the morning. Probably Sunday, she thought with a slight sigh, when they were on holiday. But she could wait two more nights. She had waited more than fifteen years to be with him, after all, something she had believed to be completely impossible when she had first realised that she was in love with him.

It was wonderful to be so close to him, to be able to watch him sleep like this without worrying that he would wake up and find her staring at him. She loved looking at him, she loved it almost as much as she loved to touch him. And how she loved to touch him. Minerva’s heart beat faster as she remembered how his penis had reacted to her touch that morning, and how he had enjoyed her pleasuring him orally, despite his initial protest. 

His lips were looking very enticing, and finally, Minerva could not restrain herself. Although she wanted to let him sleep, she wanted to kiss him even more. She approached his lips slowly and kissed them softly, then as Albus began to waken, she took his lower lip between hers and sucked it gently. With pleasure, she felt his arms embrace her as he pulled her on top of him, returning her kisses now.

Minerva kissed him languidly but sensuously, and remembering how it had felt when he had unexpectedly begun to suck her tongue as he was thrusting his fingers within her, she closed her lips around his exploring tongue and sucked it gently but rapidly, as he had done. Albus’s hands gripped her at the sudden sensation. Not wanting to overdo a good thing, Minerva returned to her kisses, swirling her tongue lightly around his. Albus moaned and opened his mouth further. Minerva tickled his palate with the tip of her tongue as she pressed herself against him, pleased to feel how full and firm his erection was.

She kissed his lips lightly a few more times, then she pulled away just enough to look down into his bright eyes. 

“Nice nap?” Minerva asked with a smile.

“Very, but a much nicer awakening,” Albus said. One of his hands was still caressing her back, and it slipped down to her buttocks, the tips of his fingers seeking the curves hidden beneath Minerva’s robes.

“Are we alone? Really alone and private, Albus?” Minerva asked.

He grinned. “Yes, I believe so, although I could ensure that for you, if you wish. Do you have something specific in mind, my dear?”

Minerva tried unsuccessfully to suppress her own grin. “Why would you think that?”

She kissed him once more softly, then rolled off of him and stood beside him on the blanket.

“You might want to begin ensuring that right now, Albus,” she said in a low voice, bringing her hands to the front of her bodice and its charmed hooks. 

Albus didn’t take his eyes from Minerva as he found his wand and quickly cast a few spells. He watched as she released the charm and the front of her gown opened. She did not further remove her robe, but did touch the waistband to loosen the skirts around her. She was wearing another chemise that day with tiny mother-of-pearl buttons. She slowly unbuttoned each one as Albus watched, pleased to see his eyes darkening with desire. 

Still clothed, she opened the chemise to bare her breasts, then she toed off her shoes and raised her skirts on her left side. Lifting her knee and bending forward, her breasts freed from her clothing, Minerva began to roll down her left stocking. She removed it, then, straightening briefly, dropped it on the blanket beside her shoes. She removed her right stocking in the same manner, very aware that Albus could not decide whether he preferred to focus on her breasts or on her leg, but she believed that her breasts caught most of his attention.

Having removed her stockings, Minerva next shrugged out of the bodice of her gown. It was a bit chilly, and she took a moment to lazily Summon her wand and cast a Warming Charm on the air around her. She put down her wand, then pushed off her skirts. Now only in knickers and her open chemise, which just came to her hips, Minerva crossed her arms and ran her hands down from her shoulders, as if she were cold, then she brought her hands to her waist, placing her palms on her bare stomach, and she slid her fingers beneath the waistband of her knickers. Hooking her thumbs over the outside of the waistband, she ran her hands around to her hips and slowly pushed the knickers down and off, stepping out of them gracefully. They were fairly plain, as knickers went, off-white, but they had a lacy panel in the front, so they were a bit nicer than some she owned.

Minerva smiled and held out her knickers to Albus, who, as if moving in a dream, reached out and took them from her hand.

For the first time since telling Albus that he should ensure their privacy, Minerva spoke. “For under your pillow, Albus – and whatever other use you may have for them,” she said with a playful smile. She had been very aroused before she had begun undressing for him, and she was quite certain that her knickers no longer seemed at all freshly laundered. 

To Minerva’s delight, Albus, not taking his eyes from her, brought the knickers to his face, took in a deep breath, then he kissed their crotch lightly before putting them down.

She raised an eyebrow. “So, you like my knickers?”

“I would rather kiss what they enclosed, but until then . . .” Albus said in a low voice.

Minerva smiled and stepped right beside him so that he lay back to look up at her. She took hold of the plackets of her chemise, as if undecided whether to rebutton it or remove it altogether, then she pulled it all of the way open and pushed it off behind her.

“You are very beautiful, my dear Minerva,” Albus said softly, looking up at her and reaching out a hand and caressing her leg. “Very, very beautiful, and very attractive.”

Minerva didn’t say anything in response, but bent at the knees and crouched beside him. She pulled back the afghan and tossed it aside. It disappeared as she did so, but without sparing the conjured blanket a thought, Minerva began to unfasten the few hooks at the waist of Albus’s over robe. She parted it then looked in consternation at his under-robe. It certainly fit him too closely to simply pull on over his head, but she saw no fastenings. It must button or hook in the back, she decided with a sigh. What a bother!

Albus grinned at her expression. “My left shoulder,” he said softly.

“What?”

“The seam at the left shoulder. Just run a finger along it and . . . imagine what you would like to happen,” he said with a smile.

Minerva did as he said, forming the intent that his robes unfasten. As her finger touched the seam, it opened up neatly, and when she reached the end, it didn’t stop there, but proceeded to open along the length of one side of his chest and all the way down to the hem. Minerva pulled back the front of the robe, baring Albus to the sky and her eyes. She brushed his beard neatly back across his chest and smiled to see the ends touch the tip of his erection. She ran her hand lightly down his beard once more, and when she reached the end, she began to caress and tease the head of his penis with the tips of her fingers. 

“He is quite lively again,” Minerva remarked, circling the edge of his crown with one fingertip. “But he must wait just a little bit longer. He will get all of the attention he deserves, however. I promise.” Minerva bent and kissed the tip of his penis lightly, then she moved down to his feet.

Fortunately, his short boots were not the puzzle that his under-robe had been, and she pulled them off quickly, not even needing a charm to assist her, then she pulled off his calf-high socks, these gold with bright golden flecks woven through them. She smiled.

“No Esmerelda today?” Minerva asked as she removed his socks.

“Not today,” Albus answered seriously. “I didn’t believe they went with these robes.”

Minerva laughed slightly. She massaged his feet briefly, then his calves. As she massaged his lower legs, she leaned forward and let her breasts brush the tops of his legs. She moved further up, spreading her legs and straddling him as she began to massage this thighs, front and back, again leaning forward and allowing her breasts to brush against him as she reached beneath him and rubbed the backs of his legs. 

After massaging the muscles in Albus’s legs, Minerva began to stroke his skin gently and then caress it very lightly. She leaned forward and kissed the base of his penis, then the shaft, then the head, before sitting up and moving further forward. She caressed Albus’s abdomen and chest, then she found his nipples with her fingers and circled and teased them. She could tell by the expression on Albus’s face that he was enjoying her attention, so she moved up just a bit more and began to kiss him, first his stomach, then his chest, then moving aside his beard, she lay flat against him, trapping his penis between them, and flicked her tongue over his nipple. Some wizards, she had found, were self-conscious about taking pleasure in having any part of their body stimulated but their penis. Fortunately, Rudolf had not been one of them, and Minerva had learned that there were many points of pleasure on a man’s body, and it seemed that Albus was not shy about it either, much to Minerva’s delight. As she began to caress him with her tongue, Albus gasped, then he reached up with one hand, placing it on her back and holding her there. She took that to mean that he did not want her to stop, so she did not. After running her tongue around his nipple once more, she moved to the other side and began to flick her tongue over his other nipple. As she did that, she rocked from side to side, providing more gentle stimulation to Albus’s erection. 

Albus slid a hand between Minerva’s legs, seeking her crux, but she closed them against him and shook her head slightly. She knew what she wanted to do next, and she wouldn’t be able to think if he began to touch her there. 

Suddenly remembering what Albus had said of his fears that she might someday shy from his touch, and as unlikely as it seemed that he could misinterpret her gesture under these circumstances, Minerva raised her head, looking up at him, and said softly, “Patience, Albus, my darling, patience!”

“As you wish,” Albus said, a smile in his voice.

Minerva smiled at him and moved off him, kneeling at his side. Her smile grew as she saw Albus’s penis, large and erect. She closed her fingers around his shaft and began to stroke him, allowing her thumb to brush over the head of his penis with each down stroke of her hand, and squeezing very gently as she reached his base. Albus’s mouth was open and he was gasping, his hand clenching the blanket beneath him. Minerva didn’t want him to come just yet, so she slowed her movement, then stopped, but still held onto him. She leaned over and very gently began to tickle his balls with the tip of her tongue, and was rewarded by an immediate guttural cry from Albus. She took one side into her mouth, warming and very gently licking it, then she did the same with the other side, careful to provide pleasant, arousing caresses and not uncomfortable over-stimulation. 

Cupping his balls in one hand, she licked the base of his cock as she moved her hand up. She followed her hand with her tongue and lips, kissing and flicking as she went. When she reach the head of his penis, she again gripped him low on his shaft and closed her lips around the head, licking and flicking the very soft, sensitive skin before lowering her head and embracing his penis with her mouth, the very tip at the back of her throat.

Minerva hummed, allowing the vibration of her voice to stimulate him, then she gently sucked as she slowly drew back up over his penis. She did this twice more slowly, then began to move faster. Albus now gripped one of her legs with his left hand, and she felt his grasp tighten as he moaned lowly again.

“Wait, please . . . wait, Minerva,” Albus said hoarsely. He was pulling on her leg. “This way, here, Minerva, please . . .”

Minerva stopped and looked back at him, but she held onto his penis.

“Like this, on me, across me,” Albus said hoarsely, urging her right leg over him.

Minerva straddled him as he wished, then she lowered her mouth around him again. She felt Albus’s hands on her thighs as he pulled her back, then one hand was on her buttocks and he was urging her down and she felt his tongue parting her folds and seeking her clitoris. Minerva gasped around his cock and sped up her movement, but as Albus pleasured her, her mind clouded and her vision faded. She rose up, straightening and bracing herself against his chest, and called out, gasping. Albus continued to lick and flick her nub, straying occasionally to lick her opening and insert his tongue there. As he increased the pressure of his flicking tongue on her clit, Minerva called out his name again as she began to come. With barely a conscious thought as she came, rubbing herself against his tongue as he continued pleasuring her, she bent again and lowered her mouth around his cock and began to lick and swallow around him.

Suddenly Albus pushed her off of him, and before she knew what was happening, she was on her back and Albus was over her, kissing her mouth and face and seeking her entrance with his cock. He looked down into her eyes and thrust hard into her. Minerva was still coming, and as he thrust again, pumping into her, she embraced him with her arms and legs, and her orgasm reached its own climax. He pushed one more time deep into her, closing his eyes, holding his breath, with his mouth open in a voiceless cry as he came.

Albus almost collapsed on top of Minerva, his chest heaving. He turned his head and kissed her cheek as he tried to catch his breath.

“Oh, Minerva . . . Minerva, my love and my light, my sweet, sweet delight,” he whispered, kissing her again. He allowed his weight to rest on top of her, remembering dazedly that she had seemed to like to feel him lying on top of her.

“Gods, Albus, that was . . . fabulous,” Minerva said, sighing. She thought, incongruously, it seemed to her, that she was very glad that Valerianna had been such a fool and had never let him make love to her, or she never would have allowed him to leave her bed.

“You are wonderful, my darling,” Albus said, “so very wonderful. Everything you did . . . I hope you don’t mind that I interrupted you, but I very much wanted to pleasure you.” He raised up a little to look at her. “You are so very loving and passionate . . . I just . . . I love you. I love you, Minerva.”

Albus was still partially clothed, Minerva having only fully exposed him to her touches but not having removed his robes, so as it began to rain, large, heavy drops, he gathered her in his robes with him as he sat up and Summoned his wand. Minerva snuggled close to his chest, her arms encircling him beneath his robes, and she felt his magic flow through him powerfully and beautifully as he waved his wand. Looking around her, Minerva smiled to see that he had conjured a large red and white striped tent, quite large enough for them to stand up in, about ten feet by ten feet. With another wave of his wand, he conjured four large lanterns, all lit, in the four corners of the tent. Fortunately, the tent encompassed their picnic basket, his shoes, and Minerva’s clothes, but the ground was still bare. Minerva watched as Albus Levitated their belongings with a wave of his left hand while casting another spell with his wand held in his right. She blinked to see such coordination. Their picnic blanket grew and spread to create a floor for their cozy tent. Albus cast one more spell with his wand to warm the tent more before putting down the wand and turning his head to kiss Minerva’s lips.

He smiled at her. “Fortunate timing that we have – I am glad that didn’t happen five minutes earlier!”

Minerva laughed. “That would have put a damper on things, wouldn’t it? But that was marvellous, Albus! You are amazing. Always amazing.”

“Yes, well, it wasn’t difficult, particularly with you and your wand so close at hand, even though you weren’t casting simultaneously.” Albus stopped and Summoned Minerva’s robe, looked at it, shook his head, put it back down, and removed his own over-robe, instead. He draped it over Minerva’s shoulders and wrapped it around her loosely. “Comfortable?” he asked. “Good. That reminds me, though,” he said as he rearranged some cushions behind him and pulled Minerva further onto his lap, leaning back with her, lounging against the pillows. “Could I ask you to leave your wand in your rooms tomorrow morning? That is presuming that you will be observing the duel, of course.”

“Yes, certainly. That hadn’t occurred to me,” Minerva said.

“I believe I have a sufficient natural edge over Malcolm as it is,” Albus explained, “but if your wand were nearby, casting would be much easier for me and take even less of my energy than normal. Hardly fair to him, especially as he is unaware of this particular advantage.”

“Of course. He did say something interesting to me the other day, though,” Minerva replied. “He said that when he first met you, there seemed something familiar about your magic, and that he realised that your magic felt similar to mine. And this must have been at least fifteen or sixteen years ago, I imagine.”

“Really? That is interesting. I thought, given his talent with wards and curse-breaking, that he must be sensitive to magical signatures, but it is particularly interesting that he should notice that similarity,” Albus said, holding her closer when she jumped as thunder cracked very close to them.

Minerva liked storms, generally, and the wind never bothered her, but being out in the midst of thunder and lightning, that high on a mountain, with the lightning striking so close – that did not appeal to her at all. It reminded her of her miserable time alone in the damp cold cave when she was young and caught in the violent storm on the cliffs near her home, so she certainly had no objection to Albus holding her close. 

Shutting her eyes, she nestled closer to Albus, and tried to focus on their conversation. “Malcolm actually said that your magic is richer and more powerful, but that it was still similar.”

“It was good that you practised with him, then,” Albus said, his voice low in her ear. “It should help him a bit with me tomorrow.”

Minerva laughed. “I would think you would want every advantage you could have in a duel, Albus.”

“Oh, if it were something serious, of course I would, and I would withhold no tricks and cast as strongly as strategy demanded, but this isn’t that sort of duel. Besides, I want to take a true measure of your brother’s talents. I don’t wish to overwhelm him in defeat or cause him humiliation, particularly not in front of you and Gertrude. If I truly wished, I could probably defeat him easily within minutes, perhaps a bit longer if he were prepared for such a ruthless attack. But there would be no point in that, would there?”

Minerva shook her head slightly. “No, I suppose not. As you say, it would only embarrass him, perhaps hurt his self-confidence. And everyone already knows you are powerful.”

Albus chuckled at that, and he kissed her. “You say very encouraging words, my dear.”

“Well, it’s true. And you surely can’t be oblivious to the fact that you probably have three times the magical reserves of an ordinary wizard,” Minerva said. “And on top of that, you are very talented, skilled, brilliant, and imaginative. Your level of power and genius were what made me think that you were so far beyond my reach.”

“That is . . . inconsequential,” Albus said. “At least when it comes to my relationship with you, my dear. It’s not as though you were dull-witted, after all. And although I enjoy your magical talent, and I am pleased to see how well you use it, it wouldn’t matter to me if you were the magically weakest witch in the world. You are good, beautiful, kind, intelligent, caring, amusing, compassionate, attractive, and a host of other wonderful qualities too numerous for a mere mortal to name in one breath. And I adore you.”

“And you don’t mind that being so close to all this thunder and lightning makes me jump and cower?” Minerva asked, having done just that as he was speaking.

Albus chuckled. “Not at all, especially if said jumping and cowering brings you closer to me!” he said. “However, perhaps I can do something to reassure you.”

He reached out with his right hand and his wand leapt into it. Minerva could feel his magic flowing as he described an arc with his wand, beginning and ending with a flourish. He set down the wand again and put his arm back around her.

“Now, no lightning can strike the tent. I doubt that it would, anyway, but this will guarantee that it won’t,” Albus said.

Minerva could feel his magic vibrating as though he were still casting a spell. “What is that?”she asked. “It feels as though you are still casting.”

“Yes, it would. I could have cast a simple charm to deflect the lightning, but this is a stronger shield, and it will continue to draw on my magic until I either end the spell or fall asleep or lose consciousness for some reason – if you decide to Stun me into complete submission and have your wicked way with me, for example,” he added with a grin.

Minerva laughed. “I would love to have my wicked way with you, Albus, but I don’t think it would be much fun if you were Stunned!”

“Oh, one of those artificial erection spells that you mentioned yesterday would probably help,” Albus said with an uncharacteristic smirk. “And there are probably other ways you could take your pleasure with me if you wished.”

“Well, even if I were to succeed in Stunning you – which I rather doubt is possible – I still can’t imagine it would be enjoyable, even with one of those spells. It would be rather . . . repulsive, actually.” Hastily, she added, “Sex with you is far from repulsive, and your body is marvellous, as I hope you realise, but with you Stunned and just lying there . . . maybe some other witch would find it pleasurable since, after all, you do have a very, very nice cock,” she added, bringing her hand down to stroke that bit of anatomy, “but I wouldn’t find it so at all. I like having you alert and aware, and to know that I am bringing you pleasure. Not to mention that I like to feel attractive, myself, which would be impossible if you were just lying there unconscious.”

“You _are_ very attractive yourself, Minerva. It was extremely arousing to watch you undress for me,” Albus said, his voice almost a whisper. “It was difficult for me lie there and not touch you as you . . . as you did what you did. I love to see you aroused and I love to touch you in all your most secret and sensitive places.”

“You are very good at that, too, especially what you do with your tongue, as I mentioned this morning,” Minerva replied. “But I was enjoying bringing you pleasure. I love to touch you everywhere, to kiss you, to feel your warm, solid body. And if you had touched me, I would not have been able to focus on what I was doing, and I enjoyed that very much, though in a different way.”

“Mmm. It was . . . it was very pleasurable. And what you were doing when I interrupted you, I liked that very much,” Albus said. 

“I am glad. Were there things about what I did that you didn’t like or that you found uncomfortable?” Minerva asked.

“No . . . although . . .” Albus hesitated.

“Yes?”

“I especially liked feeling you swallow,” he whispered. “That was very different and very arousing.”

Minerva smiled broadly. “Good, I’m glad that you like that. Sometime, I’d like to do that and really swallow you, you know.”

Albus was blushing, and his blush grew. “Yes, well . . . that would be nice. But I so like to, to come in you, you know. But I would like that other sometime, if you would like to try it.”

“Mmmhm, I certainly would,” Minerva said, resting her head back against his chest. 

It didn’t seem that the storm had let up much at all, but Minerva felt perfectly secure with Albus there, and she could feel the gentle, steady hum of his magic. She thought she could almost fall asleep again.

They were quiet for a while, listening to the rain hitting the tent and the occasional roll of thunder, then Albus said, “Do you mind if I ask you something very personal?”

Minerva chuckled. “After what we have done together, what could be more personal? Ask me anything you wish.”

“I don’t feel it’s any of my business, and I shouldn’t ask . . . and really, it wouldn’t matter what your answer was, not really. But I am curious –”

“Would you please just ask, Albus? If for some reason, I don’t want to answer, I will tell you that,” Minerva said.

“It is just – and again, I don’t mean to pry – but, that is, I was curious . . . I have assumed that you have had other lovers,” Albus said.

“Yes,” Minerva replied, “I have.”

“Many?”

Minerva shrugged. “Some people would think more than one was many and some people would think the few I have had was hardly anything at all. Of wizards whom I consider my real lovers before you, though, I would say that there were only three who would qualify. And one of them . . . one of them, we didn’t even really . . . we weren’t very physically intimate, as I was with the others. And there were a few other wizards with whom I was intimate, but whom I do not consider lovers, and I was with none of them long.” She hoped this answer would satisfy Albus. She really didn’t want to discuss her former lovers with Albus, though she assumed that he had guessed that she and Rudolf had been lovers.

“I see,” Albus said, caressing her back somewhat absent-mindedly as he thought about what she had said.

Minerva, her eyes closed, had thought her answer had ended that discussion, and was feeling as though she just might drift asleep despite the storm, when Albus asked another question.

“Rudolf was one of the wizards?”

“Yes, he was. He was a good man. He _is_ a good man. But I wasn’t in love with him,” Minerva said. “I tried, but . . . I just couldn’t.”

Minerva felt Albus nod. “What was he like?” he asked.

The discussion apparently wasn’t at an end. Minerva opened her eyes. She did want Albus to feel comfortable talking with her about anything, after all.

“He is strong, physically strong, and very, very bright. He thinks a lot, and when he speaks . . . he can be very serious, and you know that he doesn’t say anything that he hasn’t thought over. But he can also be quite playful, and he has a nice laugh. He is kind, but he doesn’t make a show of it. And otherwise . . . he is very tall, a few inches taller than you are, even, broad and muscular, dark-haired, although he was beginning to get some white strands in it when I last saw him. He has – or had – a short, close-trimmed beard and quite short hair, as well. Greyish eyes . . . I don’t know, what else would you like to know?” Minerva asked, thinking that it was very difficult to sum up a complex person like Rudolf, with whom she had believed she had a simple relationship that had turned out to actually be as complex as he was.

“What was he like when he was with you?” Albus asked.

“Attentive. Very attentive. And caring. Gentlemanly, always courteous. When we were alone, he was as attentive and courteous as he was in public, but more affectionate. He was a private man, really. I didn’t realise for a long time . . . I didn’t realise for a long time what a remarkable thing it was that he had brought me into his life as he had,” Minerva said softly, regretting again the pain that she had caused Rudolf when she left him.

“He was in love with you,” Albus said.

Minerva nodded. “Yes. And I loved him, in a way, but not enough . . . and I couldn’t stay with him, as I told you before. I couldn’t bear the thought of being away from you.”

Albus was quiet for a few more minutes, then he asked, “Who else?”

“Hmm?”

“You said you had three lovers and a few other . . . intimate friends,” Albus clarified.

“Oh . . . well, at one time, after school, Carson and I were together for a short time. But he ended it just weeks after we had begun seeing each other. We still were friends, though,” Minerva said.

Albus nodded. “He loved you, though. I could see that. And you were the only person to whom he wrote a letter aside from his family.”

“Yes, he loved me. But . . . he told me that there was someone else for me, that my heart belonged to someone else, and that he could not make me unhappy and himself, as well, by trying to make something between us work. He wanted me to be happy,” Minerva said, her voice breaking and blinking back tears. “Carson was a good lad. He was a good friend to me. And he was the first wizard I was ever with, the first I ever kissed, in fact.”

Albus kissed the top of her head. “He had said something about that in his letter. Hoping you would meet him, the wizard you were meant for. And speaking with his gran about you and who your love would be.”

Minerva sighed. “Yes, he was hopeful that I would meet the wizard I was meant for, but I didn’t believe him when he told me about his gran and all her stories. Then when I met Quin, I learned about the MacAirt gift and that Carson likely had some of it, too.”

“And the third?” Albus asked.

Minerva took in a breath. “The third?”

“Yes, you said three lovers and a few intimate friends . . . if you don’t want to tell me, that is all right. I understand,” Albus said quietly.

Minerva relaxed against him. “It just seems odd to speak of this with you now, that’s all, Albus.”

“I see. It’s all right.” Albus fell silent, his eyes closed.

Minerva shut her eyes. Now he would just wonder more, and it also might seem that she didn’t trust him. She had told him to ask her anything. She should have refused to give details about any of it, just given him a vague but truthful answer, and left it at that. But now that she had begun, how could she not speak further of it? He wasn’t even pressing her for answers, which made her feel worse.

“You remember I said there is someone whom I count as a lover although we weren’t physically very intimate at all, truly not at all. That is the third person,” Minerva said softly. “Just a very good friend, really. I shouldn’t have included him in the count.”

Albus didn’t say anything at first, only nodded. A few heartbeats later, he asked softly, “Quin? Was Quin this friend?”

Minerva nodded. “He was very good to me and for me, Albus. He helped me to believe that a relationship with you might be possible, that my dreams weren’t doomed, that I wasn’t destined for misery and a heart of ice and stone as I had thought,” Minerva answered softly. “And he . . . he cared for me when I thought that all was lost, when I came to him, hurt and hysterical, he took me in without hesitation. And the entire time, Quin tried to understand what had happened and persisted in trying to encourage me that not all was lost. Even before I left for my parents’ house, one of the last things he said to me was not to lose hope in you, in the two of us together. That is why I count him among the other important men in my life, men who were more than just friends to me, if you see what I mean. What he gave me . . . it seems to belittle it somehow to act as though he were just a casual sort of friend.”

“I see.” Albus kissed the top of her head. “I do see, Minerva. And I shouldn’t have asked. I am sorry I made you uncomfortable.”

Minerva shrugged. “I did say you could ask me anything. I didn’t have to answer you, but once I began . . . I didn’t want you to imagine something more, or something different, or worry and wonder . . . I love you, Albus, and I have never been in love with anyone else, and I have never loved anyone more than I love you, or at all in the same way.”

“I understand, Minerva. I shouldn’t have made you feel ill-at-ease . . . but I was curious about Quin, I must admit truthfully,” Albus said. “I believe he . . . I believe he cares for you far more than he is willing to say.”

“Perhaps. But he is not in love with me. He clearly feels loyal to me, and to you, and I know that we could count on him for anything. That is love, certainly,” Minerva said. “But even were he _in_ love with me, not only would it be of no use, but he knows that, too; he knows it in a way that most people could not. He knows the depth and strength of my love for you, and he is also aware that you love me, as well. But as he told me, he had his Aileen. He does not expect to fall in love again, though I think perhaps he may be open to it, if it should happen.”

“I hope he does, but I do understand that he might not wish to look for someone after having had the love he experienced with Aileen,” Albus said softly. “I would certainly look no further than you if anything were to happen to you, or to our relationship, even if I were to live another hundred years.”

Minerva raised her face and smiled at him. “I am very glad, Albus. That is precisely how I feel about you.”

“You mustn’t, Minerva,” Albus said. “You mustn’t. You are young. It may be that nothing untoward will happen between us. I do believe you love me, and I certainly know that I love you, but I am not young – now, shh, just please listen – you are young and I am far from young. Even if nothing else occurs in the interim, I will die long before you, if our lives follow their natural course. I do not want you to be alone and unhappy for all of those years – which I hope will be many for you.”

“Albus . . .” Minerva sighed. “Why must you bring this up now, today, when we have had such a lovely time? We have barely had any time to enjoy having discovered each other as we have, and you are talking about dying. I am very well aware of your age, and believe me that it causes me no joy to contemplate the prospect of losing you to death. But you aren’t dead yet, nor dying, and there is no reason for us to believe that your death is in any way near. You are perfectly healthy. I don’t believe in blindly ignoring eventualities, but this conversation is premature and not very well-timed.”

“But still . . . it isn’t just death, Minerva,” Albus said. “People change. You . . . there are things that you may want, and things in life which you surely deserve, which I cannot offer you, which you will not have if you remain . . . if we remain together. Do not dismiss so readily the notion that there may come a time when, regardless of your feelings for me, you do not long for something else even more, and that longing makes you unhappy to be with me –”

“Stop! Just, just stop, Albus!” Minerva looked up at him in complete consternation. “Perhaps nothing will convince you of the depth and integrity of my love for you, that it is whole and unbreakable, and that without it I am but a half a person, perhaps nothing but the passage of time itself will prove to you what I know. But do not speak like this again. I have done all I can to reassure you and there is nothing else that I can think of to say or do that I have not done except to allow the steadiness of my love to prove itself over time. I cannot bear to hear you speak like this!”

“Perhaps you could be just as happy with someone else, though, Minerva – Quin, for example,” Albus said. “I’m not speaking of now, in this moment. And I don’t want you to go . . . but you should think of all that a witch of your age might want from life before you hitch your lot to mine. You could be happy with someone different.”

“I couldn’t be. And what I want from life is being with you. That is what I want. And I don’t want Quin or anyone else, and I don’t want anything that anyone else might theoretically be able to give me. Do you understand, Albus?”

Albus relaxed. “As long as you are sure . . . I felt it was my duty to point it out to you. I don’t want you to go, Minerva. I don’t know what I would do now. I don’t know how I could return to the way my life was before. I don’t believe that I could,” Albus said softly. “But if you wanted to leave . . . I would try to let you go without making it difficult for you.”

“Oh, Albus! If you ever try to let me go, you shall see me hold to you tighter than ever!” Minerva did just that, holding him closer in her embrace.

Albus chuckled. “Yes, you do that, Minerva. Hold me tightly and keep me . . . keep me, please, even when I ask uncomfortable questions and bring up foolish worries on such a beautiful day with you. I love you, and I never conceived of loving anyone as I love you. And I am grateful that you love me.” He kissed her softly.

“Well, if you felt duty-bound to bring up these worries, you have done so, and now you can dismiss them and leave it to me to take care of them. I love you, and that will not change. There is nothing I could want more than to be with you, Albus.” Minerva pulled his head toward her and kissed his lips. “Always, Albus,” she murmured, “always.”

“Always,” he answered her. “Yes, always.”

Minerva settled against Albus again, breathing out a sigh of happiness and relief. Her eyes closed. She was warm and comfortable. Perhaps she might sleep.

“I have another impertinent question for you,” Albus’s voice rumbled against her.

Minerva opened her eyes. No nap. But his tone had sounded different – lighter, not as serious.

“Ask away, then, Albus!” she said.

“With all those lovers and, er, other intimates, did you ever make love en plein air as we did?” Albus asked.

“What? No, no, I never did before. Not exactly, no.”

“What is ‘not exactly’?” he asked with a smile.

“Rudolf borrowed a . . . a chalet, I suppose you might call it, from a friend. It was in the Schwarzwald. There was a room with a roofed balcony. When the doors to the balcony were open, and all the windows, it felt as though one were outdoors, but, um, we never even went out onto the balcony. But there was a lot of fresh air. But it wasn’t at all the same.” Minerva said. “You have, though.” At his surprised expression, she added, “You told me you made love to Dervilia here.”

“Oh. Well . . . yes, of course.”

“And then there was Maria. I imagine that you were not always under a roof when you were with her. And there may have been others,” Minerva said matter-of-factly.

“But this was your first time making love outdoors?” Albus asked, a gleam in his eye.

“Yes. I was hoping to make love to you here. And I wanted to undress for you . . . and bring you pleasure,” Minerva answered.

“You certainly did bring me pleasure . . . and I enjoyed watching you undress for me. And give me your knickers, too, of course!” he said with a chuckle. “And although it wasn’t the first time, of course, it was very special for me, especially since it was your idea.”

Minerva smiled up at him. “I did tell you I would try to exercise my imagination for you, remember!”

“You did, indeed!” He kissed her cheek. “I look forward to seeing where else your imagination might lead us!”

Minerva chuckled at that. “You could exercise your own imagination, too, you know. In fact, you have. This morning was particularly inventive. Although I think that wherever we made love, it would be spectacular. You are unparalleled, you know, Albus.” When he laughed and blushed, Minerva said, “I mean that. I have never experienced it the way I do with you; even at it’s best, it wasn’t like it feels with you. And I’m not just saying that to make you feel good or exaggerating in the slightest.”

“Actually . . . it’s not as though I have very much recent experience, of course, but there is a quality to our love-making that is different from anyone else I was with,” Albus said. He added hesitantly, “And when I . . . um, when I come, it’s . . . it’s difficult to describe what is different about it, but there is something more emotional, somehow. Not that it isn’t naturally emotional . . . but it is different when I am with you. It really is as though you are the witch I was waiting my entire life for.”

“I am glad that you had other witches to love you, though. Except for that awful cow, who shall remain nameless, of course. But she didn’t love you. But I am glad that while you were waiting for me, you weren’t always alone, Albus,” Minerva said.

“I was for many, many years, however,” Albus said thoughtfully. “It was partially in reaction to what I had done . . . the way I had tried to escape my problems. I had allowed myself to be used and had used others, and I thought . . . I thought I was enjoying myself, but it never felt good, not really. Maria was the great exception from that period of my life. I don’t know . . . I don’t know as I would ever have been able to think of sex without feeling disgusted with myself if I hadn’t found her – or she, me – so soon after that time in my life.”

“You said it was partially in reaction to that that you stayed alone for so many years. What else was it, do you think?” Minerva asked.

“Partly, too, that I wanted to devote myself to my work. And of the witches I had known when I was younger, most were married, at least of any that I might have had any interest in at all. A few others . . . were not married, but word had spread about my earlier behaviour, and although it had been for a relatively brief time and there had been a few years intervening between that and my return to Britain, it still made it inadvisable for me to spend time with respectable witches whose reputations might be sullied by their association with me. And then, in later years, when all seemed forgotten and no one would have cared about what had happened in previous decades, I had simply become used to my life as it was. It was pleasant, peaceful, productive, and I had my friendships.” Albus shrugged. “By the time I began to consider broadening my social life, so to speak, it was not an easy thing to do, to find someone appropriate, and then I was called to work at Hogwarts; yet even before that, I began to put thoughts of my personal life out of my mind as it became evident what a threat Grindelwald was becoming. So . . . I could not focus on finding a witch to court, let alone think of drawing one into the life I believed I was headed toward. I did not expect to work at Hogwarts, of course, but I did think that I would eventually be called upon to help with the Grindelwald situation. And I believed it possible I would die fighting against him. It wouldn’t have been fair to have become seriously involved with a witch at that point, even if it would not have been a distraction, or even if I had the time to pursue a relationship of that sort. So by the late twenties, I was again resigned to a solitary life, and when I was called upon to do my duty, I was as prepared and unencumbered as I could be.”

“I suppose that was for the best, although I am sorry that you were so alone,” Minerva said.

“I was alone, but rarely lonely, really. I think I only began to feel lonely after I had begun to fall in love with you, oddly enough,” Albus said, kissing her hair. “I had not really wanted for anything in my life until I found myself wanting you, I suppose,” he added with a smile. “Not that I would admit it to myself for a very long time, of course.”

“That is a pity, but I am glad you did, and that you admitted it to me, as well,” Minerva replied. “It was becoming very frustrating, loving you . . . no, not loving you, that wasn’t it. I was very happy that our friendship was growing, but I felt frustrated at not being able to share with you the depth of my feelings for you. And, of course, I was frustrated that I was unable to express my physical affection for you.”

“Yes, I can certainly appreciate that aspect of your frustration, my dear!” Albus said with a playful smile. “But it sounds as though you . . . attempted to deal with it.”

At Minerva’s puzzled look, Albus said, reminding her, “Your fantasy of my taking you behind Greenhouse Three.”

The light dawned, and Minerva smiled. “Oh, yes! That wasn’t the only one, but that was certainly one of the more . . . adventurous fantasies I had.”

“Tell me, Minerva,” Albus whispered. “Tell me your fantasy.”

Minerva blushed. She had said that she wanted them to be able to talk about sex freely. Sharing her fantasy with him would certainly help there.

She nodded and placed her head against him, one hand caressing his beard and chest. “I fantasised that you and I were on a walk in the gardens. It was a beautiful day, and we were alone. I had taken your hand as we walked, and I was becoming stimulated by your presence and your voice. We were behind Greenhouse Three when we heard voices, and we ducked into the alcove so that we would not be seen, so that we could continue to have our privacy. You put a finger to my lips, keeping me from saying anything, then you looked down into my eyes, and you suddenly realised my feelings and you saw that I desired you.” Minerva swallowed.

“Yes? And then what did we do?” Albus asked.

“You caressed my face, my lips, my throat . . . then you kissed me very softly. You didn’t stop with that kiss, though, and your continued kisses became more and more passionate. You pressed against me and I could feel your arousal, and my own arousal grew. I wanted you, but we could hear the people in the garden, walking and talking nearby. You took my hand and held it over my head, and when I tried to pull you closer to me, you took that hand and held it there, too.” Minerva’s breathing quickened as she remembered her fantasy and felt Albus’s naked chest against her bare breasts. “You, um, you held my hands there with one of your own as you continued to kiss me, and with the other hand, you began to caress my body, exploring it and stimulating me. You reached into my clothes and touched my breast, then you pulled my robes away, and bared me to your touch. We could still hear the others in the garden, and yet you opened my robes so that you could see and feel my bare breast. And when you wanted to expose my other breast, you simply tore them from me easily.” Minerva could feel Albus’s cock twitch against her leg as she spoke and she moved her hand lower to caress him. “You left my hands above my head, and I didn’t move them as you began to caress and cup my breasts, looking at them and touching my nipples. Then you . . . you kissed my throat and I moaned, despite the others in the garden, so you held your finger to my lips again. You smiled when I licked it, and I brought it into my mouth and sucked. You, um, you pressed against me again, and I could feel how excited you were, so I continued to suckle your fingertip. You were so aroused that you pulled my robes open further. For some reason, I wasn’t wearing any knickers in my fantasy, and so when you opened the buttons at the front of your robe, your erection emerged, and I put my legs around you as you lifted me up and entered me.” 

As she had been speaking, Albus’s hand had found her crux, and he was now rubbing her clitoris. She wriggle against him and increased the speed with which she stroked his erection.

“You drove into me, even though we could hear people in the garden, just around the corner, and they could have found us at any moment, and seen you fucking me there. But you didn’t care, you kissed me to silence my moans, and you pumped and thrust and I came, barely managing to stay quiet. And all the time we heard the others nearby. And you kept pumping your cock in me until you came, too. You came as people were walking past, and they could have seen how you were fucking me, but they didn’t. And we were safe and stayed quiet until they left.”

Albus pushed Minerva back onto the blanket and kissed her mouth. He rose up as she opened her legs to him, and he thrust into her. 

“Gods, Minerva, I love you, I love you so, Minerva, my love,” he murmured as he pumped into her, over and over again. 

Minerva’s legs were around him and she moved beneath him, meeting him as he thrust, and then she was coming, moving and coming and calling his name, and Albus let go and released within her, still speaking of his love.

“Minerva, my love, my sweet love, my sweet delight . . . you are my delight,” he said as he held onto her, kissing her hair and her skin. “You, my love, always . . .”


	135. A Spree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva looks on as Malcolm completes a test of skill, then watches as he and Albus duel.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Malcolm McGonagall, Gertrude Gamp, Siofre Tyree, Johannes Birnbaum, Blampa, Isolde the Welsh Green Dragon, Fawkes, and others.

**CXXXV: A Spree**

Minerva rolled over and stretched. She groped sleepily for her wand, then cast a _Tempus_. Six o’clock. Far too early. She closed her eyes again and sighed happily, remembering the lovely day she had spent with Albus. It had been long, though, and it was close to eleven before they Apparated to the Hogwarts gates and walked back to the castle. She had not even minded when he had bid her good-night at the gargoyle after she insisted that he go straight to bed. 

Realising that she wasn’t going to fall asleep again, Minerva forced herself from bed, shuffled into the bathroom, and started filling the bathtub, choosing a bright, citrus-scented bath soap, hoping that it would wake her up. She decided on a bath rather than a shower because she was quite achey. 

The unaccustomed physical activity may have had her feeling uncomfortably sore, but she couldn’t regret it, Minerva thought with a smile. Albus had certainly shed his reservations. She doubted he had any fear at all any more that she would find him disgusting. That thought, however, did not diminish her anger with Valerianna Yaxley. If it hadn’t been for that dreadful witch, and for the absurd and cruel words she had uttered which had convinced Albus of his undesirability, Minerva was certain that Albus would have responded to her own gestures differently than he had and that he would have made some tentative overtures to her weeks before. She doubted that he would even have felt compelled to keep his distance from her if he hadn’t believed that he was old and disgusting and that it was wrong of him to consider a romantic relationship with her. No, that woman had done great damage to Albus and to herself. If Valerianna hadn’t wanted him, she should have simply not pursued him . . . but then, that was assuming that the woman had any scruples whatsoever or any care for anyone but herself, and Minerva doubted both.

Minerva lay back in the bath and wondered whether Albus was sore. She supposed he would be sore in different places than she was. She had rarely been sore from too much sexual activity before, although when she was with Rudolf, it had happened occasionally. Since he was a Potions master and they were living together at the time and he couldn’t help but notice her discomfort, he had always discreetly provided two very nice potions for her, but she didn’t really know what they were. One of them, a pleasant-tasting pink potion, had taken care of the aching muscles, and another, a gently soothing white salve, had taken care of the other soreness; both had completely healed her and not just provided symptomatic relief. Minerva supposed she would just have to settle for an ordinary pain potion, since she couldn’t very well go to either Poppy or Murdoch and tell them specifically what ailed her – especially since Poppy didn’t even have any idea that Minerva was involved with anyone and she was not yet prepared to tell her. 

Minerva called Blampa, and when the peppy house-elf arrived, she asked her to bring a pot of tea and a vial of a pain potion.

“You be sick, Professor Minerva?” asked Blampa, her demeanor suddenly serious.

“No, just a little sore, Blampa,” Minerva said.

“You sure, Professor Minerva? I, Blampa, worries,” she answered.

“I am quite certain, Blampa. I just have overdone it a bit recently,” Minerva reassured her. 

“Okey-dokey, Professor Minerva. I, Blampa, returns soon!”

Blampa was good as her word, and Minerva was just rinsing shampoo from her hair when the house-elf returned, a pot of tea with a small pitcher of milk on a hovering tray, two vials clutched in her hands.

“Your tea, Professor Minerva!” Blampa said brightly. “Wilspy gives me potions for my Professor. This one you take with your tea,” she said, holding out a small vial of an iridescent blue potion, “and this one for your bathwater.” The second, larger vial that Blampa held up for Minerva’s inspection was a brilliant gold. “Wilspy says stay in bathwater ten more minutes with the potion, and Professor Minerva be’s perfect again, all day long!”

Minerva knew that the Hogwarts Head house-elf, Hwouly, maintained a cabinet stocked with all the most common household potions, but it seemed that Blampa had obtained these from Wilspy rather than from the common stock. She didn’t recognise either potion, but that didn’t really mean very much, she supposed.

“Thank you, Blampa,” Minerva said. “Could you just put that one in the bathwater for me, and I’ll take the other with my tea.”

Blampa dutifully poured the gold potion into the bath water. Minerva couldn’t identify the scent, but it was lovely, and the effect was almost instantaneous. Her superficial soreness and slight swelling disappeared almost immediately, and Minerva almost decided not to take the pretty peacock blue potion, but when she shifted to reach for her tea, she decided that it might be a wise idea, after all.

As Minerva took the potion from Blampa’s outstretched hand, she said, “How have you been, Blampa? Is everything well with you?”

“Ooo, yes, ma’am, Professor Minerva, I, Blampa, be’s very well!”

“Could you keep me company this morning?” Minerva asked. “I don’t know what duties you have today, but I will be going to the Quidditch pitch for a special event this morning, and I must leave my wand in my rooms. I would appreciate both your company and your assistance, if you are available.”

“Oh, yes, Professor Minerva!” the little elf replied, bouncing up and down on her toes. “You goes to Mister Malcolm’s duel with Wilspy’s Professor, yes?”

“That’s right, Blampa,” Minerva said, thinking that word of Hogwarts business must spread amongst the house-elves.

“Oh, I be’s so happy! Happy happy!” Blampa said. “I’s the only house-elf there . . . except Wilspy goes, probably.” Suddenly Blampa stopped bouncing, stopping in mid-bounce on the balls of her feet. “But Professor Minerva,” she said, a sudden worried look on her face, “why you not have your wand with you?”

“It’s complicated, Blampa. The Headmaster requested that I leave it here.”

Blampa’s look of concern didn’t abate. “Headmaster Albus? Wilspy’s Professor asks you?”

“Yes, he did,” Minerva said, puzzled by Blampa’s worried expression.

“You . . . you be’s always a good Professor and a good witch. Why –” Blampa suddenly stopped and looked as though she were about to choke, her face turning a peculiar shade of lilac.

“Blampa? Blampa? Are you all right?” Minerva sat up, almost getting out of the bathtub.

“Blampa’s a good house-elf, a good Hogwarts house-elf. Blampa not say anything bad about the Hogwarts Headmaster, not ever, no no no!” Blampa said vehemently, and her colour began to return to normal.

“Of course you are a good house-elf. I tell that to anyone – I told Professor Dumbledore that a few days ago, in fact, Blampa. He knows you are a good house-elf,” Minerva reassured her, her own puzzlement growing. She wondered whether additional bindings had been placed on the Hogwarts elves other than the one binding them to the service of the school. She knew that some pureblood families had layers of bindings, some of them ancient ones that were passed, generation to generation, to all the family house-elves. The McGonagall family – and the Parnovon, Egidius, and Tyree families before them – had never placed any of those additional bindings on the house-elves, but only the basic one for reciprocal, though different and somewhat unequal, bonding of care and responsibility. But from Blampa’s physical reaction, Minerva gathered that one of the punitive bondings had been placed on the Hogwarts house-elves. 

Minerva, hoping that her phrasing would eliminate any discomfort for Blampa, said, “Blampa, I see that you have some concern. I order you to tell me what that concern is, dear.”

Blampa looked uncomfortable, but didn’t turn purple or choke. “Blampa worries her Professor be’s punished . . . and not done nothing bad. Witches carry wands.”

Minerva let out a sigh of relief. As simple as that! “No, I haven’t done anything wrong and I am not being punished. I am happy to leave my wand in my rooms today. My brother and Albus, as you know, are having a duel. Now, you mustn’t tell anyone this, even other house-elves, Blampa, but if I had my wand with me this morning, my brother would be at a slight disadvantage, for reasons I can’t discuss. But Professor Dumbledore wants to be very fair to Malcolm, so I am leaving my wand in my rooms. It’s just for a short time, that’s all.”

“Oh! I, Blampa, wants Professor Minerva be’s always happy. Good witches carry wands,” Blampa said, as though that explained everything.

“I imagine there are a lot of bad witches carrying wands, too,” Minerva said, “but in this case, I appreciate your concern, and it would be convenient if you could attend the duel with me.”

“Yes, Professor Minerva, I, Blampa, be’s proud to attend with you!” Blampa said with a grin that split her face. “Spruffle can’t say he goes to attend witches’ and wizards’ event.” Blampa looked around as if to check to see if anyone was listening, then she whispered, “Spruffle always be’s saying how important he be’s and how I, Blampa, be’s just a piddly little thing, he calls me. But now you be’s Head of Gryffindor and you bring me to attend an event with you!” Blampa beamed.

“So, Spruffle is one of the house-elves who made fun of you, hmm? Well, you be sure that Spruffle knows that I would never consider attending the, um, event without you, and that I depend on you,” Minerva said, trying not to laugh. She really would have to find out what might make an appropriate gift for a Hogwarts house-elf. That would put Spruffle in his place!

“Spruffle be’s too proud, and he be’s not nice to young house-elves. Always be’s saying mean mean things. Little house-elves cry sometimes. But not I, Blampa! No, now I thinks that my Professor says I can be a good house-elf, and I don’t cry!”

“Well, that’s good. And you are a good house-elf, Blampa. You have some friends, too, don’t you?” Minerva asked, taking another sip of her tea.

“Yes, I, Blampa, has friends.”

“Here, why don’t you sit down. Keep me company while I finish my tea,” Minerva suggested. She smiled when Blampa perched on the edge of the tub. This little elf had come a long way since the beginning of the summer, she thought. “The house-elves you brought with you that time – Polky and Kreffy and . . . I don’t remember the other one’s name,” Minerva said apologetically.

“Polky, Stanga, and Kreffent, Professor. They be’s friends a long time. Polky and Stanga mostly. Kreffent sometimes has bad attitude, our Hwouly says. But I likes him anyway. He be’s bored all the time,” Blampa said, swinging her legs.

“Is he your, um . . . a boyfriend?” Minerva didn’t know very much about house-elf relationships outside of those in her own family.

Blampa giggled, covering her mouth with both hands. “No, Blampa not have boyfriends yet. Kreffent be’s cross too much to be a happy boyfriend.”

Minerva didn’t know whether Polky and Stanga were male or female, not having been able to tell – though she thought that Polky was a male and Stanga a female – so she didn’t ask any questions about them. 

“Have you always lived at Hogwarts, Blampa?” Minerva asked curiously.

“Mostly, yes. When I, Blampa, be’s a baby, I lives with my mother and her sister, but then I moves to Hogwarts and be’s with my father and be’s a Hogwarts house-elf,” Blampa explained.

“I see . . .” Minerva didn’t entirely, but she wasn’t sure whether it would be polite to inquire any further. “Do you see your mother and your aunt very often?”

“I, Blampa, sees them three times. Maybe I sees them again someday. But I, Blampa, be’s proud to be a Hogwarts house-elf with my father.”

“Who is your father?” Minerva asked.

“Tchampon. Tchampon sad now. His Professor leaves soon. Tchampon very good with creatures. Loves creatures and beasties and sky and wind and sun. When his Professor leaves, Tchampon not knowing if he works still with beasties and in the wind and sun. He be’s a good house-elf, but he doesn’t like serving inside so much,” Blampa said, almost whispering.

“Would it help if I mentioned this to the Headmaster? I am sure that the new teacher will need a house-elf, and he would probably like to have a house-elf who enjoys working with creatures,” Minerva said.

Blampa hesitated, then said, “Tchampon likes working with beasties and not inside. He be’s the best house-elf when he is with beasties and such.”

“Well, I’ll mention it, then. We’ll see if Hwouly can arrange to have him continue to serve the new teacher. And I will make sure that the new teacher knows that he is good with the creatures so he doesn’t only have him serving him tea,” Minerva said. “Are there things you enjoy doing, Blampa?”

Blampa smiled. “I, Blampa, likes my Professor Minerva happy. So I likes to bring her special things and see her smile.”

Minerva laughed. “Well, I have been told I don’t smile enough, but you can try to fix that, if you like, Blampa. But if there are things you discover you especially enjoy, let me know. If it’s possible for you to do those things more frequently, I’ll be sure that you have the opportunity.” Minerva stretched in the bathtub. “But I feel much better now, and I am certain that the potions have done their work, so I think it’s time for breakfast. Could you bring me two fried eggs, haggis, toast, and fruit, please. And more tea, of course.”

“Yes, ma’am, Professor Minerva!” Blampa said as she hopped off the edge of the tub. “When we goes to the wizarding event?”

“It’s at nine, so we will leave for the Quidditch pitch a bit before that. If you aren’t here when I’m ready to leave, I will call you,” Minerva promised. She had wanted Blampa with her in case there was something she normally used her wand to do, but she was glad that Blampa seemed to be looking forward to it. Minerva wondered whether Blampa really understood what the “event” was. She probably ought to warn her so that she wasn’t upset by it.

At a little before eight-thirty, having eaten her breakfast and dressed in her grey and tartan robes, and reading the _Prophet_ while waiting to leave for the Quidditch pitch, Minerva was surprised when the Knight lumbered into her landscape, Fidelio at his side. Despite his recent chattiness, the Knight only bowed and Fidelio barked. Minerva remained where she was and opened the door with her wand, very consciously setting it down beside her rather than putting it in her pocket, as was her habit.

When the door opened, Gertrude stepped through. “Good morning, Minerva! I wondered if you would like some company this morning.”

“I am going down to observe in a little while,” Minerva said. “I presume you will be, too?” When Gertie nodded, Minerva said, “Then I would enjoy your company, too. Would you care for a cup of tea? Have you eaten?”

“I had some tea, but . . . I couldn’t eat very much,” the older witch confessed. “I do hope that Malcolm acquits himself well, and that neither of them are hurt.” Gertrude sat down in the chair opposite Minerva. “I know that Albus will be careful with him, but I still worry. Malcolm seems somewhat rash.”

“He does, but he has good control. I don’t believe that he will do anything that Albus can’t counter,” Minerva said, not confessing to her own worries.

“True, but if he does something . . . something very Gryffindor, it could be that the only thing Albus could do to counter it would be a stronger response than Malcolm had anticipated,” Gertrude said. “Or Albus could choose not to counter it, and then be hurt in the process. And there is also the other tests he has set for him where something could go wrong.”

“I think that they both have thought about these things,” Minerva reassured her.

“At least Poppy returned for it,” Gertrude commented.

“She did?”

“Yes. I owled her a few days ago, and she agreed to return early. Both she and Murdoch will be here, in fact. Are your parents coming, do you know?”

“I don’t know, but they didn’t mention it when we discussed it on Wednesday, so I rather doubt it,” Minerva said.

“There will still be quite an audience, I think. I hope that Malcolm does well,” Gertrude said.

“I am sure he will. Albus has no desire to embarrass him in front of his future colleagues. I am not particularly happy with this idea, myself, but I became used to it, I suppose, and I’m not as worried as I had been.”

“Oddly, I didn’t think I was worried about it until I woke up this morning. Now I feel as though a coterie of Cornish pixies has taken up residence in my stomach,” Gertrude said.

“Well, it should be interesting. Think of it as a game, not as a duel,” Minerva advised. “And you’ve been practising with Malcolm. I’m certain that helped him prepare.”

“Perhaps. I think he was humouring me. It was better practice for me than for him, I think,” Gertrude said with a wry smile.

Minerva cast a glance at her clock. “We should leave soon. I just need to call Blampa – she’s coming, too,” Minerva explained as she picked up her tartan cloak, double-checking that her wand was still in its place on the table. 

Blampa popped in looking freshly scrubbed and wearing a set of green tea towels with the Hogwarts crest in the corner. Minerva had explained to her that Malcolm was going to be tested and then he and the Headmaster would duel, but that it was a friendly duel, just a kind of game, so she wasn’t to be distressed. Blampa had nodded cheerily, but Minerva wasn’t certain that the house-elf had completely understood what a duel was. Still, she looked pleased enough when she Apparated into the sitting room.

“I suppose it will be rather wearying for you to walk with us, Blampa. If you would prefer to Apparate down to the front hall, we can meet you there,” Minerva said, thinking it might be hard on Blampa’s short legs to walk down seven flights of stairs.

Blampa insisted that she wanted to accompany them. On the walk down the stairs, Minerva couldn’t resist the urge to place her hand on the little house-elf’s shoulder, as she might with a small child. Blampa looked up at Minerva and smiled happily, and Minerva smiled back.

Gertrude looked over at the two and smiled herself. “I am glad to see you appearing so happy, Minerva,” she said softly.

“I am happy, in fact,” Minerva said. “Happier than I thought was possible.”

Gertrude nodded. “I am very glad. More glad than you could know.” An odd expression crossed her face, and she looked away quickly.

“Can you come to tea today?” Minerva asked impulsively. “If you want to. If you haven’t plans with Malcolm.”

“I –”

“You could bring him, if you like,” Minerva added.

“Don’t you have plans with Albus later?”

“Nothing specific. I assume we will all have lunch together in the Great Hall. And no doubt dinner, as well.” Minerva sighed slightly. The school year was growing closer, and already, their time was not their own.

“He mentioned you would be away until at least Tuesday evening, if not Wednesday morning,” Gertrude said softly, as if reading her mind. “You will have some time then.”

Minerva smiled slightly. “Yes, of course we will. Will you hold the wards while he’s gone?”

Gertrude shook her head. “I think that Johannes will have them most of the time, although he is free to pass them to me, if he needs to leave. Wilhelmina will be here, as well, and although she is no longer a Head of House, I understand that she can still hold the wards in an emergency. And Slughorn will be in and out.”

“Do you think that Professor James minds that his investiture as Head of Hufflepuff will be delayed until Wednesday evening?” Minerva asked. He had originally been scheduled to be installed on Monday, and no doubt had made his plans around that. Minerva felt slightly guilty that her own desire for a holiday with Albus had disrupted others’ schedules.

“No, not at all. I don’t think anyone minds having the start of the year be a bit less structured than usual. Other than Malcolm, who will be here anyway, there are no new staff members who need the additional preparation time. I’ll do what I can to assist Malcolm – as Deputy, of course!” She gave a quick grin.

“Of course!” Minerva responded with a smile. “So . . . tea this afternoon?”

“Yes, provisionally. If there is something that comes up – for either of us – we can have tea when you return. We should, anyway,” Gertrude said.

Coming down the final flight of steps to the front hall, Minerva was surprised to see the number of people milling about. It seemed that most of the staff had returned for the event, and a few had brought guests, apparently, as there were witches and wizards there whom she didn’t recognise or whom she only knew by sight. Minerva began to turn to say something to Gertrude when the front door opened and, with a gust of wind, Malcolm entered, looking bright-eyed and pink-cheeked, wearing a blousy white shirt with his favourite kilt and sporran, a plaid cast over one shoulder and held in place with a decorative pin in the shape of a raven with a snake coiled about its legs. The snake was looking out and the raven’s mouth was open as it bent its head toward the snake. It was a peculiar emblem, but no more than the one on his stationery, Minerva supposed.

Malcolm caught sight of them and waved, bounding toward them, and the small crowd parted to make way for him. Minerva smiled. Her brother was a fine sight, and a feeling of pride in him surged through her. As eccentric as he was, Malcolm was strong, truthful, generous-spirited, and he exuded both magical and physical energy. 

“Little sister!” His eyes sparkled as he gripped her arm in a friendly fashion. He turned a grin on Gertrude. “And Professor Gamp of Hogwarts! Wonderful to see you both! Now, where is my worthy opponent, or whatever one might call him? Partner-in-mischief, perhaps!”

“He said we are to meet him out in front of the castle,” Gertrude said.

“Right! Then back out, I suppose!” Malcolm said energetically, turning and striding toward the front doors again. In a show for the assemblage, he opened it with a casual wave of his hand, and Minerva choked back a chuckle.

“Perhaps I should have worn my matching tartan,” Minerva said to Gertrude, moving to place Blampa between them so she wouldn’t get trampled on by the larger people moving around them. “I chose this tartan this morning not thinking about it very much. But I suppose it might be better not to appear to be taking sides. Not that I am able to,” Minerva added. “I just want both to come out of this with no real injuries and Malcolm with his pride intact.”

Gertrude nodded in agreement. She had put her hand on Blampa’s other shoulder. Now that they had gone out to the front steps, Minerva saw that there were another dozen spectators outside. Malcolm hadn’t waited for them, but was standing out in front of the crowd, apparently oblivious to it, and talking to Johannes, who was smiling cheerfully.

Just as Gertrude was about to say something in reply, they were both distracted by Hagrid’s arrival with a few more guests, including one whom Minerva recognised, clad in the same six-colour tartan as Malcolm. The straight-backed witch marched directly up to Malcolm. Johannes stopped speaking in mid-sentence, and Malcolm immediately turned and pecked the witch’s cheek.

The witch seemed to brush off Malcolm’s gesture, but her eyes were smiling as she looked up at him, one hand firmly grasping each of the younger wizard’s elbows.

“So, you will do us all proud today, lad?” 

“Aye, Grandmother, that I will,” Malcolm replied. There was no “trying” with Grandmother Siofre. One either did or one didn’t. It was expected that a Tyree or a McGonagall would always put forth a full effort.

“Now, where is the granddaughter?” Siofre asked, turning to look at the group of people who had returned to their milling about.

“Here I am, Grandmother,” Minerva said from her other side.

Siofre looked up at Minerva and a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Malcolm tells me that you are not turned stodgy yet, Minerva!”

Minerva smiled in return. “I should hope not!”

“Yes, well, you always were an old one, child,” Siofre said, addressing her remark to Minerva, but glancing over at Gertrude and then down at Blampa, who still stood between the two witches and who had taken hold of Minerva’s skirts.

“Grandmother, I would like you to meet a colleague and friend, Professor Gertrude Gamp, and this is Blampa,” Minerva said, gesturing toward the nervous house-elf. “Gertrude, I would like to present my grandmother, Siofre Tyree.”

Gertrude nodded respectfully. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Madam Tyree.”

“Hmm, yes, you were at my great-granddaughter’s wedding, weren’t you?” Siofre responded. “No time for pleasantries. Must speak with the grandson.” She nodded briskly. “I will see you later, no doubt, Minerva.”

With that, Siofre turned back to Malcolm. Hagrid was just holding out Malcolm’s broom to him.

“Yeh’ll be needin’ this, maybe,” Hagrid said.

“Could you hold onto it for me just a bit longer, Hagrid?” Malcolm barely got the words out of his mouth when his diminutive grandmother had him by the elbow and was steering him away from the crowd.

“It’s nine o’clock,” Minerva said as she watched her grandmother speaking with Malcolm. The older witch was gesturing with both hands, appearing to simultaneously tug and push at some imaginary object in front of her. “Albus is late.”

Gertrude looked up. “No, on time.”

Minerva raised her eyes in the direction that Gertrude was looking. It was a sight Minerva had never before encountered: Albus Dumbledore on a broom. Quin had mentioned that Albus had once played Chaser in a pick-up Quidditch game, but in all the years that Minerva had known him, she had never seen him on a broom. But considering that he was such a strong Apparater and his Animagus form was a phoenix, it seemed hardly a mode of conveyance that he would normally choose.

Albus apparently had taken off from one of his tower windows. With no flourish, but still lightly and gracefully, Albus glided down and landed beside Malcolm and Siofre. Albus looked handsome in robes of deep gold with burgundy trim, the collar of the longer dark red under-robe peeking out, and its hem visible at his ankles. 

Minerva hadn’t been able to hear much of what Siofre had been saying to Malcolm, other than a few random words, such as “two-handed” and “small surprise,” but now she heard her grandmother greet the Headmaster.

“Albus, good morning! You are the wizard who is making my grandson a respectable working wizard, then,” Siofre said, a glint of humour in her eyes. She had always been proud of Malcolm and had not completely shared Egeria’s concerns about his peripatetic ways, but she enjoyed teasing as much as her son did – although it was occasionally difficult to distinguish her teasing, and she had upset more than one sensitive Parnovon with an ill-received jibe. 

Albus bent and gave the witch a light kiss on her cheek. “We shall see, Siofre,” he said with a smile. “We have to see if he lives up to his advertising, after all!”

It was peculiar for Minerva to see Albus interacting with her Grandmother Siofre. She had always known that the two had been at Hogwarts at the same time, her grandmother just a few years behind him, and Albus had mentioned to her that when he had gone to see Siofre after Collum died, she had sent him off with a flea in his ear, more or less, but he hadn’t held it against her.

“Time was, I wasn’t sure of your own respectability, Albus, and now I’m trusting my grandson to you to make him a more upstanding wizard,” Siofre said, her eyes sparkling.

Minerva could feel Gertrude shift beside her, seeming to tense up. She could imagine that Gertrude wasn’t entirely aware that Siofre was teasing, or was, but still found it offensive. Whether she was offended on behalf of Albus or Malcolm, though, Minerva was unsure. She herself found the remarks in somewhat questionable taste, but Albus only laughed good-naturedly and Malcolm was grinning.

“So, ready for our spree, then, Albus?” Malcolm said. Minerva could almost feel her brother’s excitement, like the quivering of a dog on the scent of something wonderfully exciting.

“Ah, not yet, my b–, er, Malcolm,” Albus said, catching himself. “First, we will have a bit of a display from you, if that is agreeable.”

“Ah, this wizard wants me to be tired out before we even begin, Grandmother,” Malcolm said with a laugh. 

“You may be in no condition after our ‘spree’ to do anything else,” Albus said with a playful smile, “so I thought it most fair to do this first. We can have a tea break before we begin.”

“So I’ll have to take a pee in the middle of it?” Malcolm asked.

Siofre laughed, but slapped his arm. “Speak better to your elders and in mixed company, laddie!”

“Aye, ma’am, sorry,” Malcolm said, but he didn’t look at all apologetic.

“First, I will make the announcement to our assembled guests,” Albus said, seeming only then to take notice of the group behind him. He turned and smiled brightly at Minerva, then he looked at the group. Raising his voice, he said, “The first event on our schedule will take place from here. If you would all like to make yourselves comfortable, I will explain the first display of our candidate’s talents.”

Witches and wizards conjured chairs and stools of various descriptions and settled down. Minerva and Gertrude simply moved to one side but didn’t sit.

“Johannes? Professor Birnbaum?” Albus looked around. 

At Siofre Tyree’s arrival, Johannes had retreated to the back of the crowd, but now he stepped forward. 

“I am here, Professor!”

“Good, my boy! May I speak with you briefly?”

The two wizards conferred, and Minerva saw Albus make a slight gesture. Johannes smiled and nodded, then stepped back to stand beside Gertrude and Minerva.

“He passed me the wards,” Johannes explained in a whisper as Albus now spoke in a low voice with Malcolm.

Malcolm turned, waved, and caught Hagrid’s eye. “My broom, Hagrid.”

Albus turned back to the group. “Malcolm is first going to display Apparition-by-Broom. In order to verify the Disapparition and the corresponding Apparition, I shall proceed to the Apparition point and Professor Filius Flitwick will observe from his position at the gates. You may watch from here, or, if you like, you may walk down toward the gates.”

Siofre stepped forward and spoke softly to Albus. Albus’s face twitched as if he were restraining a smile, but he nodded, and Siofre walked away quickly down toward the gates. Albus turned back to Malcolm, said a few words, then he mounted his own broom.

Albus flew down to the gates, landed, and spoke with Filius, whose small form Minerva could now see. There was a soft sound of Disapparition and Albus vanished, apparently Apparating to wherever Malcolm was due to arrive.

Malcolm walked over to Gertrude and Minerva. “I’m going to wait for Grandmother Siofre. She insisted on witnessing from the other end, so I can’t leave until she has Disapparated. She turned down Albus’s offer of a ride,” he said with a small grin. Siofre was just reaching the gates at that moment, and he climbed onto his broom and rose a few feet above their heads.

“Wait, Malcolm – where are you going?” Minerva asked, worried about her brother Splinching in some odd location.

Malcolm’s grin grew. “Why, off to home, of course! I could Apparate there in my sleep, after all!”

Malcolm waved cheerfully at the crowd of onlookers, some of whom had began to wander toward the gates. The murmuring that had begun when Albus had announced that Malcolm was going to demonstrate Apparition-by-Broom, now died down to a hush as everyone watched Malcolm rise lazily into the air, seemingly lifted straight up as if by a string.

“He is always the show-off,” Minerva muttered. Although it looked simple, most people couldn’t rise straight up on a broom without some forward motion as well. At least he wasn’t doing the hair-raising manoeuvres she had seen him performing a few days earlier. Minerva hoped he actually could achieve what he had claimed.

Gertrude pulled a pair of Omnioculars from her pocket, and Minerva wished she had thought of such a thing.

At a relatively low altitude of about fifty feet, probably to make it easier for the observers to see him, Malcolm flew toward the edge of the Hogwarts grounds, away from the Antiapparition wards. He picked up speed as he approached the border, and seconds after passing over the walls, there was a thundering crack, and Malcolm vanished entirely. The crowd was completely silent for a moment, then a few of the younger wizards began to cheer and others joined in. Minerva and Gertrude, though, waited nervously for his return.

Minutes ticked by and the guests began to grow restless. Minerva turned to Gertrude.

“What do you suppose is taking so long?” she asked, trying to keep her concern from her voice.

Gertrude shook her head. “I suppose they are talking. It hasn’t been very long. He didn’t Splinch. I watched carefully.”

“What if he didn’t arrive in the right place?” Minerva asked. She hadn’t heard of such a thing before – one either Disapparated successfully or didn’t – but Apparition-by-Broom might be something quite different, since one was in motion when Disapparating. One of the first rules she had learned when she took her Apparition lessons – other than the three D’s – was that one had to be standing stock-still in order to Disapparate, and that Splinching was a great danger otherwise.

Gertrude was mulling her response to that question when the sharp sound of Apparition came from the gate area. From the person’s height, Minerva assumed it was her grandmother. She paused to speak with Flitwick, then started walking up toward the castle. Minerva wanted to meet her halfway, but restrained herself. Siofre didn’t appear concerned, and it had been less than five minutes since Malcolm had Disapparated, though it felt much longer.

Siofre paused in front of the crowd, which went silent. The witch did not raise her voice at all, but her words were clear, a richly rolling burr embellishing them.

“Professor Dumbledore will make an official announcement when he returns, but I witnessed Malcolm’s safe arrival at the Apparition point. They are conferring about the next stage of events at the moment.” Siofre turned and strode over to where Minerva and Gertrude stood with Johannes. Blampa was almost hidden behind Minerva’s skirts.

“He did well, but ’twas only the one small task,” Siofre said with a nod.

Minerva was about to ask whether either of the other witches knew what the next task would be, but there were two almost simultaneous cracks from an area beyond the gates, and both wizards, mounted on their brooms, appeared, speeding towards the Hogwarts grounds.

Gertrude shook her head. “Your brother is not the only one to show off this morning, I see. I wonder if Albus ever even did that before today.”

“I never even saw him on a _broom_ before,” Minerva said, her brow furrowed. “That seems terribly foolhardy.”

“He’s a Gryffindor – surely you can understand a fellow Gryffindor,” Gertrude said to Minerva.

“Hmmph,” Siofre said. “He was always a bit brash as a boy. They never really do grow up, do they?”

Johannes laughed as the three witches all agreed that every wizard still had a little boy in him. Siofre looked up at the tall, sandy-haired wizard.

“Don’t know you. You’re foreign, aren’t you?” The words were blunt, but her tone friendly.

“I am from Germany, ma’am,” Johannes said in his friendly manner. “Johannes Birnbaum, at your service.”

“Ah, the Herbology wizard. Ravenclaw Head of House, aren’t you? Heard good things about you. Siofre Tyree, Ravenclaw myself,” she said, holding out her hand, which Johannes took and bent over in a formal bow.

As Johannes straightened, Minerva apologised. “I am sorry, Grandmother. I hadn’t realised that you two hadn’t met.”

Siofre waved off the apology as everyone’s attention turned to the two wizards who had landed several yards away and who were now walking around toward the back of the castle. Hagrid’s voice rang out above the renewed chatter.

“Everybody to th’ Quidditch stadium! All onlookers t’ stadium now!”

As the crowd began to flow in the direction that Albus and Malcolm had taken, Johannes said that he would wait for Professor Flitwick to catch up with everyone.

“I have a spot reserved for us,” Gertrude said. “We should have a good view.”

“I wish I had thought to bring binoculars or Omnioculars,” Minerva said with a sigh. She felt a tugging on her skirts.

“Blampa can fetch Ominiominionoculars for Professor Minerva,” the little house-elf squeaked shyly.

Minerva smiled. “All right. Thank you, Blampa. If you can’t find any Omnioculars quickly, though, just return to me. They aren’t crucial.”

Blampa nodded and Disapparated with a clearly audible pop as the three witches began to walk toward the Quidditch stadium.

“Do you know what is up next?” Minerva asked Gertrude.

Gertrude nodded. The older witch suddenly seemed to go pale.

“Are you going to tell us, lass?” Siofre asked.

Gertrude looked across at the white-haired witch. “Have you read Malcolm’s letter of application?”

Siofre barked a laugh. “I certainly did.”

“He mentioned certain creatures. Albus took him at his word,” Gertrude responded. “I believe him, as well,” she added hastily, “but acting in an emergency is one thing, this, however . . .”

“Not a Nundu?!” Minerva asked in alarm. They would have a stadium full of dead witches and wizards, in that case.

“No, no, of course not,” Gertrude said with a shake of her head. 

“A . . . a Boggart?” Minerva asked tentatively. They could be disturbing, she supposed, if one was unprepared.

“A dragon,” Siofre said in a flat voice.

“Yes, a dragon,” Gertrude responded.

“What?” Minerva was astounded.

“Malcolm said he could ride a dragon,” Siofre said. “I have no doubt that he has, but as you say, Professor, doing so in an emergency is something quite different.”

Minerva felt a momentary surge of anger at Albus. He had assured her that Malcolm would be in no danger. But she had been worried about the duel. She had assumed that Albus would have a few tricky but not-particularly-dangerous tasks to test his other skills. Pixies, perhaps, or a stinky, bad-tempered buggane. It never occurred to her that Albus would procure a dragon. 

“Whatever was Albus thinking?” Minerva asked.

“I don’t know as Albus necessarily expects Malcolm to ride it,” Gertrude said. “I wasn’t even aware that he had this planned until yesterday evening when Wilhelmina arrived with it and informed me that it was on the grounds. And Malcolm . . . perhaps I ought to have told him, but he had gone home to his flat already.”

“Lovely. Just . . . lovely. Have they other handlers, or is it only Wilhelmina?” Minerva asked. She should have noticed that Wilhelmina was nowhere to be seen.

“There’s another wizard from the preserve, and Kettleburn is with them, as well. Wilhelmina says it’s just a small Welsh Green, but they are very territorial, and the dragon’s not pleased to have been suddenly uprooted from its home,” Gertrude said as they entered the Quidditch stadium. Minerva noticed a large white marquee set up at one end of the pitch, presumably the dragon’s temporary shelter.

“Never fear, hen!” Siofre said, touching her granddaughter’s elbow lightly. “I am sure Albus has it all under control. And Malcolm has more talent than you give him credit for. The lad might be a wee bit headstrong, but he’s no fool.”

The two witches followed Gertrude as she led them up to the box where the scorekeeper and announcer usually sat during Quidditch games. As they arranged themselves and Minerva pulled her cloak closer about her, less from chilliness than from a sense of unease, Blampa reappeared with an ear-splitting pop.

Blampa held up a set of matte black Omnioculars. “Blampa gets Professor Minerva ominiominionoculars.”

“Thank you, Blampa,” Minerva said, accepting the Charmed binoculars. “Come, sit here. We saved you a seat.” She patted the space between her and Gertrude.

Blampa looked down and shook her head. “Blampa stands. Blampa happy house-elf.”

“Blampa, if you would prefer to stand, that is fine, but I would like it if you sat next to me. I asked you to come to help keep me company, after all,” Minerva said, somewhat bothered by the return of the cringing house-elf.

Blampa looked shyly over at the petite-but-imposing figure of Siofre Tyree, who was fiddling with her own small Omnioculars, more like opera glasses than the large set of Charmed field glasses that Minerva held. The white-haired witch noticed the house-elf looking at her.

“If my granddaughter wishes to have you sit beside her, I have nothing to say against it, child,” Siofre said, speaking more gently than she had all morning, then returning to her adjustments to her Omnioculars.

Blampa hopped up on the seat and sat quietly between the two teachers, taking hold of Minerva’s robes again. Albus, Filius, and Johannes joined them a few moments later.

The crowd grew quiet as Hagrid stepped out into the stadium. 

“We ask yer cooperation. For this task, yer quiet is requested.” Hagrid looked around as if checking to be sure everyone had heard him. “Thank you.”

Hagrid disappeared back under the stands, and a moment later, the hush was momentarily broken with an excited whispering as the large white tent disappeared to reveal a Welsh Green Dragon. Whatever Wilhelmina may have said about it being a small dragon, it certainly seemed large to Minerva, at least fifteen feet long, perhaps a bit more. Minerva couldn’t see Wilhelmina or Kettleburn, or anyone else, down with the dragon, but she assumed they were close at hand. Dragons couldn’t be tamed, but they could be handled, and Minerva hoped that the handlers were nearby in case Malcolm had trouble. 

The Welsh Green had been loosely staked by only one leg. Minerva presumed that the dragon could break free quite easily, and she regretted not having her wand at hand – not that she had any notion what kind of spell could stop a rampaging dragon. 

The dragon was looking around, seeming to judge the crowd of people. Gertrude leaned toward Minerva.

“It can’t see us,” she whispered. “Wilhelmina explained that they put a charm on the stands. It thinks it is in a large, roofless paddock. And it was well-fed this morning.”

Minerva turned to her grandmother and repeated that bit of information, and she could feel Siofre relax her grip on the wand in the pocket of her tartan robes.

As the nervous crowd looked on, only occasional whispers passing among them, Malcolm walked out onto the pitch – barefoot and his wand held loosely in his right hand. Every book Minerva had read had said to approach a dragon from the rear, but Malcolm walked toward it head on, slowly but steadily, until he stopped about thirty feet from her. The dragon opened its mouth and seemed to sniff the air, then it rose up from its crouch, a rumble beginning somewhere deep in its throat. In the hush, Malcolm’s voice rang clearly in the stadium, though he spoke softly.

“Hullo, young lassie.” He cocked his head. “Don’t think you’ll be needing that, now.” Malcolm waved his left hand and the chain and shackle vanished. 

The confused dragon shook her leg. Her tail switched back and forth. She lowered her head and another grumble emerged from her partially open mouth.

“You aren’t going to like this much better, but I will beg your pardon in advance,” Malcolm said as he began to walk again, this time describing an arc, moving around to her side.

This seemed to confuse the dragon, and she turned with him, this time her mouth opened wider, and she let out a harsh roar. Malcolm didn’t twitch a hair, but continued walking in a circle around her as she turned with him. Minerva became even more alarmed when the dragon unfurled her wings, but through her Omnioculars, she could see Malcolm’s lips turn up and his eyes smile.

“Ready for a bit of exercise? So am I!” Malcolm had gradually come closer to the dragon as he had circled her and she turned with him.

Very suddenly, Malcolm took several long, swift strides, then he bent and leapt, seeming almost to fly through the air. One of his bare feet briefly touched the dragon’s bent foreleg, and then, impossibly, he was astride her long neck, his legs holding tightly, his left hand gripping the scaly, loose folds of flesh near her head. He quickly shoved his wand into a Charmed loop on one side of his sporran, then grabbed on with his other hand.

The dragon had gone from confused to annoyed to enraged very quickly. She threw her head back, but Malcolm stayed well-mounted, and Minerva saw him grin with glee. Rearing up, the dragon tried to dislodge her unwanted companion, but Malcolm simply held on and laughed. She raised her foreleg and batted, but was unable to reach him. The angry beast spat fire then, and did a peculiar skip across the pitch, which would have been amusing if the onlookers weren’t all rivetted in varying degrees of awe and fear.

Minerva glanced over at Albus. He appeared the picture of calm, but Minerva could see that he was paler than usual, and his wand was in his hand. She wondered if he were regretting this as one of his harebrained ideas, but she turned her attention back to the pitch just in time to see the dragon drop to the ground.

“Oh, my gods, it’s going to roll!” someone cried.

Indeed, it appeared that was what the lumbering beast was about to do, and she began to turn onto her side, but then Malcolm leaned forward and bit her ear. This caused her to forget her roll, but now she shook her head violently, and for a moment, Minerva feared that Malcolm would be tossed off, instead, the dragon suddenly stood and stretched, almost like a cat. Minerva heard Gertrude and a number of others in the audience gasp at that, alarmed, but Malcolm laughed again. Apparently that stretch indicated the creature was about to take wing, for the dragon breathed out one more fiery blast then leapt into the air, her wings flapping steadily, creating a perceptible breeze in the stadium.

It seemed that all at once, everyone stood, craning their necks as they watched the dragon climb higher and higher, the wizard on her back lying flat now against his peculiar mount. Minerva could see three figures on brooms – Wilhelmina, Kettleburn, and the other dragon-handler, presumably. She didn’t know what kind of control, if any, Malcolm had over the dragon’s flight, but the dragon seemed happier now that she was in the air, and she circled and swooped, seemingly unconcerned about ridding herself of her passenger. Minerva followed them through her Omnioculars, and she could see that Malcolm was speaking to the beast and seemed to be scratching her neck and behind her ears with his left hand as he still held tight with his right.

Minerva couldn’t imagine how this could end. She had no real familiarity with dragons, but she believed that the spells that dragon-handlers normally used to herd the beasts would likely not be safe to use with a wizard riding her. She looked over at Albus. He looked no more nervous than he had, Minerva thought, and he had sat back down and placed his own Omnioculars in his lap, presumably so that he could see all four flyers at once.

There was a sudden flash of fire, and at first, Minerva thought that the dragon had spewed flames again, but it was Fawkes, and as the two wizards and Wilhelmina rode in formation behind and to the sides of the dragon, trying to control the dragon’s path – but without very much success – the phoenix flew down close to the dragon’s head. Minerva raised her Omnioculars again just in time to see Malcolm turn toward the phoenix and laugh. Fawkes worried the dragon first from one side then the other, occasionally disappearing then reappearing above or to the other side of the dragon. It seemed to Minerva that the phoenix was also trying to get Malcolm’s attention, but Malcolm persisted in holding on to the dragon, and it seemed to Minerva that her brother was going to ride the dragon until she decided to land.

Finally, Malcolm patted the side of the dragon’s neck, reached out, grabbed hold of Fawkes’s tail feathers, and let go of the dragon. Fawkes flew down to the Quidditch pitch, deposited his passenger, trilled briefly, then disappeared in a flash of flame.

Malcolm tottered a bit as he regained his footing, then he looked over at Gertrude and waved, grinning. The crowd broke into a roar of applause and cheers. With no false modesty, Malcolm waved at everyone and trotted off the pitch.

Albus stood and waited for the spectators to calm down, then he announced, “There will be tea and biscuits served on the lawn in ten minutes. We will reconvene in one hour. I ask that everyone leave the stadium to allow the dragon-handlers to do their work.”

Minerva was torn between her desire to stop Albus and ask him what he had been thinking and her desire to find her brother. The latter desire won out, and she followed Gertrude down out of the stands, little Blampa still holding her skirts. Siofre came with them, and they found Malcolm in the Gryffindor changing room, pulling on his dragonhide boots. He looked up and smiled when he saw them.

“Are you all right?” Gertrude asked immediately, sitting down beside him and pushing aside a curly lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead.

Siofre observed this gesture and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“Aye, I am fine, Trudie,” Malcolm said with a soft smile. “It was fun.”

“But what a thing for Albus to have had you do!” Minerva cried. “You could have been hurt – any of the spectators could have been, in fact!”

“Oh, he gave me the option. This or something else. But it’s a rare opportunity, so I jumped at it,” Malcolm said with a grin. 

“Well, laddie, you have done well, but you still have the rest of the morning ahead of you,” Siofre said. “Time for us all to get some tea. And you should have something better than biscuits.” She looked down at Blampa, who was hiding shyly behind Minerva. “You, there – Blampa, is it? Could you fetch some sandwiches for the grandson here?”

Blampa nodded eagerly, and looked up at Minerva for her permission.

“That’s a good idea, Blampa. Fetch some sandwiches and rejoin us on the lawn,” Minerva said.

Ten minutes later, they were sitting together under a large umbrella unwrapping the sandwiches Blampa had just brought them. Minerva wasn’t at all hungry, but she took one anyway. Albus was heading toward them, stopping briefly to speak with a few of the other teachers at another table. When he reached them, he smiled down genially. 

“Ah, sandwiches! An excellent idea. Do you mind if I join you?” Albus asked.

“Not at all, boss,” Malcolm said with a cheeky grin, then, before Albus could do it, Malcolm had conjured him a pouffy armchair, covered in a gaudy print with animated pink flamingos peeking out from behind bright tropical flowers. 

Albus laughed. “Is this an attempt to persuade me to cancel the rest of the morning? If so, my – er, Malcolm, you have very nearly succeeded,” he said, sitting down in the chair and reaching for a sandwich. 

“That would disappoint me greatly, boss. And what I said before, the other day? Never mind that. I’ll get used to it if you get used to my calling you ‘boss’!” Malcolm said with a wink.

“We shall see, my boy!”

“Albus . . . that was quite a surprise,” Minerva said, changing the subject.

“I do enjoy surprising people, as you know, my dear,” Albus said as he poured himself a cup of tea.

“This was not one of your more pleasant surprises, I have to say,” Minerva replied sternly. 

“Your brother coped very well,” Albus said. “And the handlers were there. There was no real danger, my dear.”

“When there is a dragon involved, Albus, there is always danger,” Gertrude said, sounding no less stern than Minerva had.

“Sufficient unto the day, sufficient unto the day,” Siofre quoted admonishingly. “And now Malcolm has to face the rest of the morning. There is little point in saying anything more on that matter.” She looked over at her oldest grandchild. “You did very well, however.”

Forty-five minutes later, everyone was back in the stadium watching as Malcolm removed a curse from a box and opened it. It was rather dull, as he was completely successful and nothing happened when he removed the lid from the box; he only pulled a plush stuffed dragon from its depths. Interest was piqued again, however, when Albus walked out onto the pitch with Flitwick. After Flitwick had conferred briefly with both wizards, he left the field and climbed up to the box where Minerva and Gertrude sat.

The new Charms teacher pointed his wand at his throat and announced, “The duel will proceed under modified sporting rules. It will last twenty minutes or until one or the other of the players is unable to continue. Gentlemen, whenever you are ready, you may begin.”

After removing the _Sonorus_ Charm, Flitwick drew a quill and some parchment from his pocket. It was evidently some kind of automagical quill like the one he had used to record the committee meetings, and he began muttering under his breath, watching the quill. Apparently satisfied that it was functioning correctly, he nodded and fell silent, waiting.

Albus and Malcolm were facing one another, just chatting, it seemed, then they turned and casually walked apart. They both stopped at about the same time and turned back. Malcolm smiled briefly and nodded, drawing his wand, then Albus raised his. At Albus’s nod, Malcolm let off a quick spell, which Minerva thought was a Stinging Hex, but they were both casting nonverbally, so she couldn’t be certain. Albus deflected it easily and quickly cast a Stunner followed by a _Confundus_ , forcing Malcolm to deflect two very different spells rapidly without being able to get off a spell of his own. 

Albus was just about to cast another minor hex as Malcolm was countering the _Confundus_ , when Malcolm cast wandlessly with his left hand, only slightly after he had deflected the hex with the spell cast from his wand. Albus looked slightly surprised, but not displeased, and cast another spell. Minerva could feel his magic rippling this time, so whatever he had cast, he had done so with greater force than he had the previous spells, but Malcolm slashed his wand through the air and his spell met Albus’s midway, creating a colourful explosion, much as he had done with Minerva’s spell when they had practised. Unlike Minerva, however, Albus was undistracted by the display of pyrotechnics, and simply deflected the next spell that Malcolm cast.

The two wizards began to cast more rapidly, too rapidly for most onlookers to be able to determine what spells were cast, but they still occasionally blazed, glowed, or exploded, providing some entertainment. Minerva couldn’t imagine how the two could continue to cast so rapidly and not seem fatigued. Malcolm had begun to move about as he cast, trying to tire the older wizard physically, perhaps, but Albus allowed him move and stayed in one spot himself, merely turning to follow his opponent. One of Albus’s spells reached Malcolm as he was too slow in casting a defensive spell, and although he leapt out of the way, it hit his right shoulder. Minerva couldn’t tell whether it had hurt or not, but Malcolm responded by slashing with his left hand as he thrust with his wand in his right hand; a wind came up, and conjured orange dust swirled around Albus, who banished it easily. Malcolm took that moment to cast a blasting charm at Albus, who had time only to throw up a very general shield, and the charm caused a boom when it hit the shield and the reverberations seemed to rock Albus. Just as Albus was regaining his feet and was about to cast another spell, Malcolm thrust his left fist into the air and the stadium was suddenly filled with the sound of a hundred bagpipes wailing and dozens of drums beating, and the spectators all covered their ears.

Albus was momentarily startled by the sudden, intense martial music, and Malcolm took the opening to cast two-handed again, slapping his left palm downward while flicking up very quickly with his wand. The turf rose up and rippled out toward Albus, like a giant carpet being shaken out. It lifted Albus up off of his feet, and he landed on his back, hard. As Albus rolled over and pushed himself back up, Malcolm cast again, rather appalling Minerva and her sense of fair play, but this spell was again not cast on Albus himself, but on the pitch, and there was a sudden thick field of sunflowers surrounding Albus.

Minerva could just make out Albus’s grey head as he stood, then the music stopped, the field of flowers vanished, and Albus smiled at Malcolm, who was now breathing hard. Malcolm raised his wand to cast, but his spell was easily side-stepped by Albus, who cast an offensive spell at Malcolm. Minerva giggled. Malcolm had not been able to move out of the way, and his shield spell had been completely ineffective, the purple-rayed spell just passing right through it. Malcolm was now completely covered in long auburn fur, so much fur that he couldn’t see. Albus cast another spell, but Malcolm managed to twist out of the way, despite his momentary blindness, and that one didn’t strike. Minerva recognised it as another Transfiguration spell, one that she had developed during the last months of the war but that had never been used, due to its difficulty. She was a little disappointed. She would have enjoyed seeing Malcolm with dolphin flippers and long auburn fur.

Malcolm managed to rid himself of the fur, all the while dancing about trying, by feel only, to avoid Albus’s lazily cast hexes. Now that Malcolm was unencumbered, the two wizards cast furiously fast again, Malcolm seeming to be running entirely on adrenalin and Albus looking no more huffed than if he had climbed a few flights of stairs, which was not at all. Still, Malcolm more than held his own, and one of his slicing hexes made it through and opened a long but shallow cut on Albus’s forehead. Minerva was impressed. Despite the obvious frenzy with which Malcolm was casting, he had sufficient control to keep from creating a bigger wound, and she remembered her own spell, which had been meant simply to raise a slight welt but which had done much worse. 

Albus wiped the dripping blood from his eyes with the sleeve of his golden robe and cast a blaster, aiming at Malcolm’s feet. It almost toppled the younger wizard, but though there was now a large crater in the pitch, Malcolm had merely leapt backwards and landed steady on his feet, casting a fireball hex as he came down. Oddly, Albus laughed as the ball of fire approached him, growing as it flew. Malcolm’s eyes widened when he realised that Albus was neither stepping aside nor countering it, and he raised his wand to try to stop it himself, but too late, and the ball of fire hit Albus mid-chest, exploding on contact. Malcolm ran towards Albus, but the older wizard was engulfed in flame and vanished in a bright flash. Malcolm stood stock-still for a moment, his face completely drained of colour, then he sank to his knees as the rest of the spectators rose to their feet in horror. It happened so quickly that Minerva had barely comprehended it before relief swept over her.

Malcolm put a hand on the singed turf, blinking at it in dismay, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. A confused expression crossed his face as he turned his head. He just had time to see Albus smiling down at him, the sun a halo shining behind his head, when the older wizard flicked two fingers, and Malcolm tilted to one side, slowly crumpling to the scorched grass, Stunned.


	136. Aprés Spree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm recovers and Albus seeks Minerva.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Gertrude Gamp, Malcolm McGonagall, Murdoch McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey, and Siofre Tyree.

**CXXXVI: Aprés Spree**

The world slowly came into focus, a deep blue sky with a few puffy clouds. A woman’s voice reached his ears, coming closer, but he couldn’t tell precisely what she was saying. A face appeared above him, but it wasn’t the face he wanted to see.

“Trude . . . Gertrude,” Malcolm said. His head pounded. 

“He seems confused,” the witch said.

“No, he’s not.” Albus bent over him, smiling. “She will be here shortly, my boy. She’s coming down from the stands. You did very well.” The older wizard patted him on the shoulder.

Malcolm blinked and returned his smile wanly. “Some trick that was, boss. You had me scared.” 

Malcolm pushed himself up into a sitting position. The witch, whom Malcolm now recognised as Poppy, tutted at that, but despite the fact that his head was swimming and he was more tired than he had been in years, he didn’t want to have Gertrude arrive while he was still flat on his back. The ground was hard, anyway. He tried to get to his feet, but Poppy took hold of his shoulder, preventing him from rising.

“I haven’t finished my examination yet. And when I’m through with him,” Poppy said, turning to Albus, “you’re next.”

“I am sure we can complete this in a more congenial environment, however,” Albus said. “It was just a very light Stunner. He was beginning to come around before you reached us.”

“That’s as may be,” Poppy said as she waved her wand over Malcolm’s head, “but he caught something on his shoulder, as well, I noticed, and the spell-work itself was enough to exhaust any wizard.”

“I’m fine. Bit of a headache, that’s all. You should look at the Headmaster,” Malcolm said, looking up at Albus, who showed not a single sign of being singed, but whose head wound was still oozing blood.

Poppy glanced over at the Headmaster and nodded. “I will when I’m through with you, Malcolm.” Noting the wizard’s impatience, she added, “And I’ll be quick about it.”

Poppy was as good as her word, and as Gertrude crossed the Quidditch pitch to him, Malcolm was getting to his feet. 

“You’ll be wanting something for your headache, Malcolm, so don’t go far,” Poppy admonished.

“Just to the changing room, that’s all,” Malcolm said as he turned and went to meet Gertrude, and his sister and grandmother, who were hurrying along beside her. Blampa was practically invisible as she followed Minerva, a small second shadow.

As he strode toward his family, the crowd stood and cheered. Malcolm smiled and waved briefly, but he was focussed on Gertrude. As he met the three witches, Malcolm tore his gaze from Gertrude long enough to greet his grandmother and put a hand on her arm.

“Are you all right, Malcolm?” Gertrude asked in a low, worried tone.

“Aye, just fine. Poppy’s going to give me something for my headache, and she has a balm she wants me to rub into my shoulder at the first opportunity.” Malcolm looked up at the stands, where people were still on their feet. He gave one more brief wave, then said, “Let’s get out from under all these eyes.”

Malcolm turned and started toward the Gryffindor changing rooms, the three witches following him closely, Blampa still trotting along behind them. Albus and Poppy were also walking in that direction and they all met a few yards from the entrance. The wound on Albus’s forehead was completely healed with no sign that it had ever been there.

“Well, my boy, I have been given a clean bill of health, so no damage at all, just as I said,” Albus told Malcolm. “I am going to go and consult with Filius, then I’ll make an announcement regarding your performance. We aren’t scoring this officially, but he has been making a record of it, and I am sure he would be happy to speak with you about it later, if you like.” Albus held out his hand. “Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall!”

Malcolm smiled a real, broad smile for the first time since he woke up staring at the sky. “Thank you, sir! I hope the entire year is as much fun as this morning has been – if, um, a wee bit less exciting,” he added, sensing Gertrude stiffen beside him. 

Albus turned to Malcolm’s small entourage and said, “I shall see you ladies at lunch. You will stay, won’t you, Siofre?”

“Of course, Albus. It has been a while since I endured a Hogwarts meal. It should be good for my character, if not for my digestion,” Siofre quipped.

“Very good, then. And Professor McGonagall, er, Minerva McGonagall,” Albus clarified, “we were going to meet briefly before lunch. Where would be most convenient for you, my dear?”

Minerva was still trying to process what she had experienced when she saw Albus disappear in a burst of flames, but Albus’s warm smile and bright eyes brought a smile to her own face, particularly as they had made no definite plans to see each other that day, other than some vague thought that they would meet after dinner to discuss their departure.

“Your office?” she suggested. “Or mine.”

“Yours, perhaps,” Albus agreed with a nod. He looked toward the stands. “Now, I must go before the natives become restless.”

Malcolm was happy to reach the confines of the changing rooms, and he lowered himself gingerly onto a bench.

“You _aren’t_ all right,” Gertrude said with concern. 

“I’m just a little tired, Tru, that’s all,” Malcolm said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “And my legs ache from holding onto that dragon for so long. Just took a little while to catch up with me.”

“And your shoulder?” she asked, reaching to move his plaid aside.

“Something Albus called a ‘thumper.’ Just like being hit by a Bludger, that’s all,” Malcolm said, trying to avoid having her touch his clothing. He glanced up at his grandmother, who was smirking at him.

“The grandson’s suffered worse than a Bludger to the shoulder, lass, and I doubt that Albus had any desire to permanently injure his newest staff member – nor the brother of Head of Gryffindor,” Siofre remarked dryly. 

Gertrude moved away from Malcolm slightly, once more aware that, although they may no longer be observed by a couple hundred eyes, they were not really alone.

“And he needs his Headache Potion,” Poppy said briskly. “One of your brother’s, Malcolm. It should work very quickly – and help some with the shoulder, too. But be sure to use this balm on it. And don’t wait too long to do it, either, or it won’t be as effective.” She handed him a small silver tin. 

“That’s one of mine, as well, Malcolm,” Murdoch added. He had come in as Poppy was speaking, and now stood close behind her. “You really should let her apply it now – or apply it yourself as soon as we all leave you alone, if you prefer.”

Gertrude, who had turned to listen to Poppy and Murdoch, glanced over at Malcolm, who had put the tin into his sporran and now accepted his vial of Headache Potion and downed it in one swallow.

Minerva stepped forward. “Are you sure you’re all right, Malcolm? Not just physically – that was quite a shock to everyone, Dumbledore’s trick there at the end. It must have been even more of a shock to you.”

Malcolm gave a one-shouldered shrug, feeling the bruising on his shoulder more now that his adrenalin wasn’t running as high. “It was a shock, I’ll give you that. It shouldn’t have exploded quite like that, for one, and that was the first shock, and then to seem to have completely disintegrated, nothing left but ash on the grass, that was the second shock. I thought for a moment that I had killed him. But it was just for a moment.” Malcolm grinned. “It was a very good trick! Quite amusing now that I think about it. And it certainly did teach me not to take anything for granted in a duel, and reminded me that appearances can be deceiving.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Here I thought I’d done something clever with the sod, and the bagpipes and giant sunflowers, and it barely ruffled him. I’ll have to practise with him more this year – but we’ll be careful, I promise, Tru-love,” Malcolm said softly, seeing the expression in Gertrude’s eyes and suddenly not caring who in the room knew how he felt about her. They were family, anyway, except for Poppy, and she seemed a discreet sort, however silly he might sometimes find her.

Gertrude quirked a smile. “Just don’t tell me about it until afterward, Malcolm. I think that would be safest,” she said, finally sitting down next to him rather than hovering uncertainly off to one side.

Minerva watched with interest the different expressions that crossed the faces of the others in the room as they suddenly realised why the Deputy Headmistress had been so concerned about the most recent addition to the Hogwarts staff. Siofre looked amused and smug, Murdoch seemed floored and incredulous, and Poppy looked surprised and at a loss for words.

“I think we should leave you alone now, Malcolm, to take care of your shoulder,” Minerva said. “We’ll see you at lunch. One o’clock in the Great Hall. I’m certain that Gertrude can ensure that you make it on time and in one piece.”

Malcolm looked up at Minerva and smiled. “Aye, little sister, Trudie will take care of me.”

Minerva took Poppy’s elbow and turned her, steering the baffled witch toward the exit as Siofre looked up at her tall grandson and said, “Well, offer an old witch an arm, lad! I know your mother raised you properly, so you have no excuses!”

Murdoch blinked and shook himself slightly. He turned from staring at his oldest brother and the seemingly dour witch at his side, who had now turned soft and warm as she touched Malcolm’s arm. Murdoch grinned down at Siofre. “Of course, I am happy to escort you, Grandmother!”

The four left the changing room to Malcolm and Gertrude, Blampa silently following along. Minerva cast one last glance back at the two, but they were now oblivious of any company, and although neither had moved, it was clear that their attention was entirely focussed on each other. Minerva closed the door behind them.

“To the castle, then, I think,” Minerva said, adding, “I don’t know how many are staying for lunch, but I’m glad you will be, Grandmother.”

“Aye, Herbert said to give his best to you children and told me to enjoy myself, but I will need to leave right after lunch, I think,” Siofre replied.

“How is he? I thought he seemed . . . tired at the wedding yesterday,” Minerva said, not saying what she really thought – that he had looked gaunt and pale.

Siofre shook her head. “He isn’t well, but he doesn’t want a fuss. Typical Herbert,” she said. 

Murdoch said with some concern, “Is he ill, then?”

“Just numerous small ills, that’s all, but you know that at his age, numerous small ills can be as draining as one major illness,” Siofre replied. “But he’s still enjoying every day. He would have come today, but after the wedding yesterday, I thought it too much all at once for him – and I think that seeing Albus explode like that might not have done his heart any favours, either.” She chuckled. “He may have even stripped a few months from my own life with that stunt, I think!”

Minerva shook her head. She thought she had lost a few years of her life in those seconds between Albus’s disappearance in the flash of flame and his reappearance behind Malcolm. Minerva had only a suspicion of how he may have achieved it. It certainly was an impressive performance, though, even before he had accomplished that trick. And Malcolm had certainly done very well, better than Minerva thought any other wizard of her acquaintance could have done. Minerva smiled to herself, proud of both Albus and her brother, ignoring the other three as they chatted, and so when Poppy spoke to her, she didn’t hear her immediately.

“Minerva?” Poppy repeated.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Minerva asked.

“I was asking whether you would like to come with us.” Realising that her friend had been lost in thought, Poppy added, “We’re going up to my sitting room until one. I still want to check Dumbledore again, but he was adamant about waiting until after lunch, so I thought we could all go up to my rooms and visit.”

Minerva looked surprised. “I thought he said you gave him a clean bill of health.”

“Well, what he would let me check, yes. And he seems fine, but I wouldn’t be very happy if he had a delayed reaction that I could have prevented.” Poppy sighed. “I suppose an hour or two won’t make any difference.”

“I am meeting Dumbledore in my office before lunch,” Minerva reminded her. “I don’t know when he will be able to get away from everyone, so I had better not join you. I wouldn’t want to miss him. And I do have some work to do.”

Poppy nodded, and Murdoch said, “That’s a pity, M’nervy, since you seemed the only one not surprised by Malcolm’s sudden tender side – and the apparent object of his affection. Have they been seeing each other, then?”

Minerva hesitated. “They wish to be discreet. I think it’s best if you talk to Malcolm. And I also think it best that they maintain some decorum with the students arriving in just over a week.”

“So it is she who is making my grandson the respectable wizard, and not Albus,” Siofre said with a smile. She nodded. “That will be interesting to see.”

Minerva shrugged in response. She did not want to enter into any speculation with them. She could just imagine their reactions if they had a clue about her and Albus. It seemed that Murdoch had some notion of their relationship, but he had been fairly discreet the day before, and Minerva doubted that he had said anything to anyone else, even to Poppy. She certainly hoped that he wouldn’t, at least not until she had talked to him herself. And she truly did not want Grandmother Siofre to know just yet. Minerva was beginning to appreciate Albus’s policy of discretion and keeping their relationship private for a while. She had had no concern about her parents knowing, not after the conversation she had had with her mother when she realised that Egeria had known of her feelings for years and that she had hoped that Albus returned them. Siofre, however, was a different matter. Eventually, after their relationship was more established, Minerva supposed she wouldn’t mind her knowing, but right then, it felt peculiar, and more so after having seen Albus and Siofre interact as they had. It had been a sharp reminder to Minerva of all of her own insecurities about her youth compared to Albus’s age, something she had nearly forgotten in her attempts to relieve Albus’s insecurities and in her joy at their new relationship.

The four entered the castle. Knowing that Albus would likely be at least a little while longer, she offered to show her grandmother and brother her new office and classroom before they went up to Poppy’s to wait for lunch. After the other three had left, Minerva thanked Blampa for her company that morning, then dismissed her, reminding her to be sure that Spruffles knew all about how she had attended the event and how pleased Minerva was with her. 

Twenty minutes later, Minerva was sitting at the desk in her office, Albus’s old desk, when she heard – or felt – someone enter the classroom. Even without looking up and seeing who it was, she knew it was Albus. She couldn’t consciously sense his magical signature, but she recognised him nonetheless.

Minerva smiled as she saw Albus wave his wand and seal the door behind him. He looked marvellous, and certainly none the worse for wear. He had cleaned any traces of blood from his robes, his colour was good, and his step lively. He smiled as he turned and saw her rise from her seat.

“My dear, how are you?” he asked as he crossed the classroom.

Minerva met him in the doorway. “More to the point, how are _you_ , Albus? You were the one in that duel, not I.”

Albus took her hand in one of his own and caressed her cheek with the other. “I am fine, but you seemed so pale when you came down on the pitch. I was worried about you, worried that I had frightened you.”

Any residual irritation that Minerva felt toward Albus regarding his horrifying stunt seemed to melt away at his words, though she didn’t let that prevent her from telling him precisely how she had felt.

“I am fine now, Albus,” she said, squeezing his hand. “But I will admit to you, you gave me a terrible scare. It was a matter of seconds only, if that, but for that moment, I thought my heart stopped. Please don’t scare me like that again. It was particularly dreadful because it had been Malcolm who cast the fireball. If he had done anything to you . . . I think it would have killed us both, Albus. I don’t know if you saw his face, but he was terribly affected by what he thought he had done.”

Albus cocked his head, smiling slightly as he looked down at her. “Your brother is a grown wizard, Minerva, and more than that, he is a powerful wizard. I don’t know if you appreciate quite how powerful he is. I don’t think that he does, in fact, although his control is quite good. It is never a bad thing to be reminded that the exercise of one’s power can have devastating consequences, though that was not foremost in my mind when I let him believe that the fireball had devoured me. It simply seemed at the moment too good an opportunity to miss. In fact, had I given it any thought at all, I would have assumed that Malcolm may have known what could happen – what could _really_ happen, as opposed to what appeared to occur.”

“Well, you had several dozen people believing that you had died, killed in a sporting duel, and as for Malcolm . . . Malcolm said that your trick reminded him that things are not always as they appear and not to take anything for granted, so if you want him to learn anything else from the experience, I suggest you speak with him,” Minerva said. “But am I right in believing that the flames weren’t from the fireball at all?”

Albus’s smile deepened. “You are perfectly correct. It was a matter of timing – close timing – in order to make it appear that way. I’ve always been rather good with fire and fire magic, and there’s a little trick I have, hmm, how to put this . . . a trick I have borrowed from my Animagus form, shall we say. I don’t do it in quite the same manner as I do when I am in my Animagus form, of course, and it is more difficult than when I am a phoenix, but it accomplishes much the same effect. I exploded the fireball just before it was to hit me, drawing on its energy to create the other fire effects. If you could perceive each instant slowly enough, you would see that the flames appear after I explode the fireball, then I vanish, and then there is another explosion, which is what appears to cause me to vanish, but which actually happens after I have disappeared – I step aside while casting a separate spell to create the second flash,” Albus explained. “It requires very rapid, well-coordinated spell-casting, so it was extremely good practice for me, as I haven’t had to do anything like it in some time, and it has been many years since I have actually performed that specific trick. I was pleased it had the intended effect. None of the individual spells is particularly difficult, but the execution is tricky.”

“I doubt that anyone else present could have done it, though – particularly making themselves invisible. I don’t know anyone else at all who can do that,” Minerva said. “But even just using an ordinary Disillusionment . . . no, I can’t imagine anyone being able to do that, let alone someone else imagining doing it.” She looked up at him thoughtfully. “You do know that people are going to be talking about this for days – weeks, even – and wondering and speculating about how you accomplished that, don’t you?”

Albus nodded. “Yes, and normally . . . normally, I do not seek quite so much public awareness of my particular talents, but I have reason to believe it might be time to remind . . .” Albus hesitated, then continued, “to remind certain wizards of my continued presence and let them know that sitting at Hogwarts these last years has not led me into a decline.”

Minerva’s first thought was of Valerianna Yaxley, but she knew that he was not speaking of her, and not only because he had used the word “wizards.”

“You said something the other day when we were talking with my father, something about it not being a good thing to fall out of practice with your defensive skills. But we’re at peace now; do you know anything that makes you believe that it won’t last?” Minerva asked.

“Other than the fact that whenever one power-mad wizard has been defeated, he has never been the last?” Albus turned his head to face the window across the room. His expression was sombre, regretful, and his voice low as he said, “I have had concerns for a number of years, years when another might have thought my concerns to be mad. But I knew Grindelwald. I knew the look in his eye, the look that bespoke intelligence and wit, but which held no warmth or compassion, only selfishness, egotism, and the joy of cruelty. And when I see that look in the eye of a wizard who is also powerful, as powerful as Grindelwald, and as ambitious . . . . My concerns have not abated, and in recent years, I have heard rumours, yes.” Albus nodded. “They are only rumours now, and vague. Perhaps something will intervene, or the wizard is not as clever and magnetic as he believes – nor as dangerous as I fear. But if he is . . . we must all be prepared, Minerva. I must be prepared,” he ended softly.

Minerva leaned against him and put her arms around him. If having her wits scared out of her for a moment was a price to be paid for this preparation . . . she would simply have to learn to live with it, she supposed, or be prepared, herself, both for having her wits scared out of her and for the rise of another Dark Wizard. She sighed and relaxed in Albus’s arms. She was safe here with him, and he was more powerful than any wizard in several generations. There was no cause for concern just yet . . . but she would still prepare herself.

“I love you, Albus,” she said softly. She felt Albus kiss her head and inhale her scent in reply. 

After a few moments, he said, “Let’s go to your rooms for a bit, my dear. It’s still a little while before lunch. I should go to my office and be the Headmaster for our guests, but . . . I think I would like to do a bunk, just this once.”

Minerva let go and smiled up at him. “So, you would like to hide out in my rooms for a while? I think that is a very good idea. And you certainly deserve it after this morning.” She kissed his cheek. “Let’s go!”

The two Flooed through to Minerva’s sitting room. Albus sat on the sofa and patted the cushion beside him. 

“Wait just a minute, Albus. I’ll be right back,” Minerva said. 

While she thought that although Albus looked fairly well, there was something about him that seemed fatigued. When she reemerged from the kitchen a moment later, Minerva held out a colourfully wrapped bar. 

“Honeyduke’s dark chocolate with hazelnuts. You look as though you could use it,” she said.

Albus smiled and accepted the thick bar of chocolate. “Thank you, my dear. Share it with me?” he asked as he unwrapped it.

“No, thank you. I will wait for lunch,” Minerva said, settling down beside him.

Albus broke off a piece of the chocolate and put it in his mouth. He chewed it slowly, letting it melt. He sighed and put his arm around Minerva, pulling her to rest against him. 

He took another bite of chocolate, and when he had finished it, he said, “Poppy wants to give me a thorough examination.”

“That would probably be a good idea,” Minerva said.

“Other than the slicing hex and a stinger, which barely touched me – you didn’t notice it? – anyway, other than those two, nothing really hit me. The fireball was alarming, but it didn’t harm me, and the flames I cast burned the grass, not me. Other than a slightly bruised back and a bit of magical fatigue, which only time, food, and your loving care can help, I am fine,” Albus replied.

“Still, you did expend a lot of energy, and Poppy doesn’t know what happened with the fireball. For all she knows, you were hit by that explosion and only appear unscathed,” Minerva reminded him. “And you should have her take a look at your back. I doubt the fall really did you any harm, but better to be safe about such things.”

“If she does a thorough examination, though, some of the diagnostics she might cast could reveal certain things that I would rather remain private,” Albus said, his cheeks pink.

Minerva raised her eyebrows and lifted her head from his shoulder, looking up at him. “And precisely what would that be? If you have a health problem – ”

“Not a problem, my dear, but I did take a potion with my breakfast this morning. Yesterday was rather active for us in a way that I hadn’t been in quite some time. I was a tad sore. Normally, I would have simply waited for it to wear off – I would have been fine tomorrow, I’m sure – but I thought that with the duel this morning, I should not be distracted by any discomfort, so I took a pain potion, and that might appear in a diagnostic spell. Then there was the activity itself,” Albus said, growing pinker. “While I don’t think that Poppy would specifically be testing for it, some of the general diagnostics might reveal, well, the expenditure of certain resources.”

Minerva choked back a laugh. “You mean she could tell you’ve had sex?”

Albus nodded. “Particularly, um, well, the details aren’t important. But given that she doesn’t know that I’m with you – with anyone – she might think that, well, to be in the condition I’m in, without a, um, a partner, I’d have to be quite, um . . .”

“You mean she might think you’ve been masturbating? A lot?” Minerva asked, successfully keeping the smile from her face, although it was something of a struggle for her.

Albus blushed, nodding again. “It would be rather embarrassing for me, even if she didn’t say anything. And I doubt she would. She does try to be, um, to be discreet, and she doesn’t normally even ask about my sexual health, since she knows it embarrasses me, but . . . just knowing that she would be wondering, it makes me uncomfortable.”

Minerva did smile at that. “Well, I wasn’t really ready to talk to her about this, but she has been a friend for a long time, and she does care about me – and you. I think that she might be one of those who should know about us. It might be a good idea, anyway, since she is the school matron, as well as my friend. I think it might be hard, otherwise. I might feel as though I was sneaking around if I tried to hide it from her. I don’t mind if no other members of staff know – in fact, I can think of a few whom I’d prefer to know nothing about my private life – but she’s probably all right. And she’s not one to repeat a confidence.”

After thinking a moment, Albus asked, “Do you suppose you could speak with her, then? Before the exam? You needn’t mention our, um, activities specifically, but if she should notice something, at least she wouldn’t wonder. And let her know that we are trying to be discreet?”

“Of course, Albus.” She patted his arm. “Leave it to me. I somehow think it will be less of a surprise to her than Gertrude and Malcolm were. She kept encouraging me to see more of you, telling me it would be good if we could become closer. I don’t know if she guesses, but at least subconsciously, I think she may have known something of my feelings for you.”

“Good. Thank you, my dear.” Albus looked toward her chimneypiece and the clock resting on it. He sighed. “Lunch shortly, my dear. We should leave. I wish we could spend the afternoon together.”

“I will be in the castle. Come find me after you’re done with everything. Let’s try to snatch whatever time we have now,” Minerva suggested. “I had invited Gertrude to tea, and she may still come, but I have a feeling she and Malcolm will be spending the afternoon together somewhere private.”

The two Flooed to Minerva’s office then walked down to the ground floor together. It appeared that most of the staff and a good many of the guests had stayed for lunch. The house-elves had set up a few small round tables and one rectangular table. Albus guided Minerva to that table and pulled out a chair for her. As Malcolm and Gertrude stepped into the Great Hall, Albus excused himself and brought them over to sit at the long table with him, as well, placing Malcolm on his left, Gertrude next to Malcolm, and leaving a chair free between himself and Minerva. 

Albus leaned over and said to Minerva, “I thought that Siofre might sit between us, my dear. If you see her arrive before I do, could you bring her over?”

“And Murdoch?” Minerva asked.

“He may sit with Poppy wherever they choose, of course. I imagine that Johannes and Horace will sit up here with us, as well. And Norman may choose to join us, but he may wish not to. He had some guests with him, I noticed,” Albus replied.

Minerva nodded. It sounded sensible. She thought it might be a bit strange to be sitting with Grandmother Siofre between her and Albus, but it made sense, and she wouldn’t allow herself to be uncomfortable. Or she wouldn’t think about it until later. There was certainly no point in having the old witch notice anything odd about her granddaughter and wonder about it later. She was Head of Gryffindor House having lunch in the Great Hall after a Hogwarts event. That was all she had to remember, and she would be fine.

* * *

Malcolm didn’t notice that the others left, he only noticed that he was alone with Trudie. When she reached to move aside his plaid again, he caught up her hand and brought it to his mouth. As he held her hand to his lips, he closed his eyes.

“Ah, Malcolm, we should see to that shoulder,” Gertrude said. “And to the rest of you. You look exhausted.”

“No, I’m fine, Trudie, fine with you here,” Malcolm said, bringing her hand to his cheek. He let out a sigh.

Gertrude leaned forward and kissed his forehead softly. “Let me see to that shoulder, then. You heard what Poppy and your brother said. It won’t do to wait.”

Malcolm opened his eyes and looked into hers. “No,” he said softly, “it wouldn’t do to wait. Not at all.”

He leaned forward and kissed her lips. “Mmm. No delay then, only sufficient to find ourselves in better surroundings. Not here for you, Tru-love.”

“Shush, Malcolm. Let me tend that shoulder. Then you need to get cleaned up and have your lunch,” Gertrude said, brushing his hair back from his face.

“I’ll need some help with that, Trude. As you remarked, I am exhausted. I need your help,” Malcolm said, stroking his fingertips over her face. “And we need to work on those worry lines of yours. I am fine. I really am. I was just a bit shaken, that’s all.”

“You’re sure? I thought I was the one being hit by that Stunner. It was a shock, it really was,” Gertrude said. “And we saw him reappear behind you before you did, and it was still . . . are you sure you are all right?”

“Aye, Trudie, I’m fine.” Malcolm looked down. “I suppose I looked a right fool there,” he said, suddenly embarrassed, “on my knees, him standing behind me like that.”

“No, no! Not at all! You were absolutely wonderful, Malcolm. Your spells were ingenious. And the way you tried to stop the fireball when Albus just stood there laughing at it – that is the mark of a real hero, Malcolm. You were very impressive!” Gertrude shook her head. “I love Albus, but sometimes he is somewhat too impulsive. He probably thought it was a terribly clever and amusing idea. I’m not very happy with him at the moment.”

“It _was_ clever and amusing, Trudie,” Malcolm said with a grin. “Although I wish I knew how he did it. It was as if he just became the flame, then he was gone, and next I knew, I was looking up at him, practically blinded by the sun in my eyes, and I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing at all. Then it all went completely black.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “It was a very good morning.”

Gertrude sighed and shook her head. A very good morning, indeed! “Now, will you let me see to that shoulder?” she asked, reaching for him again.

Malcolm grinned. “The salve is in my sporran, you know – and you’ll need that!” Suddenly he was on his feet, his eyes sparkling, taking her hands and pulling her up from the bench. “Come on, Tru, see if you can get it!”

He turned and gave her one last tug, then he let her go and headed for the rear exit. He looked back at her, his face alight. “Catch me! Catch me, Tru!”

He laughed as he loped away from the Quidditch stadium and towards the castle. It was a glorious day: he had duelled the greatest wizard in the world and impressed the witch whom he loved, his beautiful, beautiful Trudie.

Gertrude laughed herself as she saw him take off through the doors. She shook her head, then she reached out a hand and Malcolm’s broom jumped into it. “Silly wizard,” she said softly. “My dear, wonderful, and very silly wizard.”

She strode out of the stadium and caught sight of Malcolm as he looked back to see where she was. She mounted the broom and followed him, catching up to him as he ran. She flew beside him and looked down at him, unrestrained amusement in her eyes.

“Seems you forgot something, Malcolm,” she called.

Malcolm laughed then collapsed onto the grass, rolling over onto his back, breathing hard. Gertrude circled back around and landed next to him. 

“Now, do you think that running about like that is a wise thing to do after you’ve just spent all that energy in the duel?” she asked, looking down at him.

He shook his head, catching his breath. “No, probably not wise at all. But you’re the wise one, Tru. See why I need you?”

“Hmmph. Let’s get up to my room,” Gertrude said with a small grin. “And I would say that I caught you, Malcolm.”

“Yes, you have, you most certainly have,” he said, accepting her hand as he got to his feet. “You still have to get the tin from my sporran, though, you know.”

“As I said, let’s get to my room,” Gertrude said with a smile. In a softer voice, she said, “I missed you last night.”

Malcolm grinned happily at that, and they began to walk the last few yards to one of the castle’s back entrances.

“Well, you may be the wise one, but I did think it best. Better no distractions. And,” he added, looking down at her and winking, “I thought you might tire me out too much this morning. A man has to preserve his strength, you know, lass!”

Gertrude barked a laugh at that.

The two took some dark, narrow backstairs up to the second floor and avoided seeing anyone. When they reached her rooms, Malcolm whispered the password he had chosen for Gertrude, “ _Carissima_.”

The door clicked open and Gertrude led the way in, leaning Malcolm’s broom against the doorjamb as Malcolm closed the door behind them.

Gertrude turned slowly and faced him. “Now, we _are_ dealing with that shoulder, Malcolm, if I have to tie you down to do it!”

“Oh, would you do that for me, Gertrude, really?” Malcolm said with a teasing smile. 

“You want to play? Then,” she said, reaching toward him, “we . . . will . . . play.”

She pulled hard on his plaid, eliciting a slight grimace from Malcolm as it tugged on his injured shoulder. With her other hand, she reached down and grabbed the top of his sporran. Walking backwards, Gertrude led him into the bedroom. She pulled him around, then let go of him, pushing him back to sit on the edge of the bed. 

She stepped close to him, shaking her head slightly, and whispered, “Silly boy, my sweet, silly wizard.” 

Gertrude unpinned his plaid and draped the long cloth over the end of the bed, smiling slightly as she looked at the raven and the snake. Her smile grew, one of pleasure and pride as, wandless, she sent the pin floating across the room to settle on the table.

Malcolm grinned. “So, now who is showing off, Trude? Very well done, very nice, indeed,” he said. He was genuinely pleased that she had been practising. “I knew I saw something more in you than just a staid Arithmancer. I knew it the first moment I laid eyes on you, before I even knew your name, I knew that, that there was so much there, so much . . .”

“I was just distracting you so that I could do this,” Gertrude said with a matching smile, holding up the small silver tin she had pulled from his sporran.

She unbuttoned his shirt with one hand, pulling the tails from the kilt. As she pushed the shirt back, she winced to see the large purple bruise developing on his shoulder.

“Oh, Malcolm,” she said softly. “You should have let me take care of this sooner.”

As she dipped her fingers into the bright green salve, Malcolm removed his shirt and tossed it left-handed over on top of the plaid. He watched Gertrude’s face as she tentatively began to smooth the thick ointment over his shoulder.

“It looks worse than it is, Tru, really,” Malcolm said.

One corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile. “It hurts to see this, your beautiful shoulder, your skin . . .” She blinked rapidly and dipped her fingers in the balm again.

As she rubbed the potion into Malcolm’s shoulder, the bruise began to recede, turning green, then yellow, as it gradually disappeared, and she put a little more force behind her massage of his muscles, working the liniment into the tissues. 

“It does feel much better. Thank you, Trudie,” Malcolm said.

She nodded and sent the tin of salve to join his pin. “You are beautiful, Malcolm, very beautiful,” she said softly, running her hands over his shoulders and down his arms. “Please don’t let yourself be hurt.”

“I will do my best, but this really wasn’t anything,” he replied. He reached up and touched her cheek, turning her face toward him. There were tears welling in her eyes. “Oh, Tru, I’m sorry. Please . . . please, Tru.”

She blinked back her tears, but a few escaped to roll down her cheeks. She started to dash them away, but Malcolm caught her wrists and pulled her down to sit beside him on the bed. He kissed her cheeks, gently kissing her tears away. He put both arms around her and lay down with her, their legs dangling over the edge of the bed.

“Come here, love, don’t cry, please,” Malcolm said.

“I’m not crying,” Gertrude said. “I don’t cry.”

“Of course you don’t,” Malcolm murmured. Her tears may have dried, but he could feel that she was still distressed. “What was it? I know I have a _most_ beautiful shoulder, and it doesn’t look _quite_ as beautiful in purple,” he said lightly, “but I don’t think it could be hideous enough to elicit tears.” He was pleased to feel her smile. “So . . . what was it? You know that Dumbledore wouldn’t have hurt me. I am fine.”

“Just . . . just a glimpse of a memory, and a time when no salve could erase a hurt,” Gertrude said. “But I don’t want to talk about that now. Sometime. Not now.”

Malcolm nodded and held her closer. “So, what shall we talk about, then?” He smiled. “I know! My beautiful . . . my beautiful Trudie.” He caressed her cheek. 

“No, my beautiful, beautiful Malcolm,” she responded, running her hand over his shoulder and chest, then up his arm and back down over his chest. 

“If you insist, far be it from me to protest!” Malcolm said with a laugh. “Shall we focus on the shoulders, or would you care to move on to other body parts?”

Gertrude rose up on one elbow and looked down at him. She ran her index finger over his face, outlining his features. “All of you is beautiful. Your face . . . your eyes . . . your nose . . . your lips . . . your hair, such beautiful curls . . .” She leaned forward and kissed his lips lightly. Her fingers strayed back down to his chest. “And these curls here on your chest, your beautiful, broad chest.” She brushed his nipples. “Beautiful, beautiful, all of you . . . your stomach, very beautiful.” 

Her fingers reached his kilt and made quick work of the small buckles on either side. Two quick tugs, and the kilt fell open.

“Beautiful legs, beautiful hips, and this . . . this . . . so very, very beautiful,” she said, her voice growing husky as she looked down at the erection she was now stroking with two fingers.

“Beautiful?” Malcolm said in mock surprise. “Not . . . not more beautiful than my winning smile or my pretty eyes? Surely not!”

“No, not more beautiful. All of you, beautiful . . . and those eyes of yours. Now I know where you got them. Your grandmother has those same sharp, mischievous eyes. I thought your eyes were like your sister’s, but they really aren’t, they are only the same colour.” Gertrude wrapped her hand around him. “But this, this is just as beautiful as the rest of you, and I see all of your beauty in every part of you.”

“Oh, Tru, I should be telling you these things. You . . . you are the only witch I have ever known who is so beautiful. You are truly beautiful, and warm and exciting.” He groaned as she kissed the most recent object of her attention. “Yes, very, very warm and exciting.”

Gertrude slipped from the bed to her knees beside him. She pulled off his short boots and then his socks. She smiled up at him. “Do you always go barefoot when riding a dragon?” she asked. “I don’t know the protocol for dragon-riding.”

He turned his head to look down at her. “When I’m wearing dragonhide boots, it only seems respectful, if not prudent, to remove them. Besides, I did have a better purchase with bare feet.”

Gertrude smiled and stood. She held out her hand to him. “Time for your shower now, Malcolm. You don’t want to walk into the Great Hall smelling like dragon and burnt turf.”

“Hmmpf. No one else complained!” Malcolm said, sitting up and taking her hand.

“I’m not complaining. It’s rather alluring, actually, and very masculine,” Gertrude said with a gleam in her eye. “But you’re alluring enough without it, and I don’t want you turning any of those other witches’ heads with your charms, as it is.”

He stood in front of her and put his arms around her. “Well . . . I suppose if you are joining me, I could.”

“No, not this time, Malcolm. We need to get down to lunch in a little while. I don’t want you becoming distracted – or trying to distract me. You are the wizard-of-the-hour, after all. Everyone will be expecting you. And I have to go. I’m the Deputy. I can’t let Albus down.”

“Albus? What of me, Tru?” Malcolm asked, pulling her close and rubbing against her. “You don’t want to let me down, now, do you? And what if I faint in the shower without you there to catch me? I _am_ exhausted, after all.”

“Ha! You are fine when it pleases you, and fine enough for this,” she said, reaching between them and taking hold of him, “but otherwise you’re exhausted and prone to a fainting spell?”

“I always feel faint around you, Tru, but you also revitalise me at the same time, thankfully. Your presence in the shower would be very, very welcome,” he said, brushing kisses over her face to punctuate his points.

Gertrude’s lips met his, and for a moment, he thought he had persuaded her, but then she pushed away from him with a sigh. “Later, Malcolm. After lunch, we can spend some time together. I told Minerva I might come to tea, but it wasn’t a firm plan. She’ll understand. We’ll do it after they’re back from their holiday.”

“Holiday?” This was the first Malcolm had heard of any holiday. 

“Yes, she and Albus are going away for a few days before school starts. They won’t have much time alone after the first. I think it’s quite a sensible idea.”

“Where are they going?” Malcolm asked, curious.

“I don’t know, though he did ask me about our trip to Egypt. But that was a few days ago. I don’t know what their final plans are. I imagine he’ll tell me before they leave, which I believe will be in the morning. Now, off to the shower with you!” When he still seemed reluctant, she said, “I will keep you company in the bathroom, but I’m not coming into the shower with you. I will give you a massage when we get back. You probably need one after this morning. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She ran one hand over his chest.

Malcolm gave a sideways grin. “You are a stern schoolmistress, you know. You may not be staid, but you are stern.” He began to back toward the bathroom, dragging Gertrude with him. “I’ll take my shower like a good boy, but I do expect the promised massage as a reward.” He opened the door to the bathroom and let go of her as he moved over to the shower. “And didn’t you say something about . . . tying me down? You haven’t done that yet!”

Gertrude grinned. “Oh, the thought crossed my mind. If you had been very naughty, I might have had to use that plaid to bind you to the bed. For purely salutary purposes, of course. To enable me to apply that salve.”

“There may be other ‘salutary’ reasons that you may find . . . if you put your mind to it, Tru-love,” Malcolm said as he stepped under the spray of warm water.

She laughed. “You would like that, would you?”

Malcolm stood with his head back, the water coursing over his chest and down his body. “We won’t know until we try, will we? Blast, no flannel – Tru? Hand me a flannel, will you?”

“Yours isn’t in there from yesterday? Spoonie must have taken it to be laundered.” Gertrude retrieved a clean cloth from a covered basket. “Here you are.”

“Soap in my eyes,” Malcolm said, groping for her arm. Then suddenly, she was under the water with him. He looked down at her, grinning as she sputtered. “The old ‘soap-in-the-eyes’ trick! Surprised you fell for that one, Trudie.”

“Malcolm, you have confirmed it. You are mad!” Gertrude looked down at her robes, which were drenched. “Utterly mad.”

“Mmhm, and still in great need of your attention. I have this swelling, and it just won’t go down,” he said in a low voice. “I think you’re the only one who can help me. I know you are the only one who can help me, Tru.” He bent and kissed the side of her neck.

“Not in these robes,” Gertrude replied. “And I think my shoes are quite ruined.”

“Better to take it all off, then . . .”

Malcolm made quick work of removing Gertrude’s sodden garments, and then she proceeded to help him as only she could.

* * *

At just a few minutes before one, Gertrude and Malcolm emerged from her rooms. Gertrude was wearing robes of three shades of bright green that Malcolm told her made her look like Spring personified. She had wanted to put a teaching robe over them, but Malcolm had dissuaded her from that. She was slightly uncomfortable thinking that people – specifically, Poppy, Murdoch, and Siofre – might notice that she wasn’t in the aqua robes she had worn that morning, but Malcolm told her that there were many reasons that she might have changed her robes, and he doubted that anyone would think that one of them was that she had taken a shower while fully-clothed. Gertrude shook her head, but laughed.

The two hurried down the stairs, meeting Siofre, Poppy, and Murdoch on their way. 

“We’re waiting for Johannes,” Poppy explained. “He stopped by the infirmary, but he had to get something from his rooms. We’ll be along in a minute.”

As they entered the Great Hall, Gertrude said in a low voice, “You see, Malcolm. A lot of people stayed for lunch. It would have been inconsiderate to have kept them waiting when they were expecting you.”

He chuckled. “A free meal was likely more the incentive than my presence.”

“The Headmaster would have waited to serve the lunch, though. Even if no one cared about your presence for any other reason, you would have delayed their meal.”

Albus came down and asked them to join him at the large table. “You can sit on my right today, Malcolm, if you would, as the wizard-of-the-hour,” he said with a pleased smile.

The two sat, and a few minutes later, Siofre, Murdoch, Poppy, and Johannes appeared in the doorway, Siofre on the German Herbology teacher’s arm. He led her to the long table, where Albus indicated that Siofre was to sit on his left, so Johannes held her chair for her then took a seat on the other side of Minerva. Slughorn, Wilhelmina, and Hagrid followed closely. With the rest of the staff already seated at various tables, as soon as Slughorn sat down on Gertrude’s right, Albus stood and the room grew quiet.

“I am very glad that so many of you could remain and partake of Hogwarts hospitality. Although I do not wish to delay you from your meal, I do wish to take a moment to welcome Professor Malcolm McGonagall to Hogwarts and to congratulate him on his outstanding performance this morning.”

There was polite, yet genuinely enthusiastic, clapping from everyone in the Hall. Malcolm smiled and nodded, looking up at Albus and thanking him, then he looked over at Gertrude on his right, and smiled at her. She gave him a small smile and a nod, but Malcolm didn’t care how small her smile was in public – he could make her laugh and smile in private, and he had had her smiling quite happily after her impromptu shower. Everything in life was brighter, better, more beautiful with Gertrude in it. Even the prospect of an entire year in one place didn’t give him cause to twitch or feel like Apparating away as fast and as far as he could. He had found his refuge and his peace in her, and he wished to be nowhere else that moment but by her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a "missing scene" with Gertrude and Malcolm, see ["An Unexpected Shower,"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/405658) a lemony one-shot.


	137. The Silent Knight's Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus and Minerva hear the Silent Knight's story. That evening, he introduces her to the wards in the final step in her installation as Head of Gryffindor. They make love in the Heart of Hogwarts.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Siofre Tyree, Johannes Birnbaum, The Silent Knight, and others.

**CXXXVII: The Silent Knight’s Tale**

Minerva sat in her study and caught up on her correspondence while she waited for Albus. Her conversation with Poppy hadn’t been as awkward as she had feared. She could see that Poppy had questions, but Poppy could see that they wouldn’t be answered, so she didn’t ask them. In time, they would talk more, but not yet. Minerva had made it clear that she and Albus wanted to be very discreet and limit the number of people who would know, and Poppy had lit up at that, knowing that she was one of the few people being entrusted with the knowledge of their relationship. She promised that she wouldn’t treat them differently in public, even if it killed her, and said she was very glad that she and Albus had truly become closer. She did have a few questions about Malcolm and Gertrude, but they were not too intrusive, so Minerva was happy to tell her when the two had begun seeing each other, and when she had first learned of the relationship, though not how. Minerva was left with the impression that Poppy had, indeed, been less surprised by Minerva’s revelation than she had been by Malcolm’s attachment to Gertrude, and hers to him.

She had met Albus in the corridor outside the infirmary, and she told him that Poppy was ready to see him. She hoped that her smile had conveyed that their conversation had gone well, but he still appeared apprehensive. Probably just his discomfort with having the mediwitch examine him. He did seem rather sensitive about it; Minerva found his embarrassment cute and somewhat amusing. In some ways, he was very bold, but in others, he was quite shy, and it was a lovely combination, she thought.

Minerva turned back to her letters, trying to concentrate, but her thoughts kept wandering back to Albus, to the unbelievable fact that he loved her, that he wanted her, that they were really together. The wizard whom she had loved for more than fifteen years loved her. The most powerful wizard in Britain, possibly in the world, and certainly the kindest, most wonderful wizard, loved her and wanted to be with her. He missed her when they weren’t together, and he wanted to steal every spare moment to be with her. Minerva couldn’t be happier.

Then her thoughts turned to the coming school year, and her heart was torn. Minerva was excited to be the new Head of Gryffindor, to be teaching all seven years of classes, her first full year as the Transfiguration instructor. But she was not looking forward to having so much less time to spend with Albus. If she were only teaching, it would be easier, but being Head of House, she would have to be available to the students. There were many new duties that she would have, and there would be unexpected problems and emergencies that would arise at all times of day and night. As Headmaster, Albus was hardly more free than she, but it wasn’t just that he was Headmaster, he had other duties, as well. A sinking sensation came over her. How would they cope? Particularly if they were being discreet, keeping the relationship private. 

Minerva sighed and set down her quill. At least they would be going away for a few days. And there would be next summer. Ten months away. Even Christmas wouldn’t be their own. As Head of House, she would be expected to remain at the school over the holiday, particularly if there were any Gryffindors staying on. But she wouldn’t want to leave, anyway, if Albus couldn’t be with her, which he couldn’t, as he had to be there over the holiday, as well. Most of the time, though, Albus actually had fewer restrictions on his time than she would as Head of Gryffindor. He was very busy for many hours a day, but he was more in control of how those hours were scheduled than she would be.

But they would also be working together, and that would be satisfying. If Gertrude was serious about giving up her role as Deputy next year – and it did seem the older witch wanted to return to just teaching – that would also allow her to spend more time working with Albus. Yet another reason to keep their relationship under wraps. Too many people would be very fast to assume that it was only her personal relationship with the Headmaster that accounted for any of her successes at Hogwarts. As it was, people might still assume some kind of favouritism, since she had been his student and protegee. Eventually, they would be able to be more open about their relationship, she assumed, but for now, it was simply best that people believed them to be friends, perhaps even just casual friends.

It had proved less difficult to behave normally during lunch than Minerva had anticipated. The environment and the other staff present did bring her back into the reality in which she was a member of Hogwarts staff and the new Head of Gryffindor. She had actually found it interesting to talk with both Grandmother Siofre and Albus together, and not as awkward as she had feared. She hadn’t known that her grandmother was one of only a handful of witches to take Defence through her NEWTs, and the only Ravenclaw witch for a few years. It apparently was not considered quite the done thing for a witch in those days, and most quit once they had finished their OWLs. Those witches who did continue through their NEWTs were usually Gryffindors. What’s more, Siofre had excelled in it, which Minerva had also not known. She had been aware that Siofre was very good at Arithmancy, Transfiguration, and Charms, and that she was quite a powerful witch, too, of course, but it had never occurred to Minerva to wonder or ask about any other subjects. Siofre dismissed Minerva’s expressed admiration, saying with a shrug that she was a Tyree, and all Tyree witches excelled at Defence. It was nothing at all remarkable. Siofre confirmed that she’d been practising with Malcolm over the last week or so in preparation for this day.

“Strategy, chiefly,” Siofre explained. “He needed to think strategically, since he certainly couldn’t outmatch his opponent in strength or ability. He still wasted too much energy moving around as he did. You would think he believed he was at a dance, not a duel. But he acquitted himself well, nonetheless.”

Johannes leaned over and asked her about how she had assisted Malcolm with his preparations. He smiled at the older witch. “So, I saw today why he was asking the questions he did about the wards, the grounds, and what he could do in the Quidditch stadium. Were those spells something you suggested?”

“Nae, we merely worked on timing, strategy, different combinations of spells that might work well together,” Siofre replied. “The spells are his own.”

“But he could not have counted on your fire trick, Albus,” Johannes said, looking over at the Headmaster.

Malcolm, who had been listening to the conversation, shook his head. “I don’t know how I could have been prepared for something like that. It was totally beyond my ken. A wizard turning to flame, nothing but ashes left, and then, there he is, behind me, completely whole and unsinged.”

Johannes smiled. “Ja! Ich weiss woher ich stamme! / Ungesättigt gleich der Flamme / Glühe und verzehr’ ich mich. / Licht wird alles, was ich fasse, / Kohle alles, was ich lasse; / Flamme bin ich sicherlich!” Johannes quoted.

Siofre looked up at Minerva. “Enlighten me, Granddaughter. You spent time in that country.”

Minerva smiled. “If I can remember what he said – and I have read it somewhere before, I think. Let me see . . .” She thought a moment, then recited,“‘Yes, I know whence I arise. Unsated like the flame, I consume myself and glow. All becomes light that I grasp, everything ashes that I leave. Flame am I, assuredly,’ Not a very precise translation, but . . . an apt quotation, I suppose.”

Siofre looked over at Johannes sharply, an eyebrow raised, her interest piqued. “Very apt, I would say. You knew what Albus was doing?”

“No, not at all,” Johannes said with a shake of his head. “But I immediately doubted that he had exploded as it seemed. Fire seems to like our Albus. I believed he was happy to see the fireball, that he welcomed it.” Johannes shrugged. “And that quotation came to my mind as soon as I saw him vanish in that flash.”

Minerva wished it had come to her mind – or that at least the doubt that had accompanied it had entered her mind. She had only been in shock and fear. She had doubted not what she saw, but she had doubted Albus. She should have known that, as Johannes had put it, fire seemed to like Albus, and that he would not have stood there and laughed if he were about to be hit by a fireball. Albus was somewhat eccentric, quirky, but not mad.

Now, sitting in her study waiting for him, Minerva had a passing sense that she had let Albus down in some way, that she should have had the faith in him that Johannes had shown. But it was from her love that sprang her doubt and fear. It seemed such a strange thing that her love of him should have blinded her to what Johannes had believed so easily. But Albus had come to her to see whether she was all right. He had seen her fear, and he had worried about her.

A small smile crossed her face briefly. Albus seemed more sensitive to her moods than he had been. Restraining his own feelings for her had seemed to have kept him from being able to be as aware of hers as he was now able to be. Minerva had no illusions that he would always know how she was feeling or what she was thinking, and it wouldn’t be fair of her to expect that of him, but it was good to know that he had noticed and he had cared enough to take the time to reassure her.

At three-thirty, Minerva heard a barking coming from the sitting room. Perhaps Gertrude had changed her mind and decided to come for tea, after all. But when she went out to the sitting room, the Knight bowed, and said, “The master of the castle is without and seeks the pleasure of your company, my lady.”

Minerva smiled. She waved her wand and opened the door. Albus was standing there, dressed in plain, sky-blue robes with silver trim. He stepped through, smiling as he saw Minerva.

“Good afternoon, my dear!” Albus took her hands and bent to kiss her cheek. “I was able to escape a little earlier than I had anticipated. I had hoped to find you in.”

They sat and Minerva offered him tea. “I’m not hungry, Albus, but if you would like something, I am sure Blampa would be happy to bring us whatever you would like.”

Albus chuckled. “I am sure she would, but no, I’m not hungry. I had a good lunch, and I snacked a bit from Quin’s basket of sweets. A cup of tea would be nice, though.”

Minerva heard someone clear their throat, and she looked up to see that the Silent Knight still inhabiting the landscape.

“My lady, may I serve you further?”

Minerva looked at Albus. “We did want to know what’s wrong with the portrait and hear his story.”

Albus hesitated, then nodded. “I had thought to introduce you to Hogwarts Heart this afternoon, but we can do that after dinner, instead. I would prefer to do it before we leave on holiday, since we will be installing Norman as Head of Hufflepuff on Wednesday evening, and I plan to introduce him to Hogwarts immediately after. You could join him, but . . . it is sentimental of me, but I would prefer it to be just the two of us. Especially as I still have some question about the way the wands might interact, and I would prefer not to have anyone else present if only because of that.”

Minerva smiled. “That sounds fine. I will call Blampa for some tea, then the Knight can tell us his story.” She looked up at the portrait. “Would you stay and tell us your story?”

The Knight bowed. “I serve my lady.” He removed his helmet, shaking out his long blond hair, sunlight glinting on it. “I shall be pleased to tell my story.”

Minerva called Blampa and asked for a pot of tea and a plate of ginger newts. When she turned back to look at the Knight, he had removed his gauntlets and soft leather gloves and was rubbing his hands, flexing his fingers. 

The Knight smiled at them. “The apples may have no flavour here, but it is good to be freer to move about. But I shall serve you, my lady, as long as I am able.”

* * *

A very long time ago, when Hogwarts was still young and her stones still settling, I was in the service of a family, more prominent than some, less than others, and was set to the service of the youngest child of the family, a beautiful girl with raven hair, cheeks like apples at harvest time, and lips like the harps of angels. She grew in age and in beauty, and I, charged with her care and protection, accompanied her as she went through her days, and nights, I slept not far from her chambers, ever ready to serve. I observed her affection and her attachment to the old wizard who served her uncle’s house, and I saw how he visited more frequently than his occupation would warrant. Yet I thought little of it, for my mistress was charming and talented, a witch as her mother had been, and the wizard taught her the ways of magic. 

This wizard, old, wise, and powerful, came to me one dawn. He had a task set for him by the lord whom he served, and he would be travelling in far off lands. He knew not when he would return. He asked me whether I was devoted to my mistress, and if I would serve her with my life. I swore I would, and he bound me by oath and by magic to the service of my lady. I had faith in my devotion and believed that the oath was unnecessary: I would never betray my mistress nor shirk my duty toward her.

The wizard departed, secure in the belief that my mistress was safe in my care. But as the weeks and the months went by, my devotion became love, and I pined for the attentions of my lady and laboured to become worthy of her affections. But daily, my mistress waited for word from the magician, and nightly she stood at the highest point in her father’s castle, looking out across the land. And it came to me that the one I loved, loved another, and jealousy grew in my heart as my tokens and my feats were greeted with a mild smile and her eyes turned always to the horizon as she awaited the return of the wizard.

My lady’s father had in mind that it was long past time that she be married. He had cosseted his youngest daughter, the image of his beloved wife, but as she attained her years, he began to seek a husband for my mistress. I presented myself to her, and begged her prettily to accept me and to speak with her father. When she did not, I petitioned my lord for her hand. He was sceptical, but would consider it, he said, despite my lowly status. Yet my lady told her father she would not marry me, nor would she marry any man, for she loved another. I watched as my lord grew impatient with his daughter as he presented suitor after suitor, and every one, she found lacking, but she would not say whom she loved.

Despite his affection for his daughter, my lord’s impatience overwhelmed him. He told her she must choose a suitor or he would choose one for her. I presented myself once again, but my lady would not hear my entreaties.

“I know whom you love, and he will not return for you. He does not love you as I do,” I told her, though I believed not my words. “Marry me, who loves you! Marry me, not the choice of your father!”

But again, she rejected me, and I grew angry and my jealousy grew. I forgot my oath and my binding, and when her father presented a lord, a cousin and twice a widower, and said that this man was to be her husband, and that she would be happy as the lady of her own manor, to care for his family, to order his household, I said nothing, though I liked him not, and his son, much less.

The date of the wedding grew nearer, and my lady slept not, watching the horizon in vain, waiting for her wizard, but my heart was hard. She came to me and begged me to save her, to take her from that place, to bring her to safety with her mother’s family. She promised me her own fealty in return for mine, but she would offer nothing more. And I stood and watched her married to her father’s cousin, and her tears moved me only to anger and jealousy. And I watched as she rode away that day, to be lady in her own household, and I returned to the service of her father.

My heart was heavy with grief and loss, and yet I told myself I had not broken my oath. My mistress was married, as all good women do. She would care for her family, she would forget her wizard, and she would bear her husband more children, and she would leave her magic for the things of this world and for a Christian life. But I grew more despondent, soon unable to eat or sleep; I sickened and was overcome by despair.

And then, in the depths of my despair, word came that my mistress was dead. None knew how, by her hand or that of another, but it was not by the hand of God. I lay on my cot, resting my sword at my feet and my shield on my breast, and I prepared for my death, for that was the only fitting end for me. Turning my face to the wall, I refused all food and all drink.

Three days after my mistress’s death, my retirement was disturbed. The magician had returned, two summers gone, and it winter now. The door blew apart and the wrathful wizard entered my small chamber. He stared down at me; his eyes were fire and his voice was thunder, but I did not need to hear his words to know his intent. My end was close, I believed. He would wreak his vengeance on me, punish me for betraying my oath and for allowing my mistress to die in misery. 

He looked into my heart, unburying my memories, and he saw that I had refused my lady’s entreaties to bring her to the isle of her mothers, and he saw my love and how it had turned to bitterness, envy, and rancour. In his anger, he struck me with lightning from his staff, cracking my shield, upon which, despite my betrayal, my lady’s emblem still remained.

But an easy end was not for me. This mighty wizard cursed me terribly, as was only right and just, and laid upon me a heavy geas: until I found and served a lady, similar in heart, mind, magic, and spirit to my own mistress, and was truly willing to do all to defend and protect her and to lead her to happiness with her one true love, I would be unable to speak of myself or of my charge, I would be unable to make any connections with my fellows, to form friendships or to attain any human warmth from man or woman. I would be alone and isolated until I fulfilled my oath of service.

I laughed bitterly, and said that death would find me before I could fulfill my purpose. Was I condemned to be a ghost then, both while alive and then again while dead? Upon my words, the wizard cast the final curse, transporting me, body and soul, into a tapestry that hung in the hall of my lord. None knew I was there, and I could speak not of my state. The magician enchanted me with the ability to sense the magic of a witch and the vibrations of her soul, that I would recognise my new mistress when she appeared.

The wizard would visit the hall of my lord, then that of his son, and his son’s son after that, and each time he would stand before me and grant me leave to speak with him. I would tell him of all that had happened in his absence, and, in time, he would converse with me also, for we alone remembered now the lady and the times of my youth. His heart grew compassionate as his grief grew old, but he would not release me from the tapestry or from my geas. But in year after year and decade after decade, I saw no lady, no witch, whom I could serve to fulfill my fate. I grew no older, but I saw the magician fade and grow paler, his hair grow silver, and his step grow slower. His staff was no longer only an instrument of his power, but a support to his bent and halting body.

The day came when he told me that it would be his last visit to me, that he would soon pass beyond, hoping to find again his love. My own heart was heavy, for he had been my only companion, and the only living being to know the truth of my existence, that I was not merely an image woven in likeness to my former self, but that I was, indeed, alive within the tapestry.

The wizard took pity upon me, and he called to him a hound. He spoke in silence with this dog and turned to me and said that the creature had agreed to be my companion, faithful to me and to bear my fate with me throughout the long years to come, until my geas could be fulfilled and my debts atoned. And so Fidelio joined me, and I had a companion there in my barren world, though I saw the wizard no more.

The years passed, and my tapestry was moved to a manor house of a rich landowner. And still I waited, hanging there in his home, watching and listening as the girls of the house grew to womanhood, and as ladies visited, but few shared the magic of my own lady, and none were to be my mistress. One late night, many years after I had taken leave of my former life, I heard the sounds of cracking timber, and the scent of smoke was so heavy that even I within my tapestry could detect it. I sat beneath a tree, my arm about Fidelio, whose fear was great, but whose heart was strong, and I prepared for death and failure. Flames licked at the weft and the warp, but I was not consumed. I found myself with Fidelio, trapped within a painting in an artist’s chamber. 

The artist awoke, startled to see that I and my hound had arrived as he slept, but the man was a magician, and though he sought unsuccessfully to determine my origin, he accepted my presence, detecting the magic within my image. He added new features to the painting in which I found myself, and sun shone down upon Fidelio and on me, and spring bloomed eternally. I spent lifetimes in wizards’ homes and across all those years, I found a few witches whose spirits rang a dull echo of that of my mistress, but none truly worthy and none with one true love, no wizard of power and majesty. Then I came to this castle, brought by a wizard who was fascinated with me, and whose magic and demeanor reminded me greatly of that wizard who had cursed me all those many years ago, but he was alone and there was no lady, no witch, such as my mistress. As time had passed, I had also become more aware of the magic around me, and here in this place, that ability grew. And witches came and went, young ones and old, and some were very much like my mistress, but not alike enough, and a very few were alike enough, but I had no ability to reach out and beg to serve them, and none had a true love of the ilk of my mistress’s wizard.

Long years more, and I was removed to the chamber where the teachers in this place meet, and no witches came who were like to my mistress. Then awake one day, I felt the sensation of my mistress moving in the world; she was there in the castle, my new mistress, the one whom I should serve. I knew it and recognised her. Not long after, I felt another arrive, a wizard, a magician of power and skill, and it seemed I recognised him, as well, but he knew me not and I could not speak to him, though I saw him often. And I waited and more I waited, but never did I see the witch to offer her my service. I felt her arrive and I felt her leave and then return again, and I felt her joys and her sorrows, but never did I see her. My longing to serve her grew, and as I felt her great sorrow and her pain, I wished I could leave my painting and seek her, to offer my service and my comfort, little though it might be, but my geas prevented that. Although I had seen that other portraits could leave their frames and visit others, even unto visiting me, I could not go beyond the bounds of my painting. Then the day came that the witch left the castle and did not return for many a long year, but for brief visits, and I was banished to a cold and lonely storeroom, to despair once more.

One day, not very long ago in this weary tale, that wizard who seemed so very like the magician whose curse I bear, came into the dark, closed room where I had lain, dusty and neglected. And I heard him speak, saying he was seeking the right painting for his new teacher, a special portrait for a special witch. He stood beside one, examining her, and fear leapt in my soul. I knew with certainty that this was to be my mistress returning to the castle, and despite my long years of silence, I found I was able to speak, and I offered my sword and my service. I knew then that this witch was to be my mistress, that I could speak was the sign of it. I would live for her, or I would die for her, but I would serve her faithfully, and I would fulfill my geas and my ancient oath. I would serve you, my lady.

* * *

Albus and Minerva sat there in silence as the Knight finished his story and bowed. They looked at each other. It was incredible, quite literally. 

Minerva had a great many questions and objections to the story, but she voiced the first one that popped into her head, “You said that you couldn’t pass the borders of your painting, but you do that all of the time. Right now, in fact. You are in my landscape.”

The Knight smiled. “Yes, my lady. In your service, I am at last able to leave the confines of my canvas, but only in your service, not upon my own whim or desire.”

Minerva turned to Albus. “What do you think?” Her raised eyebrow said what her question did not: this was an unbelievable tale and there was something wrong with a portrait that “believed” it was alive and bound by a geas.

“I have never heard of anything quite like that being done . . . although there are legends which tell similar tales. But . . . I would not have believed such a thing possible,” Albus said slowly. “It is nothing that I could do, nothing that any wizard of my knowledge could do. Yet there is still something persuasive in his story. And as many advances as there have been in magical knowledge, there have been losses, as well. There is also no knowing what a wizard could do if truly enraged, what forces he could call upon . . .”

Minerva shook her head. She couldn’t believe, and yet . . . the Knight said he had felt her joy and her sorrow, her great pain when she was a student. He remembered her magic and had recognised her when she returned. Or that was one interpretation. It could just as well be that he had sensed some other witch, or that he had invented the entire tale. Dilys, after all, seemed to have the semblance of an imagination, and she was able to tat and crochet. It could be that the Knight was inventing this tale just as Dilys tatted lace collars and crocheted afghans. 

“It is difficult to understand,” Minerva said, addressing the portrait. 

“Difficult to believe, is what you mean,” the Knight replied. He bowed. “It is of no consequence. My geas will be lifted and my oath fulfilled. I know not what will happen in that moment when the curse is lifted, as I believe will occur when my geas and my oath are fulfilled, but I wished to tell someone my tale before that event.”

“How is this happening?” Minerva asked. She might not believe that the portrait was a living man condemned to centuries trapped in a painting, but she could believe that the painting itself had been charmed in some way; that was a relatively simple matter. If the painting had been cursed and the curse was lifting, she wanted to know what was causing the change.

“You approach happiness, you have joined in love with the wizard whose heart is devoted to you, who serves you, mind and body, heart and soul,” the Knight said. “I do not know what will finally fulfill the curse’s demands, whether it is something that I must do or something that may occur without my intervention, but I have not abandoned you, I have served you, willing even to do so in the face of my own ultimate destruction, and as I did so, I felt my strictures ease, but the greatest loosening of my bonds has occurred when I have done nothing, only waited for you as you were with your wizard. When you left the castle in your pain and grief, I could feel the geas weighing heavily upon me, and I knew that I must do aught I could to serve you, my lady, whatever your own fate or mine. My service would not waver.”

Albus looked up at the Knight, who was now petting Fidelio, running his bare fingers over the dog’s rough fur. “I will investigate this for you and see whether I can determine what will happen when the curse is released. Did the wizard ever make any indication of what would happen, say anything at all about it?”

“No . . . he did say once that he doubted that he would live to see the day, and he was correct in that. For a long time, in my grief and my guilt, I hoped I would simply die, but then I hoped that I could regain my life and enjoy all those things that this dull, painted canvas could not offer me. And now, it has been a long and weary existence, but it has been mine, and I have seen and learned much that no other has, and I have had the opportunity to serve you, my lady. The wizard’s curse took from me my age but not my years nor my growth in them. I would be happy now to step from the painting with Fidelio, to breath the air and feel the warmth of the sun on my face, and then to turn and die at your feet, my lady,” the Knight replied, bowing to Minerva. 

“Perhaps we can find a way to release you, for you and Fidelio to leave the painting and live normal lives,” Albus said.

“And what would I do here with this life? I am no wizard, but I could not live in the world as I have seen it become. Where would I go and how would I live? No, I would prefer final release, but not out of despair, out of fulfilment. I have had a shadow life here in this painting, but it has been my own, nonetheless.”

“How old were you when you were cursed?” Minerva asked, not believing, but willing to enter into the pretense of belief.

“Nine and twenty summers I had seen. Four fewer summers had my mistress when she departed this world. After the magician’s final visit, I lost count of the years, and every season was much the same as any other, but it was ten times ten summers after her death that last I saw the magician and he gave to me Fidelio. He was old when he cursed me and ancient when last he bade me farewell.”

After Albus had asked him a few more questions about what he remembered of the wizard and the day that he was cursed into the tapestry, Minerva thanked him for his service and for sharing the tale and asked that he return to guarding her door.

When the Silent Knight had left, Minerva turned to Albus and asked, “Do you believe it then? That he is a living human being?”

“I do not know. It could be that the curse killed him, but he doesn’t remember the event and that the wizard created his image in the tapestry as a way for the knight to achieve vicarious satisfaction of his oath. And yet the way that he speaks of the geas . . . it seems he might indeed be a man and not a mere portrait.” Albus shook his head and a slight shudder passed through him. “Such a life, or half-life, living in a two-dimensional world, unable to communicate, one’s only companion, a dog, waiting for some confluence of circumstances to come together so that one could fulfill the terms of a curse, never aging, never able to enjoy the mundane pleasures of food, drink, friendship . . . that is, indeed, a dreadful curse.” Albus looked up at Minerva. “It is possible, though dreadful to contemplate. And I am reminded of stories that I have heard and read of similar curses. Although I would not be surprised to learn that I was wrong, yes, I believe, for now, or at least I will proceed as though I believe, and I will investigate as far as possible. It may be there is nothing that either of us can do directly, in terms of a counter-curse, to free him, but it would be good to understand it more, and to determine its truth.”

“It is quite disconcerting to think of me being the object of his attention, perhaps for years, if what he said means that he sensed my presence even when I was a student,” Minerva said with a furrowed brow. 

Albus sighed and shook his head. “For now, let us put that aside. Come here to me,” he said, opening his arms for her to settle back into his embrace.

They sat in silence a while, and as Albus’s breathing grew even and his arms lax, Minerva felt him fall asleep. She Summoned her afghan from the bedroom, resettled him so that he was lying full-length on the sofa, his feet dangling off, then she extended the sofa so that it supported him entirely. Albus stirred only slightly as she raised his legs onto the sofa, a murmured breath crossing his lips, but his hand reached and found nothing, and his eyes began to flutter open. 

Minerva took his hand and said, “Shh, shh, Albus . . . sleep. I am here.” 

She kissed his cheek softly, then lay close beside him and spread the afghan over them both; his arms went around her again as he gave a sigh of contentment and drifted back to sleep.

* * *

Minerva sat between Johannes and Wilhelmina at the large round table that evening in the Great Hall. Several members of staff had stayed despite Albus’s letter saying that they didn’t need to return until Wednesday, so there were many more people at dinner than there had been in weeks.

Malcolm sat on the other side of Wilhelmina and talked to her about the job she was taking up in December and asked about the dragon they had brought to the school.

“Portkey,” Wilhelmina replied when Minerva asked how they had got it to Hogwarts without having Muggle dragon-sightings. The older witch took a moment to chew and swallow her steak – Minerva had chosen to forego the steak and was enjoying a haddock fillet with lemon and dill weed. “One Portkey here, and then another that brought her back. We just had to get close enough to toss it around her tail or leg – it was a Charmed rope – then we activated the Portkey. Geoffrey activated it, actually. Kettleburn then landed outside the grounds and Apparated to the preserve just to make sure it had all gone well. I heard from them a little while ago. Other than a broken ankle, Geoffrey made it back just fine, as did Isolde. That’s the dragon. They tried giving them numbers a few years back, but the handlers persisted in naming them, so they gave up that scheme.”

As Malcolm and Wilhelmina continued to talk about the dragons at the preserve, Minerva and Johannes talked about the day’s events, and Johannes expressed his curiosity about her Grandmother Siofre. He had never heard the Tyree name before, which was unsurprising, as he was German, and Minerva gave him an abbreviated and unsensational version of the Tyree reputation. 

Johannes grinned. “Your grandmother, she has spark. And I do not think she likes fools.”

Minerva laughed shortly. “No, I would say that she doesn’t. Or ‘foreigners,’ by which she usually means English. You made a good impression on her, though.”

He shrugged. “I do not know. But I found her an interesting witch. I do hope not to anger her, however, after what you told me,” he said with a chuckle.

“Pish! That’s precisely how the mystique works – no one dares challenge a Tyree any longer.” Minerva paused then, thinking of her grandmother. “But you’re probably right. It’s probably best not to cross her.”

They both laughed at that, and Gertrude asked what they found so funny. She quirked a slight smile and agreed, saying that she could see some of Siofre in Malcolm.

Minerva finished her rice pudding and looked over at Albus. He wasn’t quite finished with his pudding yet and seemed deeply engrossed in conversation with Filius Flitwick. They had agreed to meet in his office after dinner. It looked as though Albus would be a while, so Minerva excused herself and went up to his office, where she removed Albus’s post from his Charmed owl box. The treats receptacle on the side was almost empty, so she found the rabbit-flavoured owl treats in Albus’s desk drawer and refilled it. She had just finished and was turning from the window when the door opened and Albus walked in. 

His face lit up in a smile as soon as he saw Minerva. “Good evening, my dear!” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Did you enjoy your dinner?”

“I did. Much more than I would have if I had eaten the bloody mess that Wilhelmina found such a treat.” Minerva made a face. “I suppose that soon we’ll be back to the usual school year fare.”

“Yes, but you can always request a different entree if there is something that you dislike,” Albus said. “The house-elves are happy to accommodate a teacher’s special requests.”

“There is usually enough variety at every meal that I can find things that I like well enough,” Minerva said with a shake of her head. She didn’t want to make a fuss. There was nothing wrong with the food, other than being a bit monotonous and heavy. And there was usually a choice of two different main entrees, so if she didn’t like one of them, the other was likely to appeal more.

“Are you ready to be introduced to the wards, my dear?”

“Yes – did you want to do anything more to test my wand first?” Minerva asked.

“No, I believe it will be quite safe, if a bit more powerful than usual. I wrote to Nicolas and Perenelle to request their advice, and they assured me that there should be no untoward effects,” Albus replied. He seemed to blush slightly. “They, um, they asked about you.”

“Did they? And what did you tell them?”

“I told them that I am a very lucky wizard,” he said softly. “And they are happy for me. They would like to meet you.”

Minerva nodded. She would like to meet them, too, she thought, although she couldn’t imagine what she would say to such an illustrious couple. 

“They have mated wands, don’t they?” she asked.

Albus nodded.

Minerva looked up at him curiously and asked the question that had puzzled her since she had read of the Flamels’ wands. “Why didn’t you tell me about their wands when you told me about ours? You know them, after all. You worked with them. It seems as though it would be something you would at least mention.”

“I don’t know . . . I suppose thinking about their own long relationship made me feel uncomfortable,” Albus replied with a shrug. “I didn’t want to acknowledge even to myself what it was I wished for but that I believed was . . . inappropriate, and improper to even contemplate.”

“What did they say when they found out about the wands?”

“They have known about their existence since I obtained mine, of course. The only people whom I have told, other than you. I told them immediately,” Albus explained, his arms going around Minerva and pulling her closer to him. “I wrote them as soon as I left Ollivander’s with my wand. They assured me at the time that I would meet the witch or wizard whom the mate chose, and that our lives would be entwined in some way, but as time passed and the wand sat in Ollivander’s shop . . . I began to believe that my wand would pass on to another and when it did, then the other wand would also find its owner. I even spoke with Ollivander about making arrangements to will my wand back to the shop upon my death. But then I received the letter telling me that the ivy wand had found a young witch, and I wrote to the Flamels and told them the news. I was curious about how our lives would intertwine, but did not give it very much thought. I had been patient for sixty-six years; I could be patient a while longer. I assumed that at some point after you had left Hogwarts, we would meet and possibly work together. But then less than a year later, Headmaster Dippet wrote to me, and I met you much sooner than that.”

Albus closed his eyes a moment. His mind and his memory were overlaying an eager twelve-year-old Minerva onto the upturned face of the young witch in front of him. He held his breath and opened his eyes. He let his embrace loosen and cleared his throat. “You were a bright and pure-hearted child. I saw in you a yearning for knowledge similar to my own, but I knew that you would never fall into the ways that I had: you would never value knowledge or satisfying your curiosity over the lives and needs of those around you, and you would never suffer the pride and insecurity that had allowed me to invite a murderer into my mother’s home.”

“But you couldn’t have known – ”

“I _did_ know, Minerva,” he said harshly. Somewhat more softly, he said, “I did know. I knew his character well enough.” He let go of her and turned away.

“I’m sorry . . .” Minerva put her hands on his back.

Albus shook his head. “He will do no more harm where he is now.” He turned and faced Minerva. “And perhaps before the end of his life, he will change. I doubt it. A man such as he, without a conscience . . . I don’t think he will ever develop one. I have seen no change in him. But I still continue to believe that he should have the opportunity to do so.”

“You have seen . . . you have seen him?” Minerva asked, astonished.

“I feel duty-bound. I visit him every year at Christmastime. Usually a few days before the holiday.” He chuckled. “I bring him a fruit basket, which he persists in believing I have poisoned, though his guards always check for such things, and I bring him books. I hope the edifying influence of the literature and history I bring him will help in his rehabilitation. Unlike the fruit, which he doesn’t touch, I understand he does read the books, though he never says anything about them. In fact, we barely exchange a word. He _has_ gone beyond grunting at me when he sees me, but not much.”

“You bring him fruit?!” Minerva asked, her incredulity growing.

Albus nodded. “ _Mens sana in corpore sano_ , they say.” He smiled. “Perhaps one day, I will bring him that fruit basket, and I will find I have been able to forgive him. And myself. We shall see.” He took a deep breath and smiled brightly down at Minerva. “But now we are to move on to something much happier. The final act in your installation as Head of Gryffindor. After you have been introduced to Hogwarts in this way, the wards will always recognise you unless a severing ceremony is performed. That has only been done a few times in history, and never in the last two hundred years.”

“That’s why Wilhelmina can still hold the wards?”

“Yes, although in theory, I could actively pass them to anyone, they will only be passively transferred to someone who has been introduced by the blood ritual, and the ability of a person to manipulate the wards and to inject their own magic into Hogwarts or to draw on that magic is greatly enhanced by the introduction. I also doubt that a stranger would obtain as much information from them, either.”

“You mean if something were to happen, like when there was an explosion in the Potions classroom and Johannes was alerted?”

“Precisely. Not that the wards can detect everything that occurs in the castle, of course, and I never could discover where the . . . where the entity was that was attacking students, where it came from, where it went, how it obtained entry, but the wards were not disturbed at all. It was very troubling. I remained awake for hours, concentrating on the wards, thinking I would surely detect something, some change, but I never did. Only once, when Myrtle was killed, did I feel a slight rippling in the wards, but nothing that would indicate that something was amiss, and certainly nothing that would have signalled that a student had met her death. After you mentioned the girls’ toilet on the second floor and the drippy tap, I carefully examined the strands of magic flowing through that entire level of the castle, and oddly enough, I found they were actually stronger there. If anything untoward were happening on that floor, I could not understand why the wards would not alert me. But there was that whole ‘Heir of Slytherin’ business,” Albus said with a sigh, “and it occurred to me that perhaps the wards there were somehow protecting whatever this agency was. I never discovered its source, despite spending a good deal of time investigating it even after the attacks had stopped. So you must be aware that the wards are not infallible, nor impenetrable, and sometimes, you must trust to your own simple senses to inform you.”

Minerva nodded briskly. “That is often the case, although as Malcolm said this morning, appearances can be deceiving. Shall we get on with this, then? It is almost eight o’clock.”

“Of course. I will meet you there shortly, my dear,” Albus replied. “Go on in and wait for me. Or you may wait here, if you prefer.”

In the Heart of Hogwarts, Minerva waited quietly, wishing for a chair, but she did not conjure one. She felt somewhat superstitious about casting any spells in the Heart, though her rational self told her that it couldn’t possibly hurt anything. She had only been in the Heart alone once, and that was when Albus had seemed to vanish when he had fled her rooms the previous week, and she had hardly tarried. Now, she looked around her, and she examined the intricate carvings in the great stone table. They were an odd mixture of several small vignettes, apparently depicting events leading to the founding and construction of Hogwarts, and a great many symbols of various sorts, some of which Minerva recognised, and some which seemed familiar but whose meanings she did not know, and others which were entirely foreign to her.

As she examined the table, the door opened behind her, and Albus stepped through from the hidden staircase. He was wearing the robes that she had given him for his birthday, and she smiled at him.

“I would wear my Headmaster’s robes, but I thought these more suitable on this particular occasion,” Albus said softly.

“You look wonderful, Albus. Thank you,” Minerva said. She was glad that her introduction to the Hogwarts wards meant so much to him, and her heart seemed to expand with the love she felt toward this wonderful wizard.

He smiled. “It is a simple ritual. It was designed by Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin, though Gryffindor and Hufflepuff approved it, of course, and had some say in its purpose and construction. Rowena was interested in keeping it simple and elegant, and Salazar was concerned with the strength of the binding,” Albus explained. “Through Helga’s influence, the binding is one of the most benign of any blood binding, although Godric agreed with Salazar that the binding should be strong. It does bind your magic to that of Hogwarts, but it will only draw on yours if you will it to. That is where the mutations caused by Headmaster Black’s changes caused the most damage, because the wards caused a constant, small drain on the magic of each of the Heads of House, and a greater drain on that of the Headmaster, himself. As I told you when you were a student, that particular mutation is the one I fixed first, and it has functioned properly since then. The strength of the binding lies in its apparent permanence. Unless reversed through a severing ceremony – or through death, of course – the binding remains in place. There has never been a recorded instance of the binding disintegrating through disuse or absence. It was once far more common for a witch or wizard to teach at Hogwarts for a decade or less, and then to move on and return to their previous lives. Even decades after a Head of House left the school and had been replaced many times over by succeeding Heads of House, the binding would still be in place if they returned for a visit.”

“It sounds as if an unscrupulous person could use this to his benefit – or hers,” Minerva said.

“Yes, and that is why a few of the former Heads of House were forced to undergo the Severing. One Headmaster, as well, but we shan’t speak of that now,” Albus said. “We can begin as soon as you are ready, my dear. I shall call the Hogwarts magic and make it visible as it flows through the chamber. I then shall cast a charm that makes it . . . receptive to accept your introduction. At that point, I will first introduce you to it through blood and then through magic. It is the latter activity that concerned me, as it involves both of us using our wands simultaneously in order to intermingle some of your magic with that of Hogwarts. There is little for you to do during this phase. At the point at which I am to intermingle your magic, you simply raise your wand and relax your magic, so to speak, creating the intent simply to allow your magic to flow into and through your wand. I then use my own wand to draw off a small amount of your magic, release it, and then weave it into Hogwarts magic. You will be able to see this all happen, since I will have made the Hogwarts magic visible.”

“Will it blind me?” Minerva asked, remembering the first time he had made all of Hogwarts magic visible to her.

“No. When I displayed it for you last time, it was in the model of Hogwarts, and so was very concentrated. This will be bright, and perhaps somewhat dizzying, but it shouldn’t be blinding,” Albus answered. “Then I will pass you the wards, you will commit yourself to the school and the instruction and discipline of her students, using whatever words you feel express this intent, and then you return the wards to me.”

“That is all?” Minerva had expected something much more elaborate, and perhaps some long Latin recitation.

Albus smiled. “It is a great deal, Minerva. You will hold the wards. Your intent must be clear. It is the clarity of the intent that creates the final seal. Rowena was well aware that language, even the most powerful magical language, is merely a conduit for the speaker or the spell-caster. Words can lie; hearts do not. Remember: it is always intent that matters most when casting any spell, whether an _Accio_ or an Unforgivable. It is what we teach our first-years, and yet it is so easy to forget when we become accustomed to using our magic. And in this, we are using not only our own magic, but that of another, that of Hogwarts, and intent is even more important.”

Minerva nodded, suddenly awed by the thought that her magic was going to be intertwined with that of Hogwarts and all those who had taken part in this ritual before her, and by the knowledge that she was joining her intent not only to her own magic, but to the magic of Hogwarts.

She drew her wand. “I am ready,” she said softly.

Albus brought her to stand beside the table, then he made a wide, sweeping gesture with his wand, and the room was alive with colour: thin precise strands, wavy ribbons, thick streams, and foggy channels of magic flowed and pulsed through the Heart of Hogwarts. Minerva opened her mouth as she took an amazed breath. It was beautiful, like a thousand rainbows arcing through an aurora borealis with the light of dawn, dusk, and the noonday sun shining off the ocean, all in one place at one time. Albus smiled and allowed her a moment to appreciate the beauty of the magic flowing and sparkling through the room.

Finally, he said, “And now to introduce you bodily, Minerva.” 

Albus took her left hand in his own and raised his wand to draw off a pinprick of blood.

“Wait!” Minerva said, softly but urgently. “Didn’t you say that this used to be done with a copper knife?”

Albus nodded. “Salazar’s knife, passed down father-to-son a thousand years or more before he gave it to Hogwarts for use in this ritual.”

“That is what you used; I would like that, too,” Minerva said.

“Not when I became Head of Gryffindor. I did not know of its existence then, but when I became Headmaster and strengthened the binding . . . but we will use that, if you wish,” he said with a nod, placing his wand in his pocket again.

He stepped around the table and raised his hand to a closely-clustered group of symbols. Laying his hand on them, he said quietly, “ _Patefacio!_ ”

A small opening appeared in the table above Albus’s hand, and a long, slightly curved knife rose up from the opening. As soon as Albus grasped the handle of horn, the table closed again.

Albus returned to Minerva, and as the magic of the Heart pulsed and flowed around them, he took her left hand in his left, then he raised it to his lips and gently kissed the tip of her index finger. Minerva felt the finger go slightly numb, then Albus whispered, “ _Corpore corporis; substantialitas consubstantialitas; integra, integrior, integerrima._ ”

As he recited the words, he placed the tip of the blade to Minerva’s finger, and she felt slight pressure then saw her blood beading up, seeming black in the particoloured light. Albus laid the knife on the table, then he drew his wand and flicked it over Minerva’s outstretched finger. The droplet of blood rose up in a thin line, then seemed to fly apart and fall through the coloured mist like a fine powder and vanish.

Albus smiled slightly at Minerva as he raised her hand to his lips once more and kissed her finger. She felt a gentle tingle of magic as the small cut healed. He drew his wand once more and signalled to her to raise her own.

He had said to relax and just allow her magic to flow, and so she did just that, completely secure in the knowledge that Albus would take care of her and her magic. Minerva raised her wand, holding it lightly in her hand. She smiled as she felt her magic flow through her and into her wand, then out to meet Albus’s wand, which he had raised at a gentle angle. It seemed as though his wand was a magnet for her magic, but her energy flowed smoothly and softly, and it felt comfortable and warm. Albus made a slight gesture with his wand, and Minerva watched with fascination as a ribbon of magic, gold with swirls of burgundy and deep green, appeared, drifting in a wave from the end of her wand. It seemed to find its direction and to reach out for Albus’s wand. Another slight gesture from Albus, and the ribbon separated from Minerva’s wand and began to come together, to coalesce into a fluid golden ball, a large bead of magic, dark red and green swirls still eddying through it.

Albus gave a slight twitch with his wand, and the ball of magic became a thousand beads, then a thousand thousand particles, and they dissipated in an expanding sphere, blending with Hogwarts magic as they did, adding their colour and energy to the power flowing through the chamber. Minerva smiled with happiness, and a shiver of appreciation passed through her to see her magic join with that of Hogwarts.

Albus smiled at Minerva’s joy, then he nodded to her, and with a small upward sweep of his wand, he transferred the wards to her. This time, she saw thousands of tiny threads seem to bend toward her, silver and gold, and she felt them settle over her and into her magic, a smooth and shimmery energy. 

Remembering Albus’s instruction, Minerva thought for a moment, then she said, “I commit myself to Hogwarts and to her students, to their education, their care, and their discipline, to raise them up and to bring them into their own strengths, and to protect all who are under Hogwarts care, regardless of House affiliation or station in life.” 

Albus’s smile grew at her words, and he lifted his wand slightly, waiting for Minerva to pass him the wards. She blinked for a moment, unsure of what to do. Albus had never uttered a spell, although she was sure there must be one. Dippet must have needed to use one. But then she remembered his words: it is always intent that matters most when casting any spell, whether an _Accio_ or an Unforgivable. Minerva raised her wand, thought of the strands of magic that had settled into her own, and with a switch of her wand, she sent them back to Albus, a smile of pleasure crossing her face as she saw her success as they flowed back to Albus.

Albus pocketed his wand then held out his hand to Minerva. “Congratulations, Professor McGonagall.”

Minerva transferred her wand to her left hand and shook Albus’s, then he pulled her a little closer, bent his head and kissed her lips. “Congratulations, my dear.”

She smiled up at him. “Do you congratulate all of your teachers in that manner?”

Albus grinned. “No, I save that for you.”

Minerva thought of something just then, with the magic still flowing visibly around them. “Can I take the wards from you, now?”

“As I am the Headmaster, I normally need to pass them to someone else, and no one could simply reach out and take them; however, with my permission, if I let them go, you could take them, yes.”

Minerva said, “I would like to do that, then. I don’t know as it will have quite the same effect on you as it does on me when you reach into my magic and take them back, but perhaps you will experience something of what I do when you take them from me.”

“Very well, my dear,” Albus replied with a nod. “You may take them.”

Minerva stepped back and raised her wand in her right hand, then she stopped. “Um, how do I do it?”

Albus smiled and lifted his wand. “I will make it easy for you, I promise. Just . . . reach out and pull them toward you. I will let them go.”

Minerva still looked hesitant. “What if I hurt you? Couldn’t I . . . I don’t know, snag your magic or something?”

Albus chuckled at that. “Unlikely. And my magic is pretty resilient and ‘snag-proof.’ But here, I will do this for you.” He waved his wand in a circle, and Minerva could now see his magic, like light and flames, flaring in red and gold around him, and she saw the distinct strands of Hogwarts magic woven through it like shiny metallic threads, stretching out and blending with the aurora still flowing visibly through the room.

Albus extended his wand toward her again, waiting for her to retrieve the wards. Minerva let out a breath, and as she inhaled, she flicked the tip of her wand toward him then back toward herself, extending her magic into his to take hold of the wards, and the threads followed her wand and began to gather and move toward her. She almost missed the surprised expression that crossed Albus’s face as her magic entered his and pulled the threads free. Smiling, she lingered, slowing her retrieval, pulling the strands gently and slowly, consciously stretching her magic into his as she did so. 

When she was done, Albus let out a breath and said, “Oh, my . . . I think I do see what you mean. I didn’t see any radiating colours as you described, but your magic in mine, that was most . . . delicious.”

Minerva grinned. “Care to take them back?”

Minerva closed her eyes and relished the sensation of Albus’s magic reaching into hers, bubbling through it, tickling and rushing, and she sighed at the wonderful sensations and the impression of music and light that came over her. She opened her eyes to see Albus smiling down at her, standing closer, the magic no longer visible; she smiled up at him. “You are beautiful, Albus, you, and your magic.”

“No, it is you who are beautiful, my dear, although you do bring out the best in me,” Albus replied, caressing her cheek. “I love you, Minerva.”

Minerva put her arms around him as he kissed her, and she loved feeling his back and shoulders covered in the silky, starry robes she had given him. As his lips moved against hers, she moved one hand down to his buttocks and cupped and squeezed as she pressed herself against him. 

Albus pulled back slightly, then kissed her once more, and whispered, “We should retire for the evening, I believe.”

Minerva pressed herself against him again, pulling him closer. “Make love to me, Albus.”

She felt his desire growing, and he licked his lips. 

“Let’s go to your rooms,” he said softly.

Minerva reached up and began to unfasten his robes, then, to emphasize her impatience and her desire, she whispered a spell, and all hooks, buttons, and magical clasps released and his robes were open.

“Minerva!” Albus exclaimed, then as her hand began to caress him, he moaned, “Oh, Minerva.”

“Make love to me,” she whispered.

“Here?” He seemed surprised and torn.

“Here . . .” She kissed his chest and ran one hand over his torso as she stroked his erection. “So strong, so wonderful, so virile . . . I need you now, gods, Albus, now!”

Albus let his robes fall to the floor and he quickly reached behind Minerva and undid the fastenings and laces of her robe. He pushed it down, then unbuttoned the first few mother-of-pearl buttons of her chemise before he simply pulled it up over her head and dropped it onto the table behind her. He ran his hands down over her body, breathing hard as he looked at her. He pulled her knickers down, and they dropped to the floor. Minerva stepped out of them and kicked them aside.

Albus lifted Minerva up so that she was sitting on the edge of the table; he brought his hands to her breasts and caressed them as he stepped closer, pushing her back onto the table. He stood between her legs and pressed his erection against her crux and Minerva moaned with desire. Albus brought one hand down and rubbed her clitoris before taking his erection in his hand and, bending slightly, bringing the head of his cock to her entrance. She was gasping as he pushed into her.

“Oh, gods, Minerva, Minerva,” Albus moaned, and he began to stroke in her, completely stimulating her, pushing up against the upper wall of her vagina, causing her to let out a long, breathless moan. 

She put her legs around him and flexed her muscles around his cock, and Albus gasped and groaned in response. He stroked and pumped, shifting a few times, and as Minerva began to come, he stopped, rose up, pushed her legs from around him, and brought her knees to her chest, then he resumed, and as her cries of pleasure grew, his legs almost gave out, but her orgasm clenched around him, and he slowed his movement, rubbing her clitoris with one finger, and resting his chest against her feet, savouring the sensation of her orgasm rippling around him. Albus looked down and watched Minerva’s face, and he let out a satisfied sigh.

As Minerva opened her eyes, he smiled at her, then withdrew, let go of her legs, rolled her over onto her stomach, and gently pulled her toward him again. 

“Not uncomfortable?” he whispered.

Minerva shook her head. Not too uncomfortable, she thought, as she felt Albus’s fingers seek her clitoris, and as he teased her, she felt the head of his cock at her entrance again, pushing into her. He continued to caress her clitoris as he pumped into her vagina and massaged her buttocks with his other hand. Soon she was moaning and rolling her hips as she approached orgasm again. As she came, Albus could not hold back any longer, and pumped twice more before calling Minerva’s name as he shuddered and released in her warm depths.

Several minutes and a few freshening charms later, as they helped each other get dressed again, Minerva said, “That was the perfect way to congratulate me, I do believe, Headmaster.”

“Well, Professor McGonagall, for one who is as extraordinary as you, only the most heartfelt congratulations are in order,” Albus said with a slight twinkle. 

“Do you plan on congratulating other Heads of House in this way?” Minerva asked as she straightened the collar of his under-robe.

“I believe this was a unique event, and it shall remain so, my dear!” He tried to put some of her stray hair back into her hairpins, but with no success. He frowned. “You will have to show me how to do your hair. As much as I might enjoy taking it down, if you would permit that, I would also like to be able to put it up, play with it . . .” He twirled one strand through his fingers.

“I would enjoy it if you would take my hair down, Albus,” Minerva said with a smile. “And if you would care to learn how to put it up,” she said with a tilt to her head, “that may take you a bit of practice, but I think that I can be a patient teacher.” She waved her wand, and her stray hairs gathered themselves and rejoined their fellows in her chignon.

“Shall we retire to your rooms now? If I might invite myself,” Albus added tentatively.

Minerva placed both hands on his chest. “You may invite yourself, but if you do . . . I hope you will stay.” She had been about to say, “you must stay,” but she didn’t want to make an ultimatum of something that was supposed to be pleasant for them both.

He nodded and kissed her. “Unless you ask me to leave, I thought I would . . . then we can depart in the morning. If I fetch my luggage tonight, we can leave directly from your rooms. We could see this as the beginning of our holiday.”

Minerva smiled. “You have packed already?”

Albus nodded again. “I packed a few days ago, other than a few last minute things, of course. But I can get those now.”

Minerva waited for him in his sitting room as he quickly moved from room to room and gathered the last things that he needed to pack, then he came out of his bedroom, one large carpet bag and one small one floating behind him. He also held a wrapped package in his hands.

“I thought we would Floo from my office, Minerva, so that we don’t encounter anyone on the way,” he said.

She agreed. Just before they were to step into the Floo, Albus handed her the package. “If you would take this, my dear, I will take the bags.”

Minerva Flooed through first, holding the package, which was heavy for its size. A moment after she entered her sitting room, Albus followed. He set down his bags and she held out the package to him.

“No, my dear, that is for you. I was going to give it to you tomorrow, but why wait?” he asked with a grin. “Open it!”

Minerva sat on the sofa and carefully unwrapped the package. She smiled. “It’s beautiful, Albus!” She ran her hand over it appreciatively.

“It isn’t new. I have had it for almost forty years, but I think it is something you would enjoy. Lift the lid!” He sat down beside her.

As she did so, Minerva’s smile grew. “Wonderful, Albus! ‘Liebestraum,’ isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he answered. “I just had it added this week, especially for you. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get it back before we left, but your mother kindly fetched it from the shop for me, and I retrieved it from her this morning when Malcolm and I were there. Wilspy took it for safe-keeping during the tea break.”

“I love it, thank you!” Minerva said. She leaned over and kissed him. “But are you sure you want to part with it?”

“Yes – it isn’t as if it is going far. You will have it, and we can enjoy it together. Gertrude gave it to me originally, actually. I told her I was thinking of giving it to you, and she thought it an excellent idea.”

“Really?” Minerva closed it up again. “When was that?” Had Gertrude given it to him when they were seeing each other, as she believed they had? If so, it might feel peculiar for her to accept the gift. But no, he had said he had it forty years. . . . 

“The very first Christmas after I met her. I spent the day with her and Reginald, beginning a tradition that lasted until his death. They were my family in many ways.”

“Thank you, Albus. It is wonderful. I will enjoy it, I am sure.” She leaned over and kissed him again. “You are always most thoughtful.”

An hour later, after having helped one another undress again, and Albus taking Minerva’s hair down, and both becoming quite distracted in the process, Minerva sighed happily as she rested her head on the pillow beside Albus’s and he pulled the covers up over them with a wave of his hand. She kissed his cheek. 

“Good night, Albus. I love you,” she whispered.

He turned his head and kissed her, draping an arm around her. “You are so precious to me, Minerva. Thank you for all of the happiness you bring me, all the joy.” He sighed and kissed her again as Minerva waved her hand to extinguish the lamps. “You are my joy and my happiness, my dear and my delight. My delight, my sweet, sweet delight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Albus and Minerva's holiday can be found in the story [_A Holiday with the Headmaster_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/748634). It is a **separate** twelve-chapter story. The next chapter of RaM picks up with their return from their holiday. So if you want to read about their holiday, where they go, and what little adventures they have, skip on over to [_A Holiday with the Headmaster_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/748634). If you would prefer the abridged, bowdlerized, T-rated version of their holiday, you can read _A Little Holiday_ over on fanfiction.net.


	138. Back to Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus and Minerva return from their holiday and have a few adjustments to make. Minerva receives some bad news.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Johannes Birnbaum, and Malcolm McGonagall.

**CXXXVIII: Back to Hogwarts**

Minerva walked up the drive from the gates, her bag following behind her. Her mother had provided her with the formula for her customised Blood-Replenishing Potion after having made sure that she swallowed down a dose of it first. Albus had left almost immediately upon their arrival at the Cliffs, only pausing long enough to greet her parents and to tell Minerva’s mother that she required a dose of Blood-Replenishing Potion. Minerva had felt fairly well by then, and she had nearly protested its necessity, but at the look in her mother’s eye when she brought the draught for her, she had meekly swallowed down the noxious concoction, then answered her mother’s few questions regarding why she might require such a potion. Although she didn’t go into great detail, Minerva did tell her mother that she and Albus had performed an ancient warding that required arterial blood. Her mother had merely nodded in acknowledgement and told her to be sure to take a second dose before dinner, but her father’s eyes had lit up in interest. She had to tell the disappointed wizard that she had scarcely understood a word of it, and if he was curious, he should discuss it with Albus the next time they saw each other.

It was only five minutes until the staff meeting, so Minerva had no time to return to Gryffindor Tower to leave her bag, nor even to fetch a quill and parchment, but she was sure she could find some in the staff room. One reason that she was so delayed was not simply that she and Albus had left later than planned and she had needed to take the potion, but her mother had needed to speak with her, as well. Apparently, Egeria had tried to owl her with a message, but the owls had returned, unable to find her. Malcolm had fortunately reassured their mother that Minerva was fine and only away from the castle for a few days, and he had volunteered to have Dumbledore’s house-elf deliver a message, but Egeria had not wanted to disturb her holiday, particularly as there was nothing that Minerva could do.

Siofre’s husband, Herbert, had fallen ill a few days after Melina’s wedding, and it now appeared that he was not long for this world. Minerva thought that after the staff meeting, she would mention it to Albus and try to find some time later that day to stop and see both Siofre and Herbert. She had never been particularly close to her grandmother’s quiet Hufflepuff husband, but he had been kind to her when she was a child, and she knew that her grandmother would certainly appreciate the visit, whether she showed it or not.

Minerva opened one of the large oak doors and smiled as she saw Johannes coming down the stairs toward her.

“Good afternoon, Minerva! You had a nice little holiday?” he asked, greeting her with a bright smile.

“Lovely, thank you, Johannes. And how have you been?”

“Very well, thank you,” the Herbologist replied. “Your brother brought me into the Forbidden Forest the other night and we watched the Nocturnal Dancing Umbratrope. I did not know that there were Umbratropes in Scotland. It was very beautiful.”

They walked into the staff room together. “I thought he was trying to get Gertrude to go out with him to see it the other night,” Minerva said.

“He did. She went out the night before I did. I believe she suggested to Malcolm that I might enjoy it.” Johannes chuckled. “I believe her actual words were that I would enjoy it more than she had. It seems that she found being in the Forest at night somewhat frightening despite Malcolm’s redoubtable presence.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Minerva replied, taking a seat beside him. 

There were already several staff members present, although Albus was still not there. Gertrude smiled slightly at Minerva and Johannes, nodding to them as they took their seats across from her. Malcolm was sitting down the table from them, chatting enthusiastically with Filius Flitwick. He turned briefly and winked at his sister. A minute later, Albus hustled into the room carrying a sheaf of parchments. He bent and whispered something to Gertrude, smiling and nodding at her, then he began the meeting by introducing Malcolm as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor and, temporarily at least, the Flying instructor and Quidditch referee, though most of the staff had been present for the duel, and so were familiar with him.

The meeting went smoothly, with no indication that the Headmaster had arrived back at the school less than a half hour before. Gertrude discussed the matters under her purview, then a few of the other staff who had announcements, questions, or concerns spoke up. Finally, at almost four o’clock, Albus declared that the meeting was over and that he would be available to them over the next few days, and anyone who needed to speak with him could either drop by or make an appointment. His final announcement was that Norman James would be installed as Head of Hufflepuff House that evening and that a small party had been planned by Poppy and would be held there in the staff room.

“In addition, please do not forget the annual staff party on Friday evening. As always, if the weather is fine, it will be held out by the lake, otherwise, it will be moved to the Great Hall. Please feel free to invite guests, if you like, but do inform Gertrude of the number of guests who will be coming so that we may plan accordingly. We are fortunate this year that Filius has agreed to provide the musical charms. If you have any requests, please speak with him!”

Slughorn expressed his approval of the announcement regarding the musical charms, and when he saw Minerva’s puzzled expression, Johannes leaned over and whispered to her.

“The past few years have been rather disastrous. The last year Dippet was Headmaster, he did the musical charms himself, and they were … ugly. I do not even know if he could tell. I think his hearing was going. The year before that, Katherine had been in charge of the music, and she refused to play anything other than Elizabethan dance tunes. Fine for a while, but after five of them, I was snoring,” he said with a grin. “Then last year, Albus put Hagrid in charge of the music, and he had some friends playing fiddles and such. It was like listening to cats fight.” He shuddered.

“I like fiddles,” Minerva said. Her brother Morgan played the fiddle for family gatherings.

“Then you would have been horrified by the tortures the poor instruments underwent!” Johannes stood and took the back of Minerva’s chair for her. “You are going to your rooms now?”

Minerva looked over at Albus, who was deep in conversation with Slughorn. Something about moving the Potions classroom and changing the dungeons’ wards. She wondered why the man hadn’t raised these issues before the rewarding at the beginning of the month. Albus would likely be involved with Hogwarts business until dinner, perhaps beyond.

“Yes,” she said, hefting her bag. With all the staff milling about and catching up with each other after weeks apart, she didn’t want to Levitate her bag and try to navigate it through them all with the _Locomotor_ charm.

“Let me take that for you,” Johannes offered, reaching for the bag.

“No need. I have it,” Minerva replied.

Johannes smiled. “But I would like to invite myself to tea in your new rooms, and that would be easier if I were to have an excuse to accompany you.”

Minerva laughed. “Would you care to take tea with me this afternoon, Professor Birnbaum?” she asked, handing him her bag.

“Thank you, Professor McGonagall,” he replied with a slight bow and a broad grin. “That would be lovely.”

They began up the stairs, and Johannes let go of the bag and it followed them smoothly up the stairs.

“Did anything of note occur while I was away from the castle?” Minerva asked.

“Malcolm and I created a few discreet charms to keep the Jarvey and his new girlfriend from the tender ears of the underage students and to hide his den—”

“Whose new girlfriend?” Minerva asked, puzzled. She wondered whether Johannes’s English was failing him or whether it was her own. “Hagrid’s? And why would you cast charms—”

Johannes laughed. “Jeremiah’s girlfriend—that’s what Hagrid calls her. He hasn’t yet decided among ‘Jennifer,’ ‘Jezebel,’ or ‘Judith’ as a name for her.”

“Well, I would definitely advise against ‘Jezebel’—although it does have the advantage of being distinctive. We would hardly confuse the Jarvey with someone else.”

“Yes, and he was preferring ‘Judith’ for a while, but Horace’s sister is named ‘Judith,’ so I think he may be considering the other two more seriously.”

Minerva laughed. “I’m glad that you and Malcolm are enjoying each other’s company.”

Johannes nodded. “We are. He is good for Gertrude, too. I have not ever seen her smile so much or be so ready to try something new as she has been these last weeks.” He looked over at Minerva, and his happiness for Gertrude was evident in his eyes. “She deserves some joy in her life.”

“So,” Minerva said as they reached the seventh floor, “is there a particular reason you invited yourself to tea, or is it just general collegiality?”

“ _You_ most kindly invited me,” Johannes reminded her. “I am curious about your rooms, actually. Everyone who has seen them says they are a vast improvement over the way they were when Wilhelmina was Head of House. I only got a small glimpse of them before.”

Minerva was about to answer when they reached her rooms and she immediately noticed something peculiar: Fidelio was settled beneath the apple tree, sleeping with his head on his paws, but the Knight was nowhere to be seen. 

“Fidelio,” she said, addressing the dog, “where is your master?”

The dog perked up, lifting his head, his ears forward, and looking off into the distance. He barked twice, then stood and barked again, wagging his tail.

Just as Minerva was wondering whether she should fetch Albus, despite his Hogwarts business, the Knight stepped into the frame, carrying both his helmet and his broken shield.

“Greetings, my lady,” he said with a bow, his long blond hair falling forward. “My apologies for not being here to admit you immediately!”

“You left your portrait!” Minerva said, astonished.

The Knight smiled at her. “Indeed, I did! As I have been able to these last three days. It was a most remarkable experience. I did not know that you would not be stepping through this door, or I would have found you to tell you. My geas is lifted! It is somewhat disappointing to see that the curse remains, but I may now travel freely within the Portrait Network, as may Fidelio, although I have always made certain that one or the other of us is here to guard your door, my lady.”

“When did this happen?” Minerva asked, as a puzzled Johannes listened to the conversation.

“The evening before you left for your holiday. I believe that you and—”

“I think another time would be more appropriate to discuss this,” Minerva interrupted, glancing over at Johannes.

“Of course, my lady. Would you like entry?”

“Yes, please. _Protinus_ ,” she said quickly before the Knight could simply open the door for her, raising Johannes’s curiosity any further than it no doubt already was. She would have to make certain that the Knight, if he remained her door warden, only opened the door if the correct password was given. It simply wouldn’t do to have him using his own judgment and opening it without it. If he could not follow that one rule, then he would have to be replaced.

“A geas?” Johannes asked as they entered her sitting room.

“Yes. I have the most peculiar portrait. Always saying the most absurd things, on those rare occasions he deigns to speak. So,” Minerva said brightly, “tea! I will call Blampa. Would you care for anything to eat? I thought I might have something light.”

“That was the first time I ever heard him speak,” Johannes said.

“Yes, as I say, he rarely speaks, and when he does, nonsense. Would you care for a sandwich? Biscuits?”

“Just tea, thank you.” He looked around. “Very nice sitting room. Shall I put your valise in the bedroom?”

“Thank you,” Minerva replied, relieved he seemed to have lost interest in the portrait. She would have to explain to the Silent Knight that he would have to remain silent about certain facts regarding her relationship with Albus. He seemed still pleased to serve, however, so that should not pose a problem. “Why don’t I give you the five Knut tour now, and then we can call Blampa for our tea,” she suggested.

Johannes was as impressed by the changes to the suite as everyone else had been. He, like Quin, immediately noticed the tiles depicting her with Albus.

“That is you! And Albus!” Johannes knelt beside the tub and examined them, fascination on his face. “This is fabulous! Here you are again, and here … he looks ill. Is this the time that Albus was so badly injured, that winter before Grindelwald fell?” Johannes asked, turning his head to look up at Minerva. At her nod, he said, “But I did not know that you were involved in that. I did not know you did anything like this during the war.” He looked back at the tiles. “And here, they are following you. You are pursued by Dark Wizards.”

“It was close, but we made it out, obviously,” Minerva said matter-of-factly. “Let me show you my study.”

Johannes stood. “You are a true Gryffindor, Minerva.”

Minerva shrugged. “I should think so, but bravery is not the sole province of this House, as you know, no more than intelligence and curiosity are that of Ravenclaw—fortunately!”

“It is impressive, that you save the life of the powerful Albus Dumbledore.” He looked at her with admiration, but he smiled, too. “Your brother rides dragons, you save the most powerful of all warlocks, and you say that your Grandmother Siofre is a witch not to be crossed; what are your other relatives like? Should we fear your clan?”

Minerva laughed lightly. “I suppose if we had the ambition to be dangerous, we might be. But come, see my study then take tea with me.”

The two had tea, Minerva eating a few ginger newts, but Johannes declining. He said that although nothing of great significance had happened at Hogwarts while she had been away, he personally had come to a decision.

“I have decided to wait a year or two before returning to Germany after I leave Hogwarts. I think it is time for me to move on in my life, that is the same, but I think that I was only returning to Germany because I had always assumed that I would do that. Now I do not know. I think I need some time to ponder it, time when I am not at Hogwarts, and to consider what other alternatives there may be,” he said.

“So what will you do, then?” Minerva asked. “And are you certain you want to leave Hogwarts? I know that there are many who would miss you, and you are an excellent teacher.”

“Yes, I do believe I will leave Hogwarts. It would be easy enough to stay. Comfortable. But I think I need a different sort of life, that I do believe, although the one I have here is pleasant enough. If for some reason Albus should ask me to stay, then I would stay, of course. I owe him much. As for what I will do …” Johannes shrugged. “I do not yet know precisely. I do not think that I will make a long commitment, however, make no land purchase or the like. I am sure that I will find something to occupy my time. There are always people in search of an Herbology expert. Perhaps I will simply consult for a while. We shall see!”

After an hour, Johannes rose and said that he had promised Professor Flitwick a game of Go before dinner. “He does not know the game, and it will be enjoyable to have an opponent whom I might occasionally beat, unlike Albus,” he said with a grin. “We will play on only a portion of the board while he learns. You play Go, do you not?”

Minerva shook her head. “I have seen it, but I haven’t a clue how it’s played.”

His eyes brightened. “I will teach you and then you can play with Albus.”

Minerva smiled. “I would enjoy that.” She walked Johannes to the door and opened it for him. She was just thanking him for his visit when Albus appeared, walking down the hallway toward them.

Albus smiled and greeted them both cheerily. “Discussing Head of House business?”

Johannes blushed mildly and said, “No, Albus, but I do believe we are both quite prepared.” He looked quickly at Minerva and added, “I am sure that Minerva knows she can come to me with questions at any time, though.”

Albus chuckled. “You needn’t worry, my boy! It was a simple inquiry. I trust you will both be prepared.”

Minerva let Albus in and shut the door behind him. She smiled up at him delightedly. “I did not think I would see you until sometime this evening, if then! This is a lovely surprise.”

Albus took her hands in his and leaned forward, kissing her lightly on the lips. “I thought we would spend a little time together, but primarily, I brought you this.” He pulled a small phial from his pocket. “You are to take it before dinner,” he said, holding up the small, clear container of muddy green sludge-like potion.

“I am fine, Albus,” Minerva said, just avoiding a grimace and a shudder at the sight of the potion. “I feel quite well.”

“You also look quite well, but your mother said you were to take a second dose before dinner, and so I fetched it from the Hospital Wing, where Poppy kindly decanted a single dose for me.”

“You can’t ‘decant’ that stuff. It’s like muck,” she replied, this time making a face. “And one dose is sufficient.”

“And when did you become a Healer?” Albus asked rhetorically. “Egeria was quite clear that with the altered potion, you require two doses. I would not have bled you as I did had I known that you would allow yourself to suffer the consequences like this,” he said with disapproval.

Minerva chafed at his scolding tone. “I am _hardly_ suffering, Albus. And I could easily have skipped the potion altogether. A pint is hardly worth noting. I understand that Muggles give pints of blood to each other all of the time with no ill effects.”

“We are not Muggles, you provided more than a pint, and we can replenish your blood with this potion, which you will take,” he said more mildly, but still holding out the phial.

“I will take it, then, Albus, if you are so insistent,” Minerva said with a sigh, recognising that he only had her best interests at heart. “But it _is_ revolting and I _do_ feel fine. It isn’t quite time for it yet, though, so you can put it away until we leave for dinner—unless you can’t stay?”

“I can stay. I told Dilys that if anyone needed me, she could come and let me know, and I would return,” Albus replied, taking Minerva’s hand and leading her over to the sofa. “It may be difficult to make the transition back to Hogwarts after our being able to spend so much time together the last few days. Almost every moment, waking and sleeping, in fact.” He raised her hand to his lips briefly. “But I do hope that you will not find it too painful, my dear.”

“I am certain I won’t be happy about having less time to spend with you,” Minerva replied, “but we will both become used to it.”

“Indeed we will. I was happy to see you spending some time with Johannes. He is a good man.”

Minerva nodded. “And it seems that now that he knows Malcolm better, he is very happy for Gertrude, and he likes Malcolm, as well. They apparently spent some time together while we were away,” she said. 

“Gertrude told me that there are now some Jarvey-wards in Hagrid’s garden, so that hopefully no students will happen upon him. Did Johannes tell you that he has a girlfriend?”

This time, Minerva wasn’t confused. “Yes, he did. Jezebel and Jennifer are apparently the top candidates for a name.”

Albus chuckled. “I do wonder what Hagrid will do when they begin having pups!”

Minerva smiled. “Perhaps we won’t have to worry about the Joshuas, Jaspers, Jessicas, and Joans until spring, if I remember my Care of Magical Creatures classes rightly,” Minerva said. “But I have something more serious to speak with you about. Mother had tried to contact me by owl while we were away—”

“Oh, dear. Was she worried?”

Minerva shook her head. “No, Malcolm reassured her. Gertrude had told him that Wilspy could bring us any urgent messages, but Mother chose not to disturb our holiday with news about which I could do nothing.”

Albus furrowed his brow. “Bad news?”

“Herbert McKenna is ill, likely dying,” Minerva said. “I think that I should visit Grandmother Siofre. I would like to go soon so that I can see him. Mother said he wakes occasionally still. I would feel terribly if he were to die and I hadn’t visited.”

Albus nodded. “Of course, my dear. That is perfectly understandable. And there is nothing at the school that requires your immediate attention, although there is the first Head of House meeting tomorrow morning. I could move that, though, if—”

“I thought I would go this evening,” Minerva interjected. “He really doesn’t sound well at all. He may be dead in a day or two, though Mother said he could linger for a week or more.”

“Ah, poor Siofre! Please do give her my best, Minerva. I would go with you, but there is much to do, including Norman’s installation.” He met her eyes. “Will you come by to say good-night when you return? Or were you planning on being away overnight? Either is fine, of course.”

“I am not planning on staying away overnight. I will of course come to see you when I return to the castle.”

“I never knew Herbert well, myself. He was a good fifteen years older than I, and we rarely had occasion to meet. He always struck me as a gentleman, though, and Siofre seemed happy.”

“He was always kind to me as a child, though I cannot say I was very close to him,” Minerva said. “Malcolm might be more affected as he is much closer to Grandmother Siofre than I am, and I always had the impression that he knew Herbert fairly well as a result.”

“You should see if he would like to go with you, then. Gertrude assured me that he is well-prepared for the first several weeks of classes and has plans for Quidditch schedules and so forth, so I see no reason for him to remain here. If he wished to remain with Siofre to support her for the next day or so, we could spare him,” Albus said.

“I will let him know. So he and Gertrude are still doing well?” Minerva asked.

“They are, from all that I could see.” He twitched a smile. “You always seem ready to hear the worst about them.”

“No, not precisely. I just worry about them both. They seem so happy. I don’t know why I’m worried,” Minerva said with a shrug.

“I was worried, but no longer,” Albus said, smiling. “They may not even realise it themselves, yet, but I think they will be together for a long, long time.”

Minerva smiled herself. “Perhaps like we will be, then.”

“Perhaps.” Albus took a breath and let it out. “So you will leave immediately after dinner?”

“I thought I would, if you approved. This is a matter of Hogwarts business, I realise, and if you required me here for the installation—”

“I would allow any staff member to visit a dying relative, Minerva, and I am sure that Norman will understand.” He grinned. “If I were behaving from my own personal, selfish motives, I might wish to keep you here with me, after all!”

Minerva chuckled. “You would not want me fretting and unhappy, though, Albus, so I do not believe you would hold me here even if it were a personal decision.”

“No, I would not.” Albus was quiet for a moment. “Herbert is only twenty years older than Siofre, if that.”

Minerva shrugged. “He was never a particularly hearty person. I am sure Grandmother Siofre has a good number of years left.”

“I am older than Siofre, you know,” he said softly.

“We are back on that again?” Minerva asked with a sigh. “Yes, I know, and we have had this discussion before. I do hope that returning to Hogwarts hasn’t meant the return of your doubts.”

Albus shook his head. “I do not doubt, Minerva. I simply remember that which I always am aware of: I am much older than you are. You will outlive me by many, many years if life proceeds as one might expect.”

“I know, and I am not going to spend the next several decades mourning you before you are dead, so I don’t want to hear of this again,” Minerva said firmly.

Albus said, “But it may not be several decades. It might be considerably less. And we cannot forget, either, that if another Dark Wizard rises, I will be obligated to serve the wizarding world again. You know quite well the danger of death that accompanies that obligation. Indeed, I serve the wizarding world even now, though the times are less dangerous.”

“I know that, too, and I would never wish to keep you from doing the work that you must perform. You are—as Johannes recently reminded me, though I know it well—the most powerful of all wizards, a formidable warlock, and it would be wrong of me to attempt to keep you from serving the wizarding world, even if I would prefer to keep you safe and to myself. But there is no Dark Wizard now, and you are in very good health, so let’s wait and discuss these issues when they actually become more present worries, all right?” Minerva asked, giving him a squeeze. 

“Very well, my dear.” He kissed the top of her head. “It is best not to worry about the inevitable, anyway, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would.” She sighed. “I suppose I should take that disgusting potion now. Mother copied the formula for you, by the way. It’s in my bag in the bedroom.”

While Minerva swallowed down the potion then got up to get some water, Albus retrieved the potion’s recipe from her bag. When she reemerged from the kitchen, she saw him puzzling over the formula and referring to the notes that Murdoch had made at the bottom of the parchment.

“There is no Fire Salamander liver, nor liver of any kind, in this formula,” he said, his brow knit in thought. “Nor any marrow, which I would have expected in its place. Most interesting … very ingenious, actually, the substitutions and the method used. But I can see that it works quite differently from traditional Blood-Replenishing Formula.” He nodded to himself. “Very ingenious, indeed.”

“Yes, and it takes twice as long to brew and a good deal more skill, according to Murdoch,” Minerva explained. “He said I wouldn’t be able to brew it myself, which I found quite insulting. But as I don’t enjoy brewing, anyway, I’m just as happy to have him brew it for me. He does make up some for St. Mungo’s and a few other clinics every now and then, but he says it’s not worth brewing for general sale, as the other is easier to brew and very few people have an intolerance for it.”

“Your brother lived up to his promise, then,” Albus said. “I always found the apothecary’s potions and potions ingredients of the highest quality, even after he took over completely from Perrin, but it is good to see that he also does original work.”

“As I said, he and Mother developed it seventeen or eighteen years ago for me. But he does keep his hand in, doing some experimental work or the occasional special commission. He enjoys it.” She looked at him curiously. “How would you know of his promise? You did not teach him.”

“No, but I was one of the masters on his examination. He impressed me. I should have expected it, given your mother’s side of the family and their talents in Potions and Healing, but I was impressed.”

“I suppose we should be off for dinner now. It is odd to have everyone back after the castle has been deserted for so long. I had become quite used to it, as peculiar as it felt initially. It will be very strange when the students all return on Sunday,” Minerva said. As she went to open the door, she suddenly remembered the Knight and his declaration. “I just remembered, Albus—when I arrived with Johannes this afternoon, the Knight announced that the geas had been lifted. He had been off wandering about the Portrait Network, actually, and only Fidelio was in the painting.”

“The geas was lifted? But he’s still trapped in the portrait …”

“Yes, although it could be he is suffering a delusion of some kind. Some error in his portrait charms,” Minerva said.

“Possibly, but I am very interested in the phenomenon, regardless,” Albus replied. “What did he say about the geas?”

“He said it was lifted the evening before we left the castle, but he hadn’t realised we weren’t going to pass through the door again, or he would have found us to tell us.”

“Saturday evening? When you were introduced to the wards? And we, um, yes, we were in the Heart of Hogwarts, and, um—”

“We made love in the Heart of Hogwarts, you mean? I hadn’t thought of that—though I do remember it quite clearly!—but perhaps that may have had something to do with it,” Minerva said thoughtfully.

“I will try to find some time during the next few days to talk with the Knight about his experience and to research some spells that might be useful in determining what is occurring with him,” Albus said. 

During dinner, Minerva sat beside Malcolm and talked to him about going to see Grandmother Siofre. He had already been that morning, but he agreed to Apparate there with her again. 

“She will be happy to see you. Herbert, too, if he is awake,” Malcolm said. “I think that I will take Dumbledore up on his offer and spend more time there over the next few days.”

“I thought you might. You and Grandmother Siofre were always close,” Minerva replied.

“I spent a lot of time with her growing up, as you know. It changed a bit after she married Herbert, but then I was off to school, anyway.” Malcolm grinned. “She would sneak me away when I was supposed to have lessons with Dad, and he’d think I was off with Mother for the day, and Mother, of course, thought I was happily at home with Dad.”

Minerva’s eyebrows rose. “She just snuck off with you?”

“It was very educational. It was much more fun with her than with Dad. You know Dad, and I love him, but the man can sit behind a desk for ten hours, hardly moving, then suddenly realise he’s starving and has to pee. I just couldn’t sit still for ten minutes at that age,” Malcolm explained. “I liked going out with Mother, but even that got boring, especially when the witches didn’t want a little boy in the room with them. Grandmother Siofre introduced me to people and to different kinds of magic—some of her friends are most interesting—and I may not have learned all the languages that Dad wanted to teach me, but I learned Scots and Irish Gaelic when I was with her, and some Welsh, as well. I picked up other languages later in life, as I needed them. Grandmother Siofre would bring me to the sites of great wizarding battles or discoveries, and that was much more fun than sitting with Dad reading a dusty old book. She told me stories that made the people and events come alive for me.”

“Still, just to take you off like that,” Minerva said with some disapproval.

Malcolm shrugged. “It all worked out fine. Eventually, she and Dad worked out a schedule, and if I behaved well for Dad in the morning, she could have me in the afternoon. It was good for me.”

“I can’t imagine that Mother was very happy about it,” Minerva said, taking a bite of apple pie.

“Nae, she actually was happy to see me excited about my trips with Grandmother Siofre. I always thought Mother knew and just didn’t tell Dad—waiting for him to get used to the idea. And I was always home for dinner.” Malcolm took a sip of his cider. “I am more like her and Grandmother Siofre than I am Dad—though I think I get my facility with languages from him.”

“What about Morgan and Murdoch?”

“Morgan has always been the one for the books, you know him. And he was younger, not old enough to go hopping around as we did. Then Herbert began to court Siofre, they married, and she moved to the McKenna place. We still saw a lot of each other, even after Maisie was born.” Malcolm reached for a second plate of pie. “But it was odd, having an aunt younger than I, and it wasn’t the same as it had been. I was jealous, truth be told. But then I was off to school a couple years later, and I found new worlds to explore.”

“She never did that with me,” Minerva said, trying to remember the few trips she had made with Siofre when she was a child. 

“She was busy with Maisie, and you always enjoyed Dad’s lessons. Besides,” Malcolm said, quirking a smile, “you had me!”

Minerva grinned at him. “I did. And you were a good big brother, even if I didn’t always tell you that. I suppose we ought to leave soon. I’ll just let Albus know that we are both going.”

“I’ll tell Gertrude not to expect me. If I’m back late, I’ll go to the guest quarters and not wake her—Albus started fixing my new rooms for me this afternoon, though, and you should see them! They’re right next to Gertrude’s. He moved things around for me.” Malcolm leaned close to her and said more softly, “He’s even going to create a door between the suites for us.”

Minerva felt a pang that it would be so much easier for them to see each other than it would be for her and Albus, but she was happy for her brother, so she smiled. “I’m glad. But I’m sure that Gertrude would rather have you return to her even if you did wake her.”

“But this way, she won’t wait up for me, just in case I decide to stay the night, you see,” Malcolm explained. 

Later that evening, Minerva walked wearily up the stairs to the gargoyle to let Albus know that she had returned safely and to say good-night, as she had promised. It had been a very long day, and she had actually Flooed to the Three Broomsticks then Apparated to the gates from there, despite the fact that it was a fairly short Apparition from the McKenna place to Hogwarts.

Minerva rode the spiral stairs up to the office, and when she opened the door at the top and stepped through, she heard Albus’s voice calling her.

“Yes, I’m back, Albus,” she answered, looking up to see him standing half-way down the spiral brass stairs. He was dressed in his night attire, a burgundy and black dressing gown on over a long nightshirt. “Were you asleep?”

“No. Well, I did doze a bit over my book, but I wasn’t in bed yet.”

Minerva started up the stairs to him, and he bent to kiss her cheek.

“How was Herbert?” he asked, taking her hand. “And Siofre?”

“Herbert woke once for a while whilst I was there. He seemed pleased to see me,” she said as they went into the sitting room. “When I left, Siofre was sitting with him and Malcolm was with the house-elves, making some special tea for her.” Minerva laughed lightly. “Would you believe that their house-elves call him ‘Little Collie’? I never heard that before—I thought they were talking about a dog at first!”

“Would you like some tea?” Albus asked as they sat on the couch.

“No, thank you. I am exhausted. I just need some sleep. It seems as though it has been a very long day.”

“You _have_ had a long day.” He thought a moment. “Perhaps you need another dose of that potion.”

“Mother said two doses. I am just tired. I am certain that my blood is fully replenished!” Minerva smiled and caressed his cheek. “Thank you for thinking of it, though.”

“I felt rather bad afterwards, when I got back here and thought about it,” Albus said. “I should have waited until we had some of your potion on the island, and I ought to have done it so that you had more time to recover before you had to be active again. It was very selfish of me.”

“No, I agreed. You did offer to wait, remember, and I declined. I am fine, as I knew I would be in your capable hands. But I see why the Ministry has banned most blood spells and rituals, apart from the fact that much of it is Dark Magic. In the hands of someone less adept, it could be rather dangerous.”

“Oh, the lesser blood wards require very little blood, and venous blood, at that—just a little cut, a few drops, and they’re done. But you are right about these stronger blood wards. They are magically complex and do require a certain degree of expertise and magical power to cast, but beyond that, any that require arterial blood can be dangerous, even deadly, if done without proper care, but you were never in any physical danger. I would not have allowed that.” Albus put his arms around Minerva and kissed her forehead. “And how was Siofre?”

“She seemed well enough. Better than I would have expected, actually, but she is not prone to demonstrating her emotions. Maisie was there, too, as vague as ever. I don’t think she’s much help, practically speaking, to her mother, so Malcolm decided to stay the night. He said he’ll be back at the castle for a while tomorrow afternoon unless Herbert takes a turn for the worse.” Minerva sighed. “He asked me to let Gertrude know, but she’s likely in bed already. Still, I should stop by.”

“I think tomorrow breakfast would be soon enough if Gertrude knows not to expect him tonight. You do look tired, my dear.” 

“You’re probably right. He did tell her not to expect him, but still, she may wait up for him.”

“Gertrude is a very practical witch, Minerva. She will get on with what she needs to do, and if she is tired, she will go to bed.”

“Oh, well, you know her better than I do,” Minerva said, stifling a yawn and perfectly happy to wait until morning to give her the message.

“Would you like me to walk you back to your rooms?” Albus asked.

Minerva shook her head. There had been a very small part of her that had hoped he would ask her to stay the night, though she knew that it was impractical and unlikely, but she didn’t need him to walk her back. “No, that’s all right, Albus. You are all ready for bed. Though I wouldn’t mind if you let me Floo from your office. I am absolutely knackered.” 

Albus walked her down to his office and opened the Floo for her to Floo to her rooms, lighting a tiny fire in the grate.

“Good night, my dear.” He kissed her lips lightly, cupping her cheek, then he looked into her eyes and whispered, “I will miss you.” He kissed her again before reluctantly stepping back. “Don’t forget the Heads of House meeting after breakfast in the morning.”

“I will remember, I’m sure. Good night, Albus!”

Minerva was pleased to see that Wilspy must have brought her second bag back, but all of her clothes had either been put away or taken to be laundered. Blampa, knowing Minerva’s preferences now, had left her other personal effects in the bags at the foot of the bed. Minerva put the musical box on her vanity, but left her books and everything else in the bags. She would take care of all that in the morning. After getting ready for bed, Minerva opened her window a crack, then she took her wand, opened the musical box, and selected _Pavane pour une infante défunte_ , reading the small card to learn how to activate the charm that would have the musical box stop with that selection and not continue playing. As the piano music drifted softly through the room, Minerva drifted off to sleep, missing the sensation of Albus and his magic at her back, but still content and at peace after their holiday.

Minerva blinked awake. The music had stopped and it was dark, but something had woken her. She lifted her head. There was a shadow in the door.

“Minerva?” Albus’s voice was a mere whisper. 

“Albus,” she said groggily.

“I am sorry to wake you.” He took a step into the room.

“That’s all right. Is there anything wrong?”

“No, well, not really. I couldn’t sleep. I thought … you said once that if I couldn’t sleep …”

“Of course.” Minerva sat up, reached for her wand, and lit a lamp. “Did you have a nightmare? Or is something else troubling you?” she asked, patting the bed beside her.

“No. I just missed you. I thought that perhaps for tonight, at least, I might stay with you? For a while?” He hesitated beside the bed.

Minerva smiled. “Of course you may stay with me!”

“I know you are tired—”

“Yes, but I will probably sleep better with you here, anyway.” She moved over, making room for him. “We can get used to being back at Hogwarts gradually.”

Albus smiled and took off his dressing gown, laying it over the bench in front of her vanity. “Yes, we have other nights to become used to being back.” He climbed into bed and added, “I felt rather foolish, after all of these years of sleeping alone quite happily, but I missed you. I didn’t want to disturb you, but—”

“You didn’t disturb me,” Minerva said, waving her wand and putting out the lamp. “It will be nice to have you here. And we may have time to have tea together in the morning if we get to sleep right now.” She turned in his arms and kissed him, then lay her head on his shoulder. “I am very glad you are here, Albus. Sleep well!”

Albus kissed her temple and whispered, “I will now, my dear. Good night! Sweet dreams!”


	139. Lagniappe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johannes tries to teach Minerva something new; Gertrude and Minerva spend time together; Malcolm has an unusual request; Minerva receives some sad news; and Albus plans a surprise or two.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Johannes Birnbaum, Gertrude Gamp, and Malcolm McGonagall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexually explicit content.

**CXXXIX: Lagniappe**

Thursday went quickly and Minerva was busy all day. She made one more tour of the Gryffindor common room and dormitories to make sure that everything was ready for the students’ return on Sunday. That afternoon when he returned to the castle, Malcolm told her that Herbert had woken once in the morning, spoken briefly with Siofre, then appeared to slip into a coma. Egeria had arrived with Merwyn, and she would stay with them until the end, but she didn’t believe that it would be long. 

After dinner, Minerva knew that Albus would be busy with a few of the school governors who had come to discuss the Indigent Scholars’ Fund and the increases Albus wanted to make in payments for books and supplies from it, so she agreed to meet Johannes in his suite to learn how to play Go. Minerva decided it was a peculiar game and not particularly to her taste—it either required more or less of her concentration than she was giving it, she wasn’t entirely sure which—but she was a good sport and did her best.

“After you have mastered the game, I believe you will enjoy it more, Minerva,” Johannes reassured her.

Minerva placed one of her black stones beside another, then she asked, “Is there anything I need to know about this party on Friday? Other than that the music has not been very good the past few years?”

“Not really. It begins early and goes late. People do generally invite a few guests, though I have not, myself, and they often arrive in the afternoon after lunch. Each of the school governors usually makes an appearance by dinner time, and the more sociable of them stay. Last year, Montagnon arrived in a carriage drawn by six Abraxans, as though it were nineteen-sixteen and not nineteen fifty-six. Hagrid was impressed, but I think everyone else was more amused. The permits he must have had to acquire and the spells he must have had to perform to hide them from the Muggles, all just to come to a Hogwarts party—rather ridiculous, everyone thought. He said it was because he was at his summer residence in Scotland.” Johannes snorted in derision. “But he is not on the Board of Governors this year, so we will not have that entertainment tomorrow. It is generally an enjoyable affair, although some years, one or two people become rather too inebriated, and more rarely, there are indiscretions whispered of later the next day, but it is far from a Bacchanalia. Albus usually comes for a while. He didn’t stay long last year. In fact, he rarely spends very much time at staff parties now that he has become Headmaster. He has never been very much for parties, but less so now. Declines invitations to all our little get-togethers.” Johannes removed four of Minerva’s stones. “I hoped that might change when he was not teaching all of the Transfiguration classes and had more time, but it has not. No, you do not want to do that Minerva. Here,” he said, indicating a point on the board.

“Why?”

“It will place pressure on me—I will have to choose to defend here or attack there. The move you were about to make did absolutely nothing at all except make a longer chain.”

“Oh. I see. I think.” Minerva placed her stone where he indicated. “I will try to get Albus to stay at the party longer. I am surprised, actually, that he is not more sociable.”

“He said something to me once about the dampening influence of his presence. That people would not feel as relaxed with him around. I assume it is because he is Headmaster, but Dippet always came to these things. He would arrive early and be one of the last to leave.”

“Is there any truth to what Albus said? Do people enjoy themselves more once he has left?” Minerva asked.

Johannes shook his head. “I do not think so. I think people would like him to stay. We are fond of him. It is true that he drinks more slowly than some, and that might make others less quick to refill their glasses, but he hardly stands about monitoring what people drink or what they say—or whom they might be indiscreet with. Although he does not stay long enough to do any of these things.” Johannes shrugged. “Perhaps you will have success in persuading him to stay. It would be good.”

“I will mention it,” Minerva said as she watched Johannes place another stone, encircling several of hers, capturing them. “I don’t think I am very good at this game.”

“It is too early to say that, Minerva. You must play more. I have a book on Go strategy. It seems a simple game, but it requires some skill. The book is in German, but if you would like, I could loan it to you.”

“Thank you. I would like that,” Minerva said with a smile. “I suppose I should learn the game better before I decide to give up on it.”

“One more game, for practice?” Johannes asked.

Minerva cast a _Tempus_. “Yes, one more. I want to see if Malcolm has returned yet. He said he would be back tonight and wanted to see me.”

“How is your grandfather?”

“Not my grandfather—well, not really my grandfather. He is Grandmother Siofre’s second husband. My Aunt Maisie is their daughter and my father’s half-sister,” Minerva explained. “He is not well. I expect that he will die soon.”

“And your grandmother? How is she?”

“She is doing well. She is a strong witch, and she has expected this,” Minerva replied.

“It still cannot be easy for her. Even a strong witch, if she loves her husband, will be affected. She must at least be very tired,” Johannes said soberly.

“I am sure she is. And I didn’t mean to imply that she was unaffected. She is simply … Siofre. She is strong, and she does have her family around her.” Minerva smiled as she enclosed two of Johannes’s white stones and removed them from the board.

“I am sorry she must attend her husband’s passing. I wish to send her my greetings and my … my sympathies, but I do not know if it is proper.”

“Of course. Such a thing is always proper.”

Johannes nodded. “I will write her a brief note, then, tomorrow, and hope that it is not a burden for her to receive it.”

Minerva smiled and reached over and patted his arm then gave it a squeeze. “You are a good friend, Johannes. And I am sure it will not be a burden.”

Twenty minutes later, with the book on Go under her arm, Minerva left Ravenclaw Tower and went down to the second floor to find her brother, stopping first at Gertrude’s rooms.

Gertrude opened the door and smiled when she saw Minerva. 

“Hello, Minerva! If you are looking for Malcolm, he has not yet returned, but I expect him soon. Would you like to come in?” Gertrude opened the door and stepped back as Minerva entered her sitting room. “I was about to have some vegetable broth. Would you care for some?”

“Um, no, thank you,” Minerva said.

“Tea, then? Spoonie could bring whatever you prefer. I usually have a vegetable and herb broth before bed, but I realise that many find it an unusual choice,” Gertrude said, quirking a slight grin.

“Some peppermint tea would be nice, thank you.”

Gertrude called Spoonie, and the tiny house-elf Disapparated, discreetly returning a few minutes later with a small teapot, teacup and saucer, and a little earthenware crock of dark, bronze-coloured honey.

Minerva sipped her fragrant tea while Gertrude sipped her bright green vegetable broth, the silence between them, warm and comfortable.

Gertrude finished the last of her broth and set her mug on the drum table beside her. “Did Malcolm have an opportunity to speak with you before he left again this afternoon?” she asked.

“Only briefly,” Minerva replied.

“So he didn’t mention his idea for a special project?”

“Special project?” Minerva shook her head. “No, no, he didn’t. What project is that?”

“I think I will let him tell you himself.” Gertrude paused a moment, then added, “I hope you will not reject his idea out-of-hand. He is very excited about it.”

“Something to do with the school? His classes? Wouldn’t that be better brought to you or Albus?” Minerva asked.

“No, something in the way of a personal project. Be honest with him about what you think, of course, but he is very enthusiastic about it. I would hate to see him disappointed.”

“Well, until I know what it is you’re talking about, I can’t say whether he will be disappointed or not. But I will keep in mind what you have said, and if I think it’s a daft idea, I will be diplomatic about it.”

Gertrude nodded. “You haven’t seen his new quarters yet, have you? He can show you tonight. There’s a door between our bedrooms, hidden in our wardrobes. We both thought that measure of secrecy a bit much, but Albus seemed very pleased with it. It is not very convenient to have to fight one’s way past layers of hanging robes to get from one room to the other, but it was well-intentioned. You can enter more conventionally through his front door this evening. It has a rather peculiar portrait—not as odd as the Silent Knight, but I do question your brother’s taste sometimes,” Gertrude said drily.

“Who is in the portrait?” Minerva asked curiously.

Gertrude looked as though she was about to answer, but then she shook her head and said, “Description fails. You must see her.”

Minerva laughed at that. “I look forward to it!”

“Did you enjoy your holiday?” Gertrude asked.

“Very much. I didn’t want it to end,” Minerva said truthfully, “but it was very good to get away for a few days.”

Gertrude nodded. “I am glad. And Albus is more comfortable with himself?”

“Yes, I think so,” Minerva replied. “I hadn’t thought of it that way before. Comfortable with himself. I always thought of it in terms of his comfort with me, but I suppose that was only part of it.”

“I am glad you are happy,” Gertrude said.

“I can’t imagine how I could not be happy. Thank you, Gertrude. You have been a good friend, even when I was unaware of it. Thank you.”

Gertrude twitched a slight smile. “I was beginning to despair of you both. I thought perhaps I would have to enlist Wilspy’s assistance and lock you both up together for a week!” 

Minerva laughed at that. “I actually don’t know if even that would have helped, but Quin’s final push seemed to.”

“I was worried about Quin for a while this summer,” Gertrude said tentatively. “I am not sure even now whether my concern was misplaced.”

“We are good friends, Gertrude. We have talked. He’s fine. At least, he says that he is, and I believe him,” Minerva replied.

“Good. You two might have been well-suited under other circumstances, but I knew where Albus’s heart lay and I believed that yours was with him, and I didn’t want to see Quin hurt. He is usually just a bit of a flirt, but remains aloof of any real attachments, so I was concerned that his affection for you might lead him to be hurt, or even that you would not be as persistent as you were and would … ‘settle’ is such an unfortunate word … that you would see in Quin an alternative, perhaps.”

Minerva shook her head. “It would be nice, though, if he became more open to seeing another witch. I thought to fix him up with Poppy, but that didn’t work out well. I suppose they haven’t very much in common.”

Gertrude shrugged. “After Reginald died, I truly did not believe I would ever be with another wizard again for the rest of my life. That changed, and now, completely unexpectedly, your brother has come into my life. I will always thank you for introducing us, Minerva, even if you had not a clue that we might find one another more than agreeable companions.”

Minerva smiled at the final phrase, but she said, “I am glad for you both.”

At that, the door opened and Malcolm stepped through. He looked tired, but his face lit up when he saw Gertrude and Minerva. 

“My two favourite witches! A lovely welcome for a weary wizard!”

“I am sure you have said that to many a witch,” Gertrude said drily, but with a smile.

“And meant it every time, though never more than at this moment!” Malcolm said with a grin. He bent and kissed Gertrude’s cheek.

“How is Herbert?” Minerva asked.

“Hasn’t regained consciousness. Mother thinks he has only a day or two at most, possibly hours. I would have stayed, but Grandmother Siofre insisted that I return to Hogwarts for the night. She doesn’t want to interfere with my career, she says.”

“It doesn’t sound as though there is much more you can do, anyway, and Mother and Dad are with her, and I assume Maisie and Dorcas are, as well.”

“Hmmph, those two witches are completely useless. Dorcas, especially. Just as well she only spends ten minute in the house at a time,” Malcolm replied with a shake of his head. “And Maisie … she alternates between carrying on in a manner that disturbs her mother and two minutes later being entirely oblivious to what’s going on. I don’t know how she sprang from Siofre and Herbert, to be honest. Completely daft, that one.”

“Perhaps I should go back in the morning, then,” Minerva said.

“You may have to if Herbert dies in the night,” Gertrude said.

Minerva sighed. “I don’t mean this heartlessly, but this is a particularly awkward time for him to die. I have to be here for the Sorting and the first day of classes. Even if Malcolm might be able to be absent and begin teaching a day or two later, I cannot. I hope that Siofre does not feel that I am neglecting her.”

“I am sure she doesn’t,” Malcolm said. “She understands. And she was very glad for your visit last night. So, would you like to see my new home?”

“I would like that very much,” Minerva replied. 

“I have moved most of my things from the flat, what was worth keeping, anyway. I think I will feel quite at home,” Malcolm said.

The two left Gertrude in her sitting room, Malcolm winking at her and saying that he would see her later. He led Minerva down the hall a short way, then stopped in front of a large portrait. Minerva managed to keep her jaw from dropping, having been forewarned by Gertrude that the portrait was unusual, but she did raise an eyebrow.

“Good evening, _mon cher_!” The woman in the painting greeted Malcolm with a wink and an appreciative look. Her accent sounded peculiar to Minerva, who couldn’t place it. “You look _trés délicieux ce soir_.”

The portrait was life-size, and the woman herself was impressive, and Minerva could easily guess what attributes had particularly attracted Malcolm to her. Her skin was the colour of dark chocolate, with reddish undertones, her nose was bright, and her golden eyes were sharp above high cheekbones. To have described her as “buxom” would have been an understatement, and she wore a very low-cut, bright yellow blouse and a long, colourful skirt. She had an equally bright scarf tied about her head and another around her broad hips. Once Minerva had overcome her surprise at the painting’s resident, she noticed that the room the portrait inhabited was filled with shelves of jars and bottles with peculiar contents—potions ingredients, Minerva guessed—and a number of small cloth bags hung from hooks along the edges of the shelves. There was a live chicken walking about in the background, as well.

“Good evening, Jeanette!” Malcolm said. “May I present my sister, Minerva. Minerva, this is Madame Jeanette Reneaux.”

Minerva nodded. “Good evening.”

“Child,” the woman said in greeting, nodding and looking at her with some amusement.

“Lagniappe,” Malcolm said.

“ _A bientôt!_ ” Jeanette replied as the door clicked open.

“ _A demain_ , Jeanette.”

“Where on earth did you find such a painting?” Minerva asked after they had entered the sitting room and closed the door behind them.

“In one of the storerooms. She reminded me of an old friend,” Malcolm said. He smiled, and his smile grew to a grin. “A very good friend, in fact. Anastasie Celeste Duprée. Mmm-hm. A very warm friend. Met her in Brazil through some mutual acquaintances.”

“I didn’t know you spoke Portuguese,” Minerva said, distracted for a moment from the story of Anastasie Celeste.

“Oh, I don’t. I tried to make do with a bit of Spanish, some French, and a lot of good will!” he said cheerily.

“So what was that password if it wasn’t Portuguese?”

“Lagniappe. It means … that little something extra. That unexpected extra. The good extra that life sometimes give you, you know? A bonus. Like Gertrude,” Malcolm explained. “And it’s not Portuguese. Don’t really know what it is. But Anastasie was from Louisiana, so I think it’s from there.”

“It doesn’t sound French or English.”

Malcolm shrugged. “I don’t know, but Anastasie was certainly something extra. A lot extra.” He grinned again.

“That is most unseemly, Malcolm! I hope that you haven’t told Gertrude that you chose this portrait because it reminds you of a former lover. She is most devoted to you,” Minerva said reprovingly. 

“Oh, no. I _did_ mention that she reminded me of someone I once knew.”

“If you leered like that when you told her, you gave away precisely how _well_ you knew her,” Minerva said, still somewhat disgusted.

“It was just a fling, you might say. We had fun, but it was absolutely nothing like being with Gertrude.”

“Hmmph. Well, if you can live with your conscience, it’s up to you.”

Malcolm smiled softly, not seeming to have heard Minerva. “I’m going to marry her, you know,” he said, almost in a whisper.

“Really? Gertrude didn’t say anything about that.”

“I haven’t said anything to her about it yet. But I’m going to marry her. A bit of Charmed canvas and oil is inconsequential compared with that.”

“Hadn’t you better speak to Gertrude, then?”

Malcolm shook his head. “I should first tell her that I love her, I think. And then make sure she knows that I really do love her and that I’m not going anywhere. Then I can ask her to marry me, when she has faith in me.”

“You haven’t told her you love her?” Minerva asked, surprised.

Malcolm shook his head. “I think she knows. But things … it has never been quite the right time. And I know that she has had other wizards before me who loved her and who were far more worthy of her than I am. I need to be worthy of her, Minerva. I don’t want her to think that I am saying it lightly or in order to attain any gain from her.”

Minerva took a deep breath and shook her head. “It’s your relationship, Malcolm. But you were going to show me your new living quarters,” she said, looking around her.

The sitting room was decorated primarily with Hogwarts furniture, but it was more sparsely furnished than most staff sitting rooms. Minerva recognised some things from Malcolm’s flat, including his Chagall with its bright colours. There were a few things that she hadn’t seen before, including a long, narrow tube leaning up against one wall, but she assumed he had brought them from his flat, as well.

Minerva nodded politely. “Very nice, Malcolm. I am glad you hung the painting here. It’s very cheery.”

Malcolm grinned at her. “Happy you like it. I had them remove half the furniture. The house-elves were quite disturbed that I didn’t think it necessary to clutter the room with a half dozen chairs with lamps at every turn,” he said. “Through here is my bedroom, likewise simplified.”

Minerva stepped through the door to her left. There was almost nothing in the room but the bed, the wardrobe, a small table, and a bench, but there was a large potted plant, a small tree, actually, near the window.

“It’s … clean,” Minerva said, trying to think of something polite to say about the Spartan room.

“I intend to have more decoration at some point, but I like it like this. Through here is the bathroom, and the loo is there. Not quite as posh as yours, but the nicest I’ve had,” Malcolm said. “I have a kitchen almost identical to yours, so I’m pleased with that, as well.”

“Have they assigned you a house-elf yet?” Minerva asked as they returned to the sitting room. She took a seat on the sofa and Malcolm sat across from her in the one armchair in the room.

“They were going to, but I’d just as soon do for myself most of the time, so Gertrude is sharing Spoonie with me just to take care of the routine housekeeping,” Malcolm replied.

“That sounds reasonable,” Minerva said, “particularly if you are going to spend most of your time with her.”

“I hope so. She may grow tired of having me so close.”

“I rather doubt that,” Minerva replied. “Well, it’s getting late. I should be going, leave you to Gertrude, who is expecting you back.”

“Do you have just a minute first?” Malcolm asked, looking somewhat nervous.

“Of course.”

“I just wondered if I could ask you a favour.”

“Just ask. I’ll let you know if I can’t manage it,” Minerva said. 

“It’s a rather large favour, actually. I’ve just been thinking. There’s something I have wanted to do for a long time, and I’ve never had the opportunity. I also haven’t really been in one place long enough, either.” Malcolm shifted in his seat. “I was wondering if you could help me with a Transfiguration project.”

“I don’t know. I suppose I might be able to, depending on how busy I am. What sort of project?” Minerva had never thought Malcolm to be overly interested in Transfiguration, although he was perfectly competent in it.

“I want to become an Animagus,” he said.

“An Animagus?” Minerva was very surprised, and she didn’t hide it.

“Yes. I thought you could teach me.”

“I don’t know, Malcolm—”

“Please, Minerva? I will be here all year. And I know you think I lack discipline, but when I want to do something, when I’m motivated, it’s different.”

Minerva hesitated. “I am not sure. Part of it is simply that I have never heard of anyone out of their twenties being able to manage it. Quite frankly, it may be too late, no matter whether you are disciplined about it or not, or even whether you might have had the innate talent for it earlier in life.”

Malcolm’s face fell. “Oh … I had really hoped … but do you actually believe it’s too late? Maybe it’s just that no one ever tries it when they’re older.”

“Let me think about it and talk to Albus, too. He will know more about it than I do.”

“That’s not ‘no,’ then!” Malcolm grinned. “What kind of animal do you suppose I could become? A Hippogriff, maybe? Or a falcon? I’ve always liked kestrels, too.”

“It doesn’t work that way. You have a form inside of you—or you don’t—but you have a form and it expresses itself. It’s extremely rare for an Animagus to become a magical creature, so don’t count on that, and often a person’s personality traits are expressed in some way, though not always. For all we know, despite your normal level of energy, you could become a tortoise.”

“A tortoise? That doesn’t sound like much fun,” Malcolm said with a frown.

“Why don’t we both think about it, then, and I’ll talk to Albus? In the meantime, read _The Emergent Creature: Focussing the Human Mind to Evoke the Latent Animal Within_. I have a copy that you can come by tomorrow and borrow. Even if you decide not to pursue this, it will probably interest you—and Albus wrote it, too.”

“Really? I thought I’d read everything he wrote,” Malcolm replied, “but I’ve never heard of that one.”

“He used a pseudonym for some reason—I think because he didn’t wish to advertise that he is an Animagus. He’s not even registered in the public records at the Ministry, so don’t mention it to anyone.”

“What is his form?”

“I think you should ask him about that,” Minerva said.

“You and Gertrude! You sound just like her sometimes, you know that, Minerva?” Malcolm said, throwing his hands up and pretending exasperation. 

Minerva laughed. “There was a time when that suggestion might have offended me!”

“I’m glad it doesn’t any longer,” her brother replied, “or I would have to take offence in return!”

Minerva returned to her own rooms, making a mental note to find her copy of _Emergent Creature_ and pull it out for Malcolm. She wondered briefly whether Albus would come to her that night, but decided not to think about it. She would prefer to be pleased and surprised if he did than to be disappointed if he didn’t, which was the more likely.

She was in the bathroom getting ready for bed when she thought she heard something coming from the other room. She turned off the water. Yes, she had definitely heard something: Albus’s voice calling to her.

Minerva went back out into the sitting room. There was no one there, but she caught just a glimpse of a green flash in the fireplace. She took a pinch of Floo-Powder, lit a tiny fire, tossed in the Powder, then stuck her head in and called out, “Headmaster’s Office!”

A moment later, Albus was kneeling in front of his own fireplace.

“Hello, my dear! I just tried calling you myself. I was just headed upstairs, so I am glad you caught me.”

“Why don’t you just Floo through so that we can speak more comfortably,” Minerva suggested. She hated Floo-Calls, especially making them.

Minerva pulled her head from the Floo and stood. She didn’t have to wait long before he was standing in front of her.

“Mmm, I have missed you today, Minerva!” He bent his head and kissed her lightly on the lips. He repeated the kiss, reaching beneath her dressing gown and finding her breast. He didn’t cease his kisses, moving his lips sensuously over hers as one hand fondled her breast and his other hand opened her dressing gown, which had only been loosely tied about her.

Minerva carded her fingers through his hair, the other hand resting on his shoulder, and when Albus began to push the gown from her shoulders, she lowered her arms and let it fall to the floor. Albus pulled her toward him, rubbing her back and caressing her buttocks as he continued his slow, sensual kisses. Pleasurable thrills coursed through Minerva’s body as he repeatedly took her lips between his own and his hands moved over her skin.

Finally, Albus, somewhat breathless, looked down at her and whispered, “I had not thought to do that, but you are too enticing.” He gazed down at her breasts and reached to caress them with one hand, the other still cupping her buttocks. His thumb brushed her nipple and he licked his lips. “So very enticing.”

“Will I ever be able to properly seduce you, Albus?” Minerva asked with a smile. “You would make it much too easy.”

“You did a very nice job of seduction in the stairwell,” Albus reminded her.

“True … and sometimes it is very nice to be seduced, as well,” Minerva said. 

“May I seduce you, then, Professor McGonagall?”

“I believe the fact that I am standing here nude in front of you after you removed the robe from my body renders seduction rather moot tonight,” she replied, “however, you certainly may at some other opportunity. I believe I might enjoy it. In the meantime, I think you might simply like to continue what you have begun.”

“I believe I would enjoy continuing. I do so love to see you nude, Professor, and to be able to touch you and kiss you everywhere.” He kissed her lightly. “May I make love to you, Professor McGonagall, give you pleasure and take the pleasure of your beautiful body?” His thumb flicked over her nipple again.

“Please do, Headmaster. I am sure that after the long day you have had, you would benefit from some recreation before bed,” Minerva replied.

Albus smiled somewhat naughtily. “I had a meeting with some members of the Board of Governors this evening, as you know.”

“Yes. It sounded as though it was bound to be quite dull,” Minerva said.

“Oh, it was, very dull. Especially when they began to argue amongst themselves.” He continued to fondle one breast and brought the other hand around to touch her soft folds, one finger finding her clitoris. “When they do that, I always wait until they are done before moving the meeting along. Just let them burn themselves out. I usually occupy my mind with some other piece of Hogwarts business or ponder a problem posed in one of the recent journals, but this evening, I found other thoughts to divert myself with.”

Minerva, her breathing growing heavier as he fondled her clitoris, swallowed and said, “You did?”

“I certainly did. I thought of you and of our lovely days on the island together, then I thought of what I would like to be doing with you at that moment instead of sitting there with them,” he said, his voice low and his gaze intense.

“What did you think you might like to be doing with me?” Minerva asked.

“I thought I would like to have you there, sitting there beside me behind my desk, and I would charm open the front of your robes from the waist down and then banish your knickers. No one would know, no one would see you but me, and I would casually reach down between your legs and touch you, fondling your wetness, and no one would know.”

Minerva’s knees were going weak, and she backed up, Albus never removing his fingers from their caresses as he followed her. She sat on the couch and opened her legs to him, closing her eyes.

“I would fondle you and finger you, and you couldn’t do anything to stop me without having everyone know that the Headmaster was pleasuring you there behind his desk,” Albus continued, his voice deep and roughened with his own desire. “You would sit there, trying to control yourself, but finally, you would come, unable to even moan your pleasure, just holding yourself taut as my finger pleasured you just as I am doing now, stroking your sweetness and bringing you pleasure. But then you would drop your quill on the floor under the desk, and as you knelt to get it, you would fix your robes, then draw your wand and split mine open. You would see how excited it had made me to pleasure you, and before you returned to your chair, you would give me one teasing lick. Then you would sit and pretend to listen to what everyone was saying, but you would charm the feather of your quill to begin to brush against my erection. Someone would ask me a question, and I would have a very hard time concentrating on my answer because as you moved your fingers over the surface of the desk, the feather would move over my cock. Finally, they would all leave, and I would not be able to stand because my erection was emerging from my robes, the feather still teasing it. You would show them out, then as soon as they all left, you would come over to me, remove your robes as I stood and removed mine, and I would push you to the floor and fuck you until you came, right there on the floor of my office.” He moved his finger from her clitoris to her opening, then said, “And that, my dear Professor, is what I thought about when they were blathering on about nothing.” 

He inserted his finger, lowered his head to her nipple, and began to thrust as he suckled. Minerva began to come almost immediately, his caresses and his words having already brought her to the brink of orgasm.

Minerva grasped at his hair and moaned, arching and lifting her hips to meet his thrusting hand. “Oh, gods, Albus, Albus, yes, yes …”

As she collapsed back against the cushions, Albus gave her breast one more kiss, then he withdrew his finger, waited for her to open her eyes, then he licked his finger clean.

“You are such a naughty boy, Albus, first that fantasy—both its subject and having it while sitting in a meeting—then undressing me and touching me as you did, then that … licking your finger. What a very, very naughty wizard you are!”

Albus grinned. “I enjoy being naughty with you, Minerva. Or even just being naughty thinking about you.”

“Did you really have that fantasy while you were in the meeting, or did you make it up just now for my benefit?” Minerva asked.

“Oh, I did indeed have it while they were droning on. I didn’t hear a word they said, though.”

“Were you excited? Sitting there thinking about me like that?”

“Very. I had quite an erection by the time the discussion got back to pertinent issues. Fortunately, no one noticed, and it subsided some before I had to stand to bid them good night. But that was why I wanted to see you.” He took Minerva’s hand and guided it to his erection. “It came back quite quickly when I saw you standing there in nothing but your dressing gown. You are quite a temptress, walking about hardly clothed.”

“I was in my own sitting room, Albus,” Minerva reminded him, “and you’re the one who removed the dressing gown.”

“And aren’t you glad that I did?” Albus asked with a grin.

“I suppose so,” Minerva teased, “but only because you are such a naughty wizard, and I don’t know what you would have done if I hadn’t let you.”

Albus chuckled. “Then I would have had to kneel and beg for your attentions. I would kiss you, everywhere I could reach while on my knees, and try to persuade you to allow me to remove your dressing gown, and if you would not let me, I would have to simply part it and begin to kiss you here,” he said, touching her crux, “in hopes of convincing you to allow it.”

Minerva spread her legs further. “Since you are such a naughty wizard, I think that you should do exactly that, right now, if that is what you want, to kiss me there. In fact, I insist on it. Kiss me there and bring me pleasure, you naughty wizard.”

“Must I?” Albus asked, but with no protest in his voice.

“Yes, you must. It is your punishment for being so naughty and thinking such dirty thoughts during a meeting with respectable witches and wizards,” Minerva said.

“Very well, Professor,” Albus said, “if you wish. I will face my punishment.”

He began to part her folds with his fingers, but Minerva moved his hand away. “Your lips and tongue only, you very naughty, dirty wizard!”

Albus placed a hand on either thigh and Minerva watched as he approached her crux. His tongue emerged and he parted her lips, licking first one side then the other, his tongue stroking her clitoris as he did so. He drew back a moment to look at her swollen nub, then he leaned forward again and kissed it lightly, then drew it between his lips. He began to flick his tongue rapidly across her clit as he held it between his lips, before opening his mouth wider and stroking his tongue over it, up and down, up and down, repeatedly, then stopping to kiss it again. He licked from her opening back up over her clitoris, and Minerva restrained a moan as he began to flick the tip of his tongue back and forth across it. She clenched his shoulders as he pleasured her, and her breathing quickened until finally she could not restrain her moans any longer.

“Yes, yes, you naughty, naughty wizard, yes, yes, gods, I’m coming, I’m coming on your mouth, yes! Yes, Albus!” Minerva kept crying out as she came, and when the pulsing pleasure began to wane, she urged him to place his head on her stomach.

“That was wonderful, Albus,” she whispered, caressing his hair. “Truly wonderful. I hadn’t even expected to see you tonight, so this was a treat. Thank you.”

Albus, his eyes closed, smiled. “You are most welcome, my dear. It hasn’t even been two days since we made love, and already I felt the need to touch you and to remind myself of the reality that you love me.”

“Was it necessary to keep doppelganger-Albus away?” Minerva asked teasingly.

“I believe he is gone for good, but it is best not to take any risks in that area,” Albus said with a little chuckle.

“Will you stay tonight?” Minerva asked. “I would like you to stay, and I would also like to continue this in the bedroom with a bit more participation on my part and more satisfaction on yours.”

“We certainly can continue this,” Albus replied. “But I did find this very satisfying, although I can imagine other kinds of satisfaction that would also be enjoyable.”

“And can you stay?”

Albus nodded against her. “Yes, I can stay. I don’t know how we will manage in the school year, though I have given it some thought. It would be nice if I could spend at least two or three nights a week with you, when circumstances permit—and if you will allow. In the meantime, I told Dilys that if I am not in the Tower at night, she should come down and get me here if there is an emergency of some sort. No one need know that she is coming here rather than my bedroom, but the trip to my bedroom takes some time, even with the hidden staircase so close, yet if there are people waiting for me in my office, or even just someone in the fireplace making a Floo-Call, I cannot very well Floo directly to the office. I must give this more thought,” he said.

“I am glad you are. I was not looking forward to merely snatching a few minutes of intimacy every now and then—and I don’t mean just sex, either, although I mean that, as well. I just like being with you, just the two of us.”

Albus raised his head. “I will see what I can do to make it as easy as possible for us to spend time together like that. I found it very difficult to be apart from you last night—as you know from my late arrival in your bedroom. I hadn’t thought that would be as hard as it was for me.”

Minerva caressed his cheek. “I was very touched by that, Albus.”

“I was glad you didn’t think it silly of me.”

“No, not at all. You sometimes are a silly wizard, but that was not one of those times.” Minerva smiled at him affectionately.

“And sometimes a naughty wizard,” Albus added, quirking a slight grin.

“Yes, and sometimes delightfully naughty,” Minerva agreed. “I hope you don’t mind that I said that or, well, told you what to do and said it was a punishment for being a naughty, dirty wizard,” she said awkwardly. “I know that you sometimes are uncomfortable with certain things.”

“No, I didn’t mind. It was actually quite arousing. And I am completely aware you don’t mean it in a negative way,” he replied. “I know that you’re worried because of what I said a few days ago, about worrying that I might feel differently about us, that somehow, one of our games would make me feel as I did when I was young—unclean, used, or even as though I was being manipulative myself. But it doesn’t. It truly is completely different with you. And it could actually be fun at some point to … to pretend.”

“Pretend what?”

“Pretend that … to pretend that you only want me for my body and what I can do for you sexually, that we don’t really know each other. I don’t know if I would want to pretend that just yet, but I think someday, it might be fun to play that way. If you think so, too, of course,” Albus said.

“It might be. But not yet. We have a great deal of time to play together,” Minerva said. She took his hand and brought it to her lips, kissing it. “Let’s go to bed, Albus, let’s go to bed and just make love. And,” she added, looking down and surveying him, “you should shed those clothes before we do. I want to feel your skin against mine.”

“Yes, my dear, as you wish.” He kissed her hand, and at her slight scowl, he smiled and added, “I love to feel your skin against mine, too.”

The next morning, Minerva stretched as she woke, reaching out for Albus. Realising that he was no longer beside her, she sat up and saw him fastening up his robes.

“I am sorry, my dear. I did not mean to wake you. I was going to tell you before I left, but I wanted you to sleep as long as you could.”

“Why are you up?”

“I need to change and begin the day,” he said. “I thought that if you wished, you could join me for breakfast in about a half hour, unless you wish to eat with the rest of the staff later.”

“No, I’ll join you. I can always go down and have some tea and a slice of toast to be sociable.”

“Very good idea, my dear,” Albus replied, coming over and kissing her cheek. “It will be a busy day, with the party and various guests arriving. I understand from Gertrude that Poppy’s guest this year is your brother Murdoch. We will have three McGonagalls here!”

“People will begin to think that we are taking over,” Minerva said with a yawn. “I am looking forward to the party, although I’m wondering whether it will be awkward. It may be difficult to be at the party with you and not be together.”

“I am sure we will cope. I don’t plan to stay long, anyway,” Albus said. 

“You don’t? You should. I think that people will be disappointed.”

“You mean that you will be disappointed.”

“No, not just me. People like you, and in addition, they like to know that the Headmaster wants to spend time with them. And it creates memories for them.”

“I will think about it,” he said, bending to kiss her once more. “We will see. In the meantime, I hope to see you for breakfast in a little while.”

At breakfast, an owl arrived for Minerva, a large Eagle Owl with two black bands around his legs, and Minerva sighed, knowing what it was before she even looked at the letter.

“I think it’s Herbert,” she said as Albus tried to give the owl some bacon that neither he nor Minerva were eating, but the bird was more interested in his black pudding, so Albus somewhat reluctantly shoved his entire plate toward it, and the black pudding disappeared in a few gulps.

She broke the seal, and as she drew out the black-rimmed letter, a dirge emitted from the large envelope. Minerva nodded and handed the death announcement to Albus, who read it sombrely.

“The funeral will be Sunday, but it doesn’t say when,” Minerva said with a sigh, losing her appetite for the rest of her breakfast.

“Whenever it is, you must go, of course,” Albus said. “I doubt very much that it will be in the evening, so you will be here for the Feast and the Sorting.”

Minerva nodded and put her napkin on the table. “I think I should go now, see if there’s anything I can do, though I doubt there is.”

“Very good, my dear. If you are needed, stay as long as you must. If you are back later in the day, though, come find me. I thought we might spend some time together before the party. But only if you can return. Stay however long you need to, and do give Siofre my love and sympathy.”

“I will go find Malcolm. We can go together.”

Two hours later, Minerva was back, and she went straight to the Headmaster’s Office.

“My dear!” Albus exclaimed as she came through the door. “I hadn’t expected you back so soon. How is Siofre?”

“As well as can be expected. Better than I expected, actually. At least she seems better. She has more grace and strength than I think I could muster. They celebrated their forty-first wedding anniversary just a few weeks ago.”

Albus had risen and come around the desk. He put his arms around Minerva and kissed her forehead, then held her as she laid her head on his chest. 

“Mm, this is nice,” Minerva said, relaxing into his embrace.

“Yes, it is. Very nice,” Albus agreed. “Unfortunately, I’m expecting Filius in a few minutes. But I am free after lunch and I thought if you were back, we might spend some time together. I also have a little bit of a surprise for you, but that’s for later—two surprises, actually.”

“Surprises? I love your surprises!” Minerva said happily, looking up at Albus with a smile. “Can I guess?”

Albus chuckled. “You can try, my dear, but I doubt you will succeed. Meet me back here at two o’clock, all right?”

Minerva nodded. “I will look forward to it. I talked to Malcolm again, by the way, and told him what you said this morning about the challenges of becoming an Animagus at his age, but he still wants to try, so I said we could start next weekend.”

“Very good. I think it is worth trying as long as he realises that it may not be possible,” Albus said. He looked toward the door. “I believe Filius is on his way up, Minerva. Someone is, anyway.”

“I think I may have felt the tingle myself then,” Minerva said. “Or … it could just be being so close to you!” She gave him one quick kiss then stepped back just as there was a knock on the door.

Minerva offered a few pleasantries to Filius, told him that she was looking forward to the music that night, especially, she said, if there were some nice lively dance tunes, then she left the two wizards to their meeting.

After lunch, Minerva brought Malcolm back up to her rooms and gave him her copy of _Emergent Creature_. 

“It’s the copy that Albus gave me when I was a student, so I would appreciate it if you were particularly careful with it. I don’t normally lend it out. I have a few others that you can start after you’ve read this,” Minerva said, handing him the book.

“Thanks, little sister! You are terrific!” Malcolm said excitedly. 

“You’re welcome to come in and check my shelves for other books that might interest you,” Minerva offered, “but I do ask that you check with the Knight to see if I’m in and if I have a visitor before you let yourself in.”

“Of course—wouldn’t want to interrupt anything!” he replied with a wink.

“Yes, and I sometimes have a guest in my sitting room, if you take my meaning, so please do make sure that I’m really not in before you let yourself in.”

Malcolm laughed. “Well, I am very glad to know that Albus isn’t being too much of a gentleman anymore!”

Minerva blushed. “He is always a gentleman, Malcolm. He has just relaxed, that’s all.”

“Right!”

They spent the next half hour discussing his Animagus training, and as two o’clock approached, Minerva said that she had another meeting, but that she would see him that evening at the party.

Albus was waiting for her when she arrived in his office, dressed in her favourite close-fitting robes of sky blue with the matching over-robe with the puffy white clouds drifting across it.

Minerva greeted him with a hug and a kiss. “You look utterly delicious, Professor Dumbledore!” 

Albus smiled and his cheeks went faintly pink with pleasure. “Thank you, my dear. You look lovely yourself. I like these mossy robes. And the nice lacing,” he said, pulling gently on the top of the ribbon, but not loosening it. “It offers intriguing possibilities to the imagination.”

“Mmm, I do hope you exercise that imagination, Professor Dumbledore. I look forward to it.” She kissed him again.

“I thought that perhaps first we might have a little exercise. It is a beautiful day. Shall we take a walk in the gardens, Professor?”

Minerva smiled happily. “I would enjoy that very much.”

Albus leaned forward and kissed her cheek, then his lips moved to her ear, and he whispered, “Have I told you recently that I love you, Professor McGonagall?”

“You have mentioned it, but you could never mention it too frequently, Professor Dumbledore,” Minerva answered.

“And have I mentioned recently how very alluring your burr is and how it gives me a thrill whenever you say my name like that?”

Minerva laughed softly. “No, Professor Dumbledore, you had not mentioned that recently, and I believe I had forgotten that.”

“Mmm-hm. Very enticing.” He kissed her cheek again, then said, offering her his arm, “Shall we take that walk now?”

“That would be lovely,” she replied, placing her hand lightly on his elbow.

“There is something of particular interest that I would like to show you, in fact.”

“One of my surprises?” Minerva asked.

“Perhaps! We shall see,” Albus said, smiling at her with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “We shall certainly see!”


	140. Sorted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Students are Sorted – and an obstacle or two, as well.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Blampa, Malcolm McGonagall, Gertrude Gamp, Johannes Birnbaum, Murdoch McGonagall, Horace Slughorn, and others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexually explicit content.

**CXL: Sorted**

Albus and Minerva took the Headmaster’s shortcut down to the dungeons then exited through the door at the base of the north tower. 

They strolled toward the gardens, Minerva’s hand on his arm, and Albus asked, “Are you looking forward to the party tonight, my dear? I worry that your family loss will dampen your mood.”

“I am sorry and saddened, of course, but Herbert hadn’t seemed well for a long time. We also weren’t very close, though I liked him. It is harder for me to know that Grandmother Siofre is grieving. I am looking forward to the party, nonetheless.”

They reached the gardens near the greenhouses and Minerva smiled at the profusion of colour. As they walked, they spoke of the Welcoming Feast, the Sorting, and the upcoming school year.

“Johannes told me that he will be giving a tour of the gardens to some of the guests this afternoon,” Albus said. “In fact, I think I hear them coming. I would rather we not be seen together just at the moment. I am also enjoying our private walk.”

Minerva felt disappointed that Albus didn’t want to be seen with her. They were only taking a walk in the gardens, after all, and she had kept her hand discreetly on his elbow. It was hardly a circumstance that anyone would raise an eyebrow at, and certainly not the stuff of gossip. But Albus quickly took her hand and pulled her along, away from the approaching voices.

“I think we can avoid them if we duck in here,” Albus said in a low voice as they rounded the corner behind Greenhouse Three and its attached potting shed.

He tugged at her hand, stepped into the vine-covered nook, and vanished. Minerva could feel a slight tingle as she followed him into the small alcove, as though she had stepped through a cool veil of magic, and she smiled. Albus placed a finger to her lips.

“Shh. We don’t want them to find us,” he whispered. 

Albus turned his head and looked out. There was no one visible yet, but Minerva could now hear their voices more clearly as a witch asked a question and Johannes answered her. 

“When I was a student, there was a bench here,” Albus remarked, still whispering. “I am afraid, Professor McGonagall, that we will have to stand until the visitors leave.”

He bent close to her, his breath tickling her ear. “No one can see us, my dear, but there is only a very light Imperturbable, so if we speak too loudly, they will be able hear us.”

Albus glanced toward the gardens again. Johannes and his little tour group hadn’t reached that area yet. He looked down into Minerva’s eyes and held his finger to her lips again. Still gazing intently into Minerva’s eyes, his finger grazed her cheek as he removed it.

“Professor McGonagall,” he breathed. “Oh, my dear Professor.”

He raised his finger to her lips again, but this time, he traced their outline. Very tentatively, he bent his head, his lips approaching hers, then he drew back and looked into her eyes again before brushing his lips lightly against hers. His teasing touches elicited pleasurable thrills, and Minerva’s heart beat faster. It sounded as though the visitors had reached the gardens beside Greenhouse Three, but they had not yet walked around behind it. Albus was undeterred, however, and although he straightened to look into Minerva’s eyes again, he did not allow himself to become distracted by the nearby voices.

Albus caressed her cheek, then began to kiss her again, this time less tentatively, sensuously moving his lips over hers, then taking her lower lip between his and sucking it lightly. As one hand continued to touch her cheek and throat with feather-light caresses, his other hand strayed to the front of her robes, seeking and finding the laces at her bodices. He tugged, untying their neat bow, then he pulled on them again, slowly unlacing the front of her gown as he kissed her. 

Minerva had placed her hands at his waist as he kissed her, but now she brought one up to rub his chest. Albus drew back and shook his head; with a slight smile, he took the wandering hand and placed it above her head, pressing it gently against the wall. Minerva felt a tingle of magic, and her wrist was held lightly in place. She could tell that if she wished, she could simply pull it away with only a small effort, but she didn’t wish to. In fact, as Albus resumed his kisses and began to finish unlacing her bodice, she brought her other hand around to touch him through his robes. She couldn’t restrain her smile as he took that hand, kissed it, then brought it up to join the other, leaving her feeling fully open to him and his caresses.

Albus bent and kissed her lips again, his fingers parting her bodice then finding her chemise. Lacking patience to undo each of the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons on the lacy undergarment with its Self-Adjusting, Automagical Support Charm, he simply ran his finger down them, and they all released at his touch. He brought both his hands to Minerva’s breasts now, caressing and fondling them, then breaking his kisses to look down at them with appreciation. He cupped her breasts and rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, pleased at how peaked and rosy they were. Leaning forward, Albus kissed Minerva’s throat, feathery kisses teasing her soft skin as he fondled her breasts. He began to move lower as Minerva’s breathing quickened. His lips closed over her nipple and she let out a low, soft moan. Albus straightened and placed his finger at her lips again.

“Shh, or they will hear.” He looked out into the gardens just as Johannes and his small group of guests came into view. 

Albus looked down at Minerva, a naughty smile on his face, and he pressed against her, rolling his hips so that she could feel his erection through his robes. He placed his hands on her sides and lifted her, bringing her breasts up to a convenient level, using a little magic to aid him and to keep her in place. Another charm, and the skirts of Minerva’s robes split neatly down the front. Albus slipped one hand into her knickers and brought the other to her breast as he began to suck her nipple again. Minerva’s breathing began to come in gasps, although she tried to restrain them from becoming moans, and she spread her legs, opening her crux to his fingers. A moment later, and her knickers were gone, his fingers were pleasuring her, and he moved to suckle at her other breast. Minerva tried to press into Albus’s hand, but then his hand was gone as he stepped back as far as the tiny nook would allow. He looked her up and down, then he opened a slit in the front of his robes and his cock sprang free.

Minerva turned her head and looked out. Johannes was now only a few yards away. Whatever charm or ward Albus had cast, though, was quite effective, since the Herbologist and his group of a half dozen guests and a few Hogwarts staff members were all completely oblivious to the fact that she and Albus were just feet from them. Albus stepped forward and moved Minerva down a few inches, then, pressing his erection against her bare skin, he leaned toward her and whispered into her ear.

“They cannot see us, my dear. Do not worry!”

“I was not in the least worried,” she whispered in reply. “I admit that I am somewhat … torn between being uncomfortable and being titillated by their presence.”

“Would you like to stop? Is this better remaining a fantasy?”

“No, don’t stop, please,” Minerva whispered, wiggling against his cock. “I need you. Fuck me, Dumbledore. Fuck me hard.”

Albus almost couldn’t restrain his own moan, and he kissed her, pulling her tongue into his mouth. He reached between them and fondled her clit again before guiding himself into her, sliding his cock into her wet warmth. Minerva couldn’t keep herself from giving a slight moan as she raised one leg and hooked it around him; Albus paused, groping in his pocket for his wand. Blinking and trying to concentrate, he raised his wand and cast a strong Imperturbable around them. 

He put the wand back in his pocket, then he said, still softly, “I don’t know whether I can be completely quiet, myself, Professor McGonagall, now that I know what you want, and I want it too.” He kissed her lips sensuously. “And I do so want to fuck the respectable Head of Gryffindor behind the Greenhouses, take you here, fuck you hard, and have you come around my cock. I want you. I want you, Professor.”

Albus had begun to move as he spoke, pumping slowly and raising his hands to fondle her breasts. Minerva finally pulled her wrists from their light Sticking Charm and put them around his neck. She pulled him to her and kissed him, moaning softly into his mouth. Albus thrust faster and harder, each thrust stimulating her clitoris and her sweet spot. Minerva began to come; as she came, she held on tightly to his hair, then muffled her louder moans against his shoulder, biting down, gasping as her orgasm passed through her in waves. She was barely aware that the small group standing outside their little hiding place began to move off, away from them.

“Oh, gods, Minerva! Minerva, my love, Minerva, yes, yes, my love!” Albus came hard in her, thrusting a few more times, then stilling his movements and gasping for air.

Albus wrapped his arms around her and leaned his forehead against the wall behind her. Minerva lay her head on his shoulder.

“I love you, Albus,” Minerva said softly.

“I love you, my dearest Minerva.” He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then raised his head and looked at her, a slight smile on his face. “Was that satisfactory?”

“Quite,” Minerva said with a grin. “Completely unexpected, and very naughty of you, but more than satisfactory.”

Albus kissed her hair. “I had been thinking about your fantasy, and whereas my fantasy yesterday would be impossible to indulge in—and I wouldn’t really want to try it, anyway—I thought that with a few precautions and modifications, I could indulge you in yours quite safely. I wanted to do it before the students returned, since I don’t think either of us would be comfortable having any wander past even if they couldn’t see us. I put the wards on this morning while you were gone, hoping you would have some time to come out with me today.”

“Mm, I liked your precautions, but I must say that having only the light Imperturbable added a bit of real danger to the situation—in a good sense,” Minerva said. “But now, we have to get out of here somehow.”

“I can fix up your robes for you, my dear. Don’t let me forget to remove the wards, or some students may find a perfect trysting spot.”

Minerva laughed. “Your wards would make the prefects’ jobs much more difficult, that’s certain!”

After he had helped Minerva button her chemise and lace her bodice, then repaired the neat slits he had made in the skirts of their robes, Albus conjured a small bench.

“Let’s just sit here for a while. I feel the need to recover a little longer,” he said.

“It’s not a very big bench,” Minerva observed.

“It’s not supposed to be a very big bench,” Albus said with a wink, sitting down and pulling her into his lap.

Later in her rooms, Minerva thought of how very sweet and romantic Albus was. She had always believed he would be a warm and affectionate lover, and it was certainly one of the things that had continued to attract her to him over the years. But she was pleased, too, at how adventurous and playful he had become. Without a doubt, their time on the island had been very good for them, freeing up most of his final inhibitions and allowing him to express himself with her in an open, loving, and trusting way. It might have taken weeks, or even months, to have achieved that if they had stayed at Hogwarts. Having time just to be themselves had been very good for every aspect of their relationship. Now if she could only keep herself from behaving too familiarly with him in public … . Minerva knew quite well the little things that could give them away. Yet people were aware that the two were friends. If she maintained too much distance, that could raise curiosity, as well.

The holiday had been good in another way, as well: she had decided on an appropriate gift for Blampa. Minerva went to her vanity and found the small item that she had chosen earlier. She had already cast a few charms on it, and it was now ready to be presented to her cheerful little helper.

“Blampa!” Minerva called, returning to the sitting room.

Within seconds, Blampa was there, smiling and bobbing her head in anticipation of being of service.

“Blampa, could you prepare tea for two, please?”

Ten minutes later, Blampa had returned with the tea service and a plate with a variety of biscuits, including ginger newts.

“Where you be’s wanting your tea, Professor Minerva?”

“Here by the sofa would be most comfortable for my guest, I believe.”

Blampa set the tea out on the coffee table, then asked, “Professor Minerva, may I, Blampa, serve?”

“Yes, Blampa, you may. I would like to invite you to have tea with me this afternoon,” Minerva replied.

Blampa looked at the tea service. “But you has a guest coming, Professor Minerva.”

“I hoped that guest would be you, Blampa.”

Blampa seemed unsure of what to say, so Minerva sat on the couch, then said, “Won’t you have a seat?”

Blampa perched somewhat precariously on the edge of the couch, her short legs dangling.

“I will pour, as you are my guest,” Minerva said. “Do you take milk or sugar in your tea?”

Blampa shook her head.

“You don’t like tea, or you drink it black?”

“I, Blampa, likes tea with sugar and milk,” Blampa said softly.

Minerva fixed their tea and handed Blampa her teacup and saucer.

“I invited you to tea, Blampa, because you have been so very much help to me over the last few months, and I wanted to thank you.”

Blampa seemed to flush. “I, Blampa, is happy when my Professor Minerva is happy.”

“I know, and I appreciate that very much—won’t you drink your tea? It will get cold,” Minerva said. After Blampa had taken a sip, Minerva continued. “I would like to show you my appreciation properly and let everyone know what a very fine house-elf you are and how happy I am that you serve me and that I would never want another house-elf to take your place.”

Blampa definitely blushed at that, her cheeks a pinkish-lilac. “I, Blampa, is very, very happy, Professor Minerva.”

“That is why I have prepared a special gift for you to demonstrate your value to me,” Minerva said carefully, aware that Blampa’s sense of servitude might make it difficult for her to accept a gift if it weren’t presented in the right way.

“A … a gift?” Blampa squeaked, her teacup clattering in its saucer.

“Yes, just a token of my esteem for your great service and of my affection for you,” Minerva said. “Not payment in any way, just a … a symbol of your service to me.”

Minerva set her teacup and saucer down on the table then reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, slightly worn, blue cardboard box. She took Blampa’s teacup from her, since the house-elf seemed frozen in place. 

“This is for you, Blampa,” Minerva said, handing her the little box. “I hope you like it.”

Blampa trembled as she lifted the lid on the box. When she saw its contents, she burst into tears.

Oh, dear. Perhaps this had not been a good idea. Minerva pulled out a handkerchief and tried to hand it to the sniffling little elf.

“I’m sorry, Blampa. If you don’t like it—”

“Oh, Professor Minerva! Blampa loves it. I, Blampa, loves it! I, Blampa, never deserving such a wonderful witch and such a wonderful present!”

“Of course you do! And I haven’t always been so wonderful. I have my moments, but I am often cross and short-tempered, but I appreciate you and how hard you have worked.”

Suddenly, Blampa threw herself at Minerva, who found herself with a lapful of house-elf, Blampa’s long, skinny arms around her neck. Minerva awkwardly patted her on the back, reminding herself that Blampa was apparently quite young, as serving house-elves went, and evidently far more emotional that she had realised.

Almost as precipitously as she had launched herself at Minerva, Blampa disengaged herself and returned to her corner of the sofa.

“Do you like it, then?” Minerva asked. “Would you like to keep it?”

Blampa, still sniffling, but smiling as well, nodded and took Minerva’s shiny Gryffindor prefect’s badge from its box. Now, instead of “Prefect” in the centre, it said, “Blampa, House-Elf,” but Minerva had left the Gryffindor emblem in place. It had been a slight wrench to part with it, but she thought that it would certainly put Scruffy, or whatever his name was, in his place. “Piddly little thing,” indeed! 

“It has the Gryffindor seal on it, you see, Blampa, so I thought it would be appropriate, since I am the Gryffindor Head of House, that you have something that you can wear that shows that you serve me—you’re a kind of honorary Gryffindor. Do you like it?”

“I loves it, Professor Minerva. I loves it very, very much,” Blampa said, smiling as she looked at the badge and touched it with one long finger.

“May I pin it on you?”

After they each had a little more tea and a few happy-tasting ginger newts, Blampa popped away, wearing her new badge on her left shoulder and promising that she would keep it polished “all sparkly.” 

 

“I just came to tell you, my dear, that I will be leaving the party in ten minutes,” Albus said in a low voice.

The party wasn’t bad at all—certainly far better than the staff parties that she had felt obligated to attend when she was at the Ministry. The music was good, the food was excellent, several of the guests were quite interesting, and she had even had two dances with Albus—after he had danced with three other witches first, but she didn’t mind. Besides, she had danced twice with Quin, who had been invited by Gertrude and Malcolm, twice with Johannes, and even had one very energetic dance with Malcolm. 

Yes, aside from the near-brawl between her youngest brother and Slughorn, it was quite a nice party. And if she were completely honest, Minerva had actually found the sight of Murdoch toe-to-toe with the unctuous Slytherin quite amusing, particularly when he called the older Potions master a “blathering numpty.” Apparently Slughorn had tried to claim that Turner, Murdoch’s erstwhile apprentice, had been an outstanding Potions student, which provoked Murdoch into shouting about danger to life and limb and the cost of replacing half of his backroom, and when Slughorn began blustering about what a fine wizard Turner’s father was, that just made Murdoch more angry, saying that it hadn’t been Turner’s _father_ who had blown up the laboratory. Poppy tried, unsuccessfully, to separate the two. Finally Johannes came over and made some peace between them, taking Murdoch off to discuss a new hybrid that he thought had potential potions applications.

“But it’s early yet,” Minerva said, putting down her glass and looking up at Albus. “You should stay. People are enjoying themselves.”

“Nonetheless, I am leaving in ten minutes,” Albus replied softly, “and I am hoping that you will meet me outside the gates in fifteen.”

“Oh. Oh!” Minerva smiled. “My second surprise?” After they had made love, she had been puzzled because he had said he had two surprises for her, but when she had asked him about it, Albus had only kissed her and stopped her from questioning him any further.

“You shall see!” Albus said with a wink. “Just meet me!”

Sure enough, ten minutes later, Minerva looked around, and Albus was nowhere to be seen. She waited five more minutes, then she edged her way out of the party. It was still going full swing, so no one noticed her hurrying down the drive to the gates, almost running in her eagerness to meet her beloved Albus, her secret lover. They might be keeping their relationship discreet for practical reasons, but at the moment, Minerva found the thought of having a clandestine relationship with Albus rather exciting.

Minerva pulled open one of the gates and stepped through, closing it behind her, then she looked around for Albus. She didn’t see him, but she heard him whisper from the shadows beneath the trees to the side of the road.

“Over here, Minerva!”

She walked toward his voice, then she caught a whiff of sandalwood and lemon as she felt his arms pulling her to him and invisible lips kissing hers. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sensations of his warm, solid body and the pulsing of his magic around her.

When he broke the kiss, Minerva laughed lightly. “That is always a remarkable experience, to be kissed by you when you are invisible to me, but I could never mistake you for anyone else.”

Albus chuckled. “And you were right, I do have a surprise for you, but this is not it. Hold on tightly!”

Minerva felt the familiar sensation of Disapparition and a moment later, they were in a narrow alley off of Diagon Alley. Albus shimmered and reappeared. 

“We have late reservations, my dear! Come along,” he said with a twinkle, offering her his arm.

Minerva smiled when she saw their destination. “Fortescue’s?”

“Yes, I thought one more outing before school begins,” Albus explained as he opened the door for her. “This is the first half of your surprise.”

Albus led Minerva to a table in the back, held her chair for her, then took the seat beside her as Florean Fortescue came over to greet them.

“Good evening, Professor Dumbledore! Professor McGonagall!” the cheerful proprietor said, smiling broadly. “You have something special in mind this evening, Professor?”

“Yes, please. Two Knickerbocker Glories, extra whipped cream on both,” Albus said. “If that is all right with you, my dear?”

“That would be fine, thank you! I can’t say that I will be able to finish it, but it sounds very good,” Minerva replied.

Fortescue brought them their sundaes, then locked up, charming his sign to say, “closed.”

When Minerva seemed surprised, Albus said, “I told you we had late reservations! He’ll just be cleaning up now, but otherwise, we have our own little private ice cream shop tonight.”

“Does this mean we can hold hands under the table?” Minerva asked with a teasing grin.

“We might even,” he said, leaning toward her and whispering, “be able to hold hands above the table.” He winked at her then scooped up one of her cherries and popped it into his mouth.

“You are naughty, Albus!”

“Mmm, very,” he replied, his voice low and his gaze intense, giving her goose bumps. 

“If you are so very naughty and you like my cherry so much, I may have to devise a fit punishment for you,” Minerva said, a rather naughty smirk on her own face.

Albus grinned and helped himself to some jelly from Minerva’s glass. “You do that, Professor! I will try to be a good boy and take it!”

“You are eating all my jelly!”

“You never eat the jelly in your Knickerbocker Glories,” Albus said. “There’s always a puddle of it at the bottom of your glass when you’re finished. I am simply saving you the effort of trying to avoid the jelly layers!”

“I don’t suppose you would mind if I took some of your whipped cream, then?” Minerva asked rhetorically as she dipped her spoon into his glass, wondering when he had noticed that she never ate the jelly layers.

Albus chuckled. “You can help yourself to as much of my whipped cream as you can find.”

Minerva frowned. He had already eaten most of the whipped cream. “You will have to make that up to me, Dumbledore. I expect it!”

He leaned over, gave her a slightly sticky kiss on the cheek, then he whispered in her ear, “I am sure you can find some other … cream that might suit you, Professor. Perhaps when you punish me for being so naughty.” His tongue flicked out and tickled her ear briefly before he pulled back and began to eat his sundae again, the perfect picture of innocence.

Minerva could feel a flush rising and entering her cheeks, but she tried to focus on her ice cream and not on the growing warmth and throbbing in her crux.

“And when will I have that opportunity?” she asked.

“I am sure you will find one, my dear!” he replied, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Hmmph. You do not play fair, either, Dumbledore,” Minerva said, pretending to be displeased with him. “But I will forget that for the moment. The ice cream is very good, after all.”

“Only the ice cream? Not the company?”

Minerva couldn’t help but give him a warm, affectionate smile. “The company is excellent. As is the surprise. Thank you, Albus.” She reached over and took his hand, squeezing it. “It’s a lovely date.”

“I am glad you are enjoying it. I am very lucky to be sharing ice cream with the most beautiful witch in the world,” he answered. “I had my eye set on her, you see, and my heart, so I thought a date in an ice cream parlour might be one way of winning her affections. Am I succeeding?”

Minerva laughed, and Albus smiled to hear her.

Fifteen minutes later, Fortescue had let them out of the shop, giving Albus a friendly wink, and the two walked arm in arm down Diagon Alley. Almost all of the shops were closed, but there were still a few pubs and small restaurants open, and there were still a number of people in the street.

“Time for the second half of your surprise,” Albus said. 

He drew her into the shadows of a shop doorway and put an arm around her as she leaned against him, ready to Disapparate. Minerva closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she immediately laughed in delight. He had Apparated them to the front of the cottage, and Minerva could hear the slap of the waves and smell the nearby sea.

“I didn’t see why we couldn’t spend another night here. Gertrude and Johannes are watching the castle,” Albus began to explain, but the rest of his words were muffled by Minerva’s kisses.

“Mmm, I am glad I could please you, my dear!” Albus finally said when Minerva rested her head against his shoulder.

“This is a wonderful surprise.”

“I didn’t have time to pop over and get anything ready for us, but Wilspy was here earlier in the week. I hope that you like the results of her visits.”

Before they entered the small stone cottage, Albus waved his wand to open all the shutters. As soon as he did that, Minerva noticed the first change. There were curtains in all the windows.

“Curtains!” Minerva exclaimed.

“Yes, and if you don’t like them, we can change them. Anything that you don’t like, we can change!”

When they stepped into the main room, Minerva only noticed the addition of two matching armchairs with a tall wrought-iron floor lamp beside each, whereas before, other than the table and its wooden ladder-back chairs next to the window in the back of the room, there had been only the sofa and a rocking chair.

“I like the chairs,” she said.

“They’re from the other cottage. If you don’t like the fabric, that’s easily changed. They were in my parlour in the old place, so they don’t match the sofa. I thought of bringing them here before, but never had a good enough reason to. Now, I do!” He turned to her and kissed her cheek. “I want you to be comfortable, my dear.”

“That’s very good of you. I really do appreciate that very much.”

“As I said, it is your island as much as it is mine now. Don’t forget that!” He took her hand. “Let’s go upstairs and I’ll show you the other additions.”

Minerva immediately noticed that there was a vanity set between the two windows at the front of the room, the one which had been his mother’s and which Albus had said matched the rest of the bedroom furniture. There were now two identical bedside stands, and the bench that Albus had been using on his side was now sitting next to the large wardrobe.

“It’s a lovely vanity and mirror, Albus. Thank you.”

“I’m afraid that in order for it all to be a surprise, it wasn’t possible to have you pack—although I suppose we could have enlisted Blampa’s help there—but we have to leave in the morning anyway. Still, I added a few things to the vanity—which you needn’t use if you don’t like them, of course!”

Minerva walked over to admire the vanity more closely, and she immediately saw a little silver dish filled with hairpins, much like the porcelain one she had for that purpose in her rooms, and a silver-backed brush, an ornate comb, and a hand mirror that matched the brush.

“I didn’t have very much time to select things for you; I hope those are suitable,” Albus said nervously, coming up behind her. “And I’m sure there are other things I should have bought that I didn’t think of—”

“I like them very much indeed, Albus. When I travel, I have a small brush I bring with me in case I forget it somewhere, but the brush I prefer is very similar to this one. Now I have one for each place.” She turned, put her arms around him, and looked up into his face. “You are too wonderful to me. You spoil me utterly.”

“We won’t always have the time for me to spoil you, my love—as much as I would like to do so daily and hourly—but I thought that while I am able, I would spoil you as much as possible! I do love to spoil you!”

“It makes it difficult for me to spoil you, though, Albus, if you are always spoiling me!” she protested mildly.

“Just being with you spoils me completely, Minerva.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. “I am happier than I ever dreamed possible.”

Minerva returned his kiss, then she sighed and relaxed into his embrace.

“There is one other thing that I had Wilspy bring from storage, but … I wanted your opinion of it, and I was unsure myself about it.”

“What’s that?” Minerva asked.

“I had her bring the head- and footboard for the bed. It matches the rest of the furniture, but when I got the new mattress … I just didn’t want to use it any longer. But I thought … I thought that I had used it for years before that, and it is part of my parents’ bedroom furniture, and I thought you might like it. And that using it was better than not using it.”

“Ah.” Minerva was quiet for a moment, thinking. “I do think that we should use it, Albus, but not tonight. We should get it out and set it up when we know we will be here for several days. We can get used to it together, create new associations for it.” She looked up at him and grinned. “I can think of certain new associations that I will be very pleased to create for you!”

“I love you, Minerva. I love you so very much.” Albus closed his eyes and kissed her, savouring her soft warmth in his arms and her sweet lips on his.

The next morning, Minerva woke first, as usual, and much as she loved lying there beside Albus’s warmth, she remembered what he had said once about it being nice to have a cup of tea before one’s feet hit the floor in the morning. Moving very carefully so as not to disturb him, Minerva eased out of bed and shivered slightly. She went over to the wardrobe and found an old dressing gown of Albus’s and wrapped that around her. Rather than risk waking him by rummaging around looking for socks or slippers she could Transfigure, Minerva conjured a pair and slipped her feet into them. She thought could Transfigure some tea towels when she got down to the kitchen for something with a bit more “feel” to them.

Less than ten minutes later, a tea tray following her, Minerva went back upstairs to find Albus still asleep, though he was now hugging her pillow, which made her smile. Minerva Summoned the bench and set the tea service down on it, then she went around to the other side of the bed, leaned over, and kissed his cheek.

She kissed him again, then she whispered his name in his ear. Albus took a deep breath and let it out. Minerva kissed his cheek once more, and finally, his eye blinked open.

“Good morning, Albus!”

“Mmm, Minerva.” He rolled toward her. “You aren’t in bed.” He reached up and caressed her arm. “And you are no longer in that beautiful state of nudity you were in when we fell asleep.”

“It’s a bit chilly this morning, so I borrowed a dressing gown. I remembered what you said about liking tea before even getting up, so,” she said, gesturing toward the tea service by the other side of the bed, “I brought us tea!”

He smiled up at her. “You didn’t have to. I thought I would make us breakfast before we returned.”

“I _know_ I didn’t have to, Albus! That is the point. I wanted to. Now,” she said briskly, “I’ll fix us each a cup, then I’ll climb into bed with you to drink it.” She paused as she walked back around the bed. “Would you like me to get you a dressing gown?”

He grinned. “Only if you’re giving me that one, my dear!”

“I thought I taught you the consequences of being naughty last night!” Minerva replied with a smirk.

“I suppose you will need to continue to teach me my lesson until I learn it,” Albus said, still grinning. He sat up, took his wand from the bedside stand, and removed the light filters from the windows—which he had still placed the night before despite the curtains, since they were sheer and lacy—then he cast a light warming charm on the room as Minerva prepared their cups.

Albus sipped his tea appreciatively, then he said, “We haven’t spoken about Herbert’s funeral on Sunday morning, but I thought that I should go with you. I have known Siofre since school, after all, and I would like to be there for Merwyn, as well, and for you and Malcolm.”

“Thank you, Albus. I am sure that Siofre and the rest of the family will appreciate it.” Minerva hesitated. “It’s, um, I don’t know if you know this, but it’s a church funeral service at eleven, and then a burial in the churchyard. He was a church-goer his entire life. Siofre found it one of his few eccentricities, and she even went with him occasionally. But that means Muggle attire.”

“Was he Muggle-born?” Albus asked curiously.

“No, although it’s possible that one of his parents was either Muggle-born or half and half.”

“I know very few purebloods who go to church with any regularity at all,” Albus remarked. “Even most Muggle-borns find it too much of an inconvenience even if they do not share the … the distrust of the established church that many pureblood families have passed down through the generations.”

“I don’t know why, but it was important to Herbert, and I don’t believe that Siofre even considered any other kind of funeral service. I assume that they had spoken of it, too.”

“I will wear my black suit, then,” Albus said.

“There’s a reception of sorts at the house afterward,” Minerva said, “after the one in the church hall for the Muggles, so it is likely to go a bit longer than normal.”

“I will stay as long as you wish me to, my dear,” Albus replied. “Everything is in fine shape at the school, and I still have today to do those last minute tasks and to meet with staff.”

“We will certainly be back in the early afternoon, well before the Express arrives with the students.”

After he finished his tea, Albus dressed and went down to make them breakfast while Minerva bathed and changed. When Minerva joined him, she took a deep whiff.

“Something smells utterly luscious!”

“A luscious breakfast for a luscious witch!” Albus quipped. “I hope you enjoy it. I nipped out and got a few apples. I made us baked apples with raisins, cinnamon, and honey, and I toasted what remained of the brown bread. It was in the fresh cupboard, so it seemed fine once I toasted it, and I was happy to see that there was still some butter left. Next time we come, even just for a quick trip, I will have to ask Wilspy to see to our larder. If we hadn’t been here recently, it would have been just baked apples and plain porridge.”

“That would have been fine. The apples smell wonderful. Very clever of you, too!”

Albus smiled and blushed with pleasure.

Over breakfast, which was even better than it smelled, Minerva remarked that it was good of Gertrude and Johannes to look after the school for them.

“It is, although they would be there, in any case,” Albus said.

“I am happy that Johannes and Malcolm are getting along so well,” Minerva remarked.

“You were aware, then, that Johannes was fond of Gertrude?” 

“That much is obvious to anyone. He was more than fond of her, is what you really mean,” Minerva said as she scooped out some soft apple and raisin.

“I think he had already come to terms with the fact that he and Gertrude were destined to be friends but no more,” Albus replied, refilling his teacup.

“Yes, well, that may be, but it’s one thing to accept that the woman you care for is only interested in friendship and quite another to see another man come in and in the space of a few days sweep her off her feet after you had spent years as her friend and wishing for more,” Minerva pointed out.

“Yes, you are right, of course. It certainly surprised me to see how quickly Malcolm swept her off her feet, as you put it.”

Minerva looked at him over her teacup. It seemed as good a time as any to ask the question that was on her mind. “Were you and Gertrude ever more than just friends?”

Albus choked on his tea. “Pardon?”

“It always seemed that you two were very close, and I often had the impression that she cared for you a great deal. I thought … I thought she might be in love with you.”

Albus blinked, trying to think of how to respond to that.

“You have known her many, many years,” Minerva said.

“Yes.” Albus cleared his throat. “We have been friends for a very long time. She … she loves me, certainly, but she was never in love with me. There was a time when we were more than just friends, though, yes.”

“Before Valerianna, I presume.”

“Yes, long before Valerianna. We had … I don’t want to call it an affair, precisely, but we were lovers for a short time during the war. We … she broke it off because we were still really just friends and she didn’t want it to become more. She still wasn’t ready and she knew that I didn’t want more at the time, either.”

“ _She_ broke it off?” Minerva asked, surprised.

“Yes. We were still close, though, and we did have one more … afternoon of intimacy before the end of the war. And then later …” Albus shrugged. “I did wish to court her after the war. I had the time, security, and emotional energy to develop a relationship with her, I thought, and so I made overtures, but she declined.”

Minerva furrowed her brow. “That surprises me—not that you had an intimate relationship with her, but that she turned you down. I actually had believed the opposite was likely.”

Albus chuckled. “It is nonetheless the case. Simply because you cannot imagine not being in love with me doesn’t mean that another witch might find it less than appealing.”

“But Gertrude …” Minerva said thoughtfully. “If _she_ rejected _you_ —when was that? You once told me that after you realised that your feelings for me were changing, that you were developing romantic feelings toward me, you thought you might court a witch. Was she that witch, Albus?”

Albus blushed and nodded. “I do love her, you know, Minerva,” he said softly. “It may not have been completely fair of me, but it wasn’t a lie when I told her I wished to court her. Oh, dear, that didn’t come out right, either. I simply meant—”

“I know what you meant, and it’s all right, I understand. But you know, I think that you underestimated Gertrude’s feelings for you. I think she already knew you were falling in love with me. She knew you better than almost anyone— perhaps better than anyone at that time. I think that she didn’t reject you because she didn’t love you enough, but because she _did_ love you and she wanted only what was best for you.”

Albus was quiet for a moment. “Perhaps … she said at the time that she wasn’t really what I wanted. She said that she didn’t want to keep me from happiness. At the time, I thought she was trying to let me down gently, as they say. But now … Oh, Minerva, that makes it all so much worse, the way that I treated her!”

“I am sure she knows that you were sincere in your desire to court her, Albus. I doubt that she felt used. I’m also certain that, knowing you as well as she did, she knew you were unaware of your feelings for me, or that you were denying them.”

“No, I don’t mean then. But when she tried to warn me away from Valerianna.” Albus shook his head. “I said some very unpleasant things to her, Minerva.”

“You mentioned something about that before.”

“I didn’t admit to what I said to her, though. It wasn’t merely that I disbelieved her or that I wanted to give Valerianna a chance, but I accused Gertrude of not wanting me yet not wanting me to be with anyone else, either. I said that she was selfish, and I told her that she had no claim on me and no business saying anything about whom I chose to court.” Albus’s voice was soft. “I was so unfair to her. It must have hurt her dreadfully.”

“It probably did at the time, but she is well over it, no doubt,” Minerva said. “She is, as you have repeatedly told me, a generous witch. She loves you and I am certain that she forgave you long ago.”

Albus nodded.

“It is just fresh for you now, Albus, because you only realised how hard it was for her,” Minerva said practically. “I don’t think there’s any need for you to worry about it now. And don’t forget, Gertrude seems quite happy with Malcolm. He is certainly very happy with her. Despite all the forces working against it, I think that things have turned out as they should.”

Albus smiled. “Of course. You are right, my dear.” He reached across the table and took her hand. 

Minerva returned his smile. She was curious about their relationship and how they had moved from being friends to becoming lovers, but she thought that would be a conversation for another day. Now, though, she was certain that Gertrude had been in love with Albus and that it had not been an easy thing for her to decline his courtship. She had yet one more reason to be grateful to the older witch—and to be glad that she and Malcolm had found each other. Gertrude more than deserved her chance at happiness.

 

Minerva collapsed on her sofa and kicked off her Muggle shoes. She had charmed her blue suit black, but she hadn’t put any comfort charms on her shoes, and her feet ached. She would really have to remember those in the future. She didn’t know how Muggle women could bear the tight narrow toes and the lack of any arch support. The silly things must all have deformed feet, she thought crossly.

Fidelio came into the landscape above the fireplace and barked. Minerva groaned, but she waved her wand and opened the door. With only staff in the castle, she didn’t even bother looking up to see who it was.

“Minerva?” Johannes’s tentative voice called.

“Oh, Johannes, please, come in.”

“You seem tired,” he said, coming around and taking the armchair across from her, trying to avoid looking at her legs, which were stretched out in front of her, her sore feet up on the coffee table.

“I am. I think I will take a nap before the students arrive. I don’t know how I’ll make it through the Welcoming Feast, otherwise. It would hardly do for the Head of Gryffindor to fall asleep during the Sorting,” she said with a wry grin.

Johannes chuckled. “I always have a strong drink beforehand, followed by an espresso or two.”

Minerva’s eyebrows rose. “A strong drink?”

“Just a small one. But strong,” he said with a grin. “I started that tradition my first year as Head of House. I was so nervous, I thought I would vomit—pardon me, Minerva. Now, Gertrude and I always have a drink before the Feast … I don’t suppose we will this year though.”

“Come by here, Johannes,” Minerva said impulsively. “I’ll take up the tradition with you. It’s your last Welcoming Feast. You don’t want to miss out on it this year.”

“All right. That would be nice … you will not be with Albus?” Johannes asked. “Er, that is, I thought perhaps—”

“I am sure that Dumbledore will be very busy before the Feast,” Minerva said. Changing the subject, she added, “Grandmother Siofre was very touched by your gift. She wanted me to be sure to tell you. She spent several minutes with it and said that the bright, pungent scent was so pleasant, she thought that she would keep it in her bedroom. She had never seen a Memory Plant before, and she said that it was very soothing.”

Johannes smiled. “Yes, they are quite a rare evergreen, and difficult to find because the few that there are, people cultivate for potions ingredients. I thought she might like it for its milder effects.”

“It was very thoughtful. She said to tell you that she’ll not be greetin’ long, but that the plant will help her through her dools.”

“She will what?” Johannes asked, confused.

“She doesn’t plan a long period of mourning, and she thinks that your gift will help her to focus on the good memories and ease her grief.”

“Ah, I see.” Johannes nodded. “Well, I shall leave you to your nap. I will be by at four o’clock with a bottle!”

“And I’ll have my house-elf provide the espresso,” Minerva said, standing to see her guest out.

“You mean, ‘Blampa, House-Elf’?” Johannes asked with a grin. “Your little token made quite the impression on all of the other house-elves, you know. I had to provide mine with a tea towel with the Ravenclaw sigil embroidered in the corner.”

“Oh, dear, I hadn’t meant to create any problems!” Minerva exclaimed.

“No, no problems created,” Johannes said, reaching the door. “It was quite amusing. Horace complained the loudest. His house-elf wanted something fancier, but he had to make do with a decorated tea towel in Slytherin green with little silver snakes in the corners.” Johannes laughed.

After the Herbology teacher left, Minerva undressed and lay down. She scarcely seemed to have fallen asleep when Blampa, a cup of tea floating at her elbow, was waking her up.

Minerva dressed carefully as she sipped her tea, selecting a deep green under-robe with a high collar and an emerald green teaching robe to layer over it. She supposed she should have a teaching robe with Gryffindor colours, but she didn’t think that the scarlet would suit her complexion, and that the bright colour would be distracting to the students. Somehow, Albus could get away with wearing almost any colours when he taught, although even he seemed a bit too “Father Christmas” in scarlet, which was the official Gryffindor red. Perhaps she could acquire some robes with red and gold trim, though.

At a few minutes before four, the Knight came into the landscape in her sitting room and announced that her friends had arrived. Minerva’s eyebrows rose. She had expected only Johannes. When she opened the door, it was his smiling face that she saw, and Gertrude and Malcolm were standing behind him.

“I brought along some more company,” Johannes said.

“That’s lovely,” Minerva said as the three stepped in. “My, Malcolm! You look … you look very nice!” His hair and beard were very neatly trimmed, the curls in his hair looking springy and soft, and he was wearing a long, dark teaching robe that fastened all the way from the mid-chest to just above the ankle.

He grinned at her. “Thank you! The teaching robe is a gift from Tru.” He leaned toward Gertrude and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “She gave me three, two for everyday, but also very nice, and this one, for good.”

The robe was a beautiful heavy silk, damasked with shimmery dark green threads woven through the black, with dark green velvet trim all the way to the ankle then around the hem. At the chest, there were two Gryffindor crests embroidered in dark gold threads on the velvet plackets.

“You look quite fine, Malcolm. You certainly outdid me!” Minerva said with a laugh. 

The four each had a shot of firewhisky—which made Minerva shudder and wish for her father’s mellow, warming Scotch—then followed it up with espresso, brought by a very cheerful Blampa, who was now wearing her badge right dead centre of her chest.

Finally, Gertrude stood and said, “The students will begin to arrive soon. I have to go meet the first-years. I will see you three later at the Feast.”

Not long after, the other three walked down to the Great Hall, where most of the older students had already gathered, talking and greeting each other noisily after their summer away. Minerva smiled to see how much some of them had grown. She hoped that the Sorting didn’t take long and that Albus’s welcoming speech was short. She hadn’t eaten very much at the funeral lunch, and despite the espresso, she thought that the firewhisky had gone to her head.

Fortunately, Albus’s speech was mercifully short, though warmly welcoming, and the Sorting went quickly. Minerva paid particularly close attention when Gertrude announced, “Alroy Cormac MacAirt,” and she couldn’t help but return Alroy’s big grin with a small, pleased smile of her own when the Hat, before it even touched the boy’s head, shouted out, “Gryffindor!” and the young redhead waved at her then flew down to join his new House.

 

Minerva smirked as her brother walked into the staff room after dinner. They had made it through the first day of classes, and from the murmurs she’d heard among the students, Malcolm was considered either daft, brilliant, dishy, or the best thing since the Four Founders—and sometimes all four at once among the older Gryffindor girls.

“So, how’s ‘Professor Malcolm’?” she asked.

“Just peaches, little sister!”

“Don’t call me that here, Malcolm!” Minerva chided.

“There’s nobody here but us,” he said, taking a seat. 

“Others will be arriving shortly, though,” she replied. 

There was going to be a brief staff meeting to determine whether there were any problems that required attention, after which Minerva anticipated that she would have a few homesick first-years to counsel. She thought she might offer them ginger newts; they were, after all, happy-tasting biscuits.

“So, what is this ‘Professor Malcolm’ business?” Minerva asked, sitting down across from him.

He shrugged. “It seemed less confusing than having two Professor McGonagalls, and since you are a Head of House and will be here much longer than I, I thought that you should retain the dignity of your title.” Malcolm barely suppressed a grin.

“You do know that half your students think you’re daft, don’t you?”

“Seems they don’t know anything about fresh air around here—think it’s reserved for Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology, or something. More than half of the dangers they’ll be facing won’t be indoors, and they certainly won’t be in a classroom. Since I’m also the Flying Instructor and Quidditch coach, I thought taking classes in the Quidditch stadium to be most suitable. I can set up different environments and obstacles quite easily, and Wilhelmina and I thought we might even combine a few lessons on some of the more dangerous beasts.” He poured himself and Minerva each a cup of tea from one of the teapots that had appeared on the table in anticipation of the meeting. “I’ll not always meet with them there, of course. Sometimes, we will use the classroom, and other times, with the older students, we may even take some field trips.”

Minerva took the cup that Malcolm handed her. “Thank you. Well, most of them seemed to have enjoyed it. I was positively dull in comparison,” she said with a short chuckle. At Malcolm’s expression, she said, “Oh, don’t worry, Malcolm! It was the first day, and our subjects are very different.” Minerva smirked again as Gertrude came into the staff room. “Do you also know that the consensus among the girls is that you are quite ‘dishy’?” she asked her brother.

Malcolm laughed at that, and Gertrude smiled. 

“I, too, heard that there is a very dishy new teacher on staff,” Gertrude said. “I wonder who it could be?”

“Ah, Tru! You wound me!”

Gertrude chuckled then took her usual seat as other members of the staff began to trickle in.

Other than a few complaints about Peeves, and Professor James asking nervously what he was supposed to do when a student started to cry because they were homesick, no one had any problems to report, and the meeting was over quickly. Poppy cheerfully volunteered to spend the next few evenings down in Hufflepuff with James and told the new Head of House that he could call on her at any time.

After the meeting, Albus said, “Professor McGonagall, may I see you for a few minutes, please?”

“Of course.”

As soon as everyone had left, Albus stood and came around the table to her. “How was your first full day, my dear?”

“It was fine. I had fun teasing Malcolm, though. You are probably aware, though I was not, that he is teaching his classes outdoors, and the students vary between finding him daft and brilliant.”

“Ah, yes! And I believe I heard the adjectives ‘handsome,’ ‘bonny,’ and ‘dishy’ used, as well!” Albus said, his eyes twinkling.

Minerva laughed. “I never thought of my older brother as the type of wizard teenage witches would develop crushes on, I must admit.”

“You do know that some of the older boys think their Transfiguration teacher is quite a pretty witch, don’t you? I had a few seventh-year students last year who grumbled quite loudly that they would prefer to be looking at you for the class hour than at me,” Albus teased. “And I must say, I agreed with them completely!”

“Oh, Albus!” Minerva blushed.

“But I did not ask to see you in order to tell you what a very pretty witch you are, although I am glad of the opportunity! I had some time this afternoon, and I paid a rather lengthy visit to your Knight. If you have time, I thought we could discuss what I learned.”

“Yes, although I think if we could go to my rooms, that might be preferable. I don’t want to be away from Gryffindor Tower too long, and I also have rounds later this evening,” Minerva said.

The two Flooed from the staff room to Minerva’s sitting room. Minerva stuck her head out her door to let the Knight know that she had returned, in case any students came around looking for her.

Minerva settled down in the armchair across from Albus. “You know, Albus, before we discuss your afternoon, I have a question for you.”

“Yes, my dear?”

“When I was a student, your rooms were in that hidden part of the Tower, and yet you always seemed to know when something was going on—or usually, anyway. I know that you sometimes set wards on the Fat Lady’s portrait, and we prefects sent you messages through the Portrait Network, but I never did know how you knew when a party was getting out of hand without us calling for you.”

“I listened. I had a charm on the common room so that I could monitor the parties. I didn’t eavesdrop, but if things got too loud, I could tell. Your rooms are actually designed so that you can’t hear very much at all outside of them, but if the ambient noise goes above a certain level in the common room, or if there’s an extremely loud noise, such as an explosion, you will be able to hear it just as if it happened in the next room to you.”

“Oh! I didn’t realise that.” Minerva frowned. “I suppose I won’t be able to sleep through them. I see now why Wilhelmina wasn’t fond of the parties in Gryffindor Tower after a Quidditch match. She’s an even earlier riser than I am, I believe. It must have quite annoyed her.”

“Yes, I think she found that difficult,” Albus said. “But she did a good job with the House, which was difficult after they had had the same Head of House for so many years and our styles were so different. I didn’t have an opportunity to ask you, but how did the House meeting go last night?”

“Well, I believe. I spoke, introduced the prefects to the new students, talked about the House, said something about Godric Gryffindor and his legacy, then I stayed for a few minutes before leaving it to the students to continue on their own. There haven’t been any tearful students at my door yet, unlike in Hufflepuff—poor Norman!—but Wilhelmina and Johannes tell me that the homesickness will be worst the first weekend and that I’ll probably start having visits from students earlier than that, either because of homesickness or because of a problem with a class or something of the sort.”

“Yes, I would say that observation is accurate,” Albus agreed. “The first couple weeks of school are the hardest, then there’s another spike partway through the fall—I think when everything has become more routine and they have more time and energy to spend on feeling homesick—and then that aspect tends to fade away for most of them and you’ll only have the more routine problems to deal with.”

“Well, before we are interrupted, why don’t you tell me about what you learned from your conversation with the Knight?” Minerva suggested.

“I will simply summarise for you, my dear. Now that your door warden has been freed from his geas, though not the final curse on him, he has been spending time roaming the Portrait Network when you are not in. In his travels, he made an interesting discovery.”

“Yes, what was that?” Minerva asked when Albus paused.

“Right here at Hogwarts, there is more than one portrait of the wizard who cursed him. You remember the wizard whose portrait at various stages of life guards the doorways to the shortcut that we take between floors? That is the wizard. The one in which he appears to be in mourning portrays him after he returned home to discover the young witch was dead.”

“How exciting! Could you question him? They don’t seem as animated as most of the other portraits in the castle.”

“I did. The depiction in the tapestry in the dungeons was the most help. It was done while the wizard was still alive, apparently, and he participated in its weaving. The most interesting thing is that he does remember the Knight, and he was surprised when the Knight had visited him earlier in the week. He confirms what the Knight said: he did indeed curse him as a living man into the tapestry. Unfortunately, as a portrait, and only a relatively primitive one, as wizarding portraits go, he was not very much help in determining why the geas was lifted but the curse was not. He did say that when the geas was lifted, the Knight would begin to live again. He was unaware that he had given him a dog for company, but he said that he presumed the same applied to the dog.”

Minerva looked thoughtful. “What does that mean, then?”

“I believe that it means that, unless we find some manner of freeing the Knight and Fidelio from the canvas, they will both grow old and die within its frame,” Albus said softly.

Minerva paled. “How dreadful!”

“Dreadful, yes, but we can try to find a way of freeing them. The Knight himself seems resigned to his lot. He wishes he could eat and drink genuine food, but he says that he would not know what to do with himself in this world after so many hundreds of years,” Albus said. “He would like to continue to serve you.”

“But if he’s not a true portrait, how will he be bound to the wards and the strictures place on the portraits in the Network?”

“I do not believe he would be bound by them, aside from those limiting access and egress. Obviously, I do not want to put him back into storage and disconnect him from the Portrait Network—that would be inhumane—but I have a few concerns about him remaining as a door warden. I will leave it up to you, however.”

“He was behaving unusually even before the geas was lifted—probably because of the geas itself.” Minerva thought a moment. “Well, I wouldn’t want him stuck off in a corner somewhere, and certainly not disconnected from the Portrait Network. His punishment has long since exceeded any crimes he committed. He does seem genuinely devoted to me. I think that if we had his promise that he would behave as any ordinary door warden would, requiring a password for entry regardless of who was at the door—and warn him about Polyjuice—and so forth, he might do just fine. If, of course, he wants to continue to serve me. He may be tired of it all and be happier just to hang in a corridor somewhere. Let’s ask him.”

Minerva called the Knight into the sitting room landscape and told him what they had discussed, then she asked him if he thought that he could be a reliable door warden, and if he could be, whether he wanted to continue.

“Yes, my lady,” he said with a bow, “I do wish to serve you still. It would be good to have some purpose in my life. I will endeavour to serve you to the best of my ability till my last days, if it is my fate to remain in this world as I am now.”

“Thank you,” Minerva said. “We will do what we can to make your life pleasant and, as you say, give it purpose.”

“And I will continue to look into ways of releasing you from the curse,” Albus added.

“No need. There are things that I do vaguely miss, but the most important of them, human contact, has been restored to me. I may not be able to reach out and touch you, but I can take part in life again. This has been my existence for many lifetimes. One more lifetime will be as nothing.”

“Nonetheless, I would like to see if we can give you your freedom,” Albus said.

The Knight shrugged and smiled. “Freedom is a notion with many interpretations. I am free now within the Portrait Network, free to speak when I wish, though I do find silence quite a comfortable state after so many years, and I am free to serve you. I might have less freedom if I were to step from my frame; I do not know. But if you wish to search for such a solution, you are free to do so.”

At that point, Fidelio entered the landscape and barked to announce a visitor.

The remainder of the week went very quickly, but Minerva found that all of the classes, all of the work, didn’t keep her from missing Albus. She knew it would get better as the students settled in, but she had not even been able to spend a single uninterrupted evening with Albus. She had been able to have tea with him every morning before breakfast, and she was grateful for the effort Albus expended to get up early and come around to her quarters so they could at least have that time together. But even one of their early mornings had been interrupted by a prefect coming to inform Minerva that a first-year, Caspar Lloyd, was missing and had apparently never returned to the dormitory the night before, but his roommates hadn’t wanted him to get into trouble, so had said nothing until that morning. It turned out the boy had only become lost on his way back to the Tower from the library the night before, so he did what he thought most sensible: he dossed down in the Great Hall for the night. As a result, Minerva gave the entire House a lecture on responsibility and gave all five Gryffindor boys detention—four of them, including Alroy, because they had not been responsible enough to report their friend missing when he could have been in danger, and Caspar for not having the responsibility to seek out someone and let them know that he was lost.

Still, as she walked down to dinner on Friday evening, Minerva felt oddly deflated. It wasn’t even just that she missed making love with Albus, although that was part of it; most of all, she missed simply being with him, sharing the everyday moments of life with him, waking up next to him, having him tease her, just loving him. She rounded the landing down to the ground floor, and she felt someone behind her, a wonderfully familiar someone. Minerva turned and saw Albus above her, and she smiled and waited for him.

“Good evening, Professor,” Albus said with a smile as several Ravenclaw fifth-years trotted down the steps past them. 

“Good evening,” Minerva replied. 

“Did you have a good day?”

“Quite. And you?”

“Very productive, indeed. In fact, I have something I need to show you after dinner, if you have a few moments, Professor,” Albus said.

“Of course,” Minerva said with a nod.

After the usual Friday fare, she and Albus left the Great Hall together and Albus led her to the gargoyle. As soon as the door closed behind them, Albus took Minerva in his arms and held her, kissing her for the entire trip up to his office. When they reached the top, Minerva sighed and leaned against him.

“I wish we could just stop here and hide for a little while,” she said.

“But I do have something to show you, my dear.” He kissed her lightly. “I cannot do that while we are standing here, as pleasant as this is.”

“Of course.” Minerva gave him a squeeze then stepped back. 

To Minerva’s surprise, Albus went directly to the fireplace and took up some Floo Powder. 

“We’ll be Flooing through to your sitting room,” he said with a mischievous grin.

“This isn’t Hogwarts business, is it?” Minerva asked rhetorically. She smiled. 

“You shall see!”

They Flooed through to her sitting room, where Minerva saw nothing out of the ordinary. She had thought perhaps he had arranged a special dessert for them, since she had noticed he had taken none after dinner. She mentioned that to him.

“No, no, my dear! I simply was eager to leave with you, that’s all!” He took her hand. “Now come!”

He led her into the bedroom, and Minerva felt an almost automatic physical reaction, but he did not head for the bed or make any romantic overtures. Instead, he led her to the centre of the room and gestured. There was a new door that had not been there before, on the wall perpendicular to the large windows.

“Open it!”

Minerva opened the door and stepped into her study.

“Lovely, Albus. Thank you. It will be convenient,” Minerva said.

“That is only the first part, my sweet one!” Albus followed her into the study. “Do you notice anything new here?”

“Other than the door?” When Albus nodded, she looked around then stepped toward the fireplace and picked up a small urn.

“And look inside!”

Minerva removed the large cork and saw a familiar sparkling powder. “Floo Powder? You connected my study fireplace to the Floo Network?”

“Not precisely,” Albus replied. He lit a small fire in the grate. “Toss in a small amount, step in, and say, ‘Spero.’”

Minerva took a pinch of Floo Powder, replaced the urn on the chimneypiece, then followed Albus’s instructions. She grinned in delight as she stepped out of the fireplace. A moment later, there was a whoosh of green and Albus arrived. He put his arms around her from behind and pulled her to him, kissing the back of her head.

“Your bedroom! How wonderful!” Minerva exclaimed.

“A little private Floo Network, my dear. It connects only those two fireplaces. This way, I can stay with you occasionally and Floo away to my rooms if necessary. If you have someone in your sitting room, they won’t notice me leaving, and if there is anyone waiting for me in my office, they will presume that I came directly from my bedroom. Dilys knows that if I am not here at night, but am with you and I am needed, she should go speak with your Knight, and he will fetch me.”

“You are brilliant, you know, Albus,” Minerva said, turning in his arms and reaching up to caress his face.

He grinned. “I am glad you are pleased. I thought that we could begin to try it out tonight and I could keep you company, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, Professor! I always enjoy experimentation!” 

“Would you mind if I brought a few things with me?” Albus asked. “My toothbrush, for example!”

“Silly wizard!” Minerva kissed him swiftly on the lips. “Bring your toothbrush and leave it. You will need to get another one for up here.”

Albus chuckled. “I hoped you would say that.” He made a beckoning gesture and a small carpet bag floated across the room.

When he caught it, Minerva said, “Come keep me company, Dumbledore. Come keep me company and let me beat you at backgammon. And after I win and all the students are happily asleep, I will take my reward.” She pulled him toward her and kissed him. 

“I love you, Minerva. You are my love and my delight. You hold my heart.”

“Always, Albus,” Minerva murmured. “Always.” And she kissed him again.


	141. Epilogue: ... and his stupid beard too!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus has plans for Minerva's birthday, surprising her.
> 
> Characters this chapter: Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sexual content.
> 
>  **Important Note:** There is one small part of the lemon in this chapter that contains some “experimental magic.” It might have **a very mild “squick factor”** for a few people, though it's not intended to. If you are among them, you can just skim ahead!

**Epilogue: _. . . and his stupid beard too!_**

Albus went over his mental checklist. He was fairly certain that he had not forgotten anything, although he was unsure of a few of the things he had remembered. He could always change his mind at the last minute, he thought. 

Minerva was anticipating a quiet birthday dinner for two in the Headmaster’s suite. He did have a quiet birthday dinner planned for her, though not in his suite—he had been planning it for two weeks, though she believed that it was a last-minute idea, that he had forgotten her birthday until the day before. He knew that at least one of his gifts was likely to be met with a less than happy response, but another of them … he hoped she would like it, but it might be in questionable taste. Well, it was in questionable taste. But he believed she would enjoy it. They had become freer with each other, though they didn’t have nearly as much time alone together as either of them would like. 

Albus looked over at the austere table service and smiled. She would certainly believe he had forgotten her birthday when she saw that, but she would be in for quite a surprise! She would likely even believe he had no gift for her, and although Minerva was far from being a materialistic witch, she would be hurt, he believed, if he didn’t have at least a token gift for her, some little present that let her know that he had thought of her. His smile broadened. He wouldn’t want to keep her disappointed for long, but he did want his surprise for her to have the greatest impact possible.

Minerva had agreed to attend dinner in the Great Hall that evening, but not actually eat very much and save her appetite for a late dinner with him. He had left dinner early, asking her to arrive in his suite at seven-thirty, and now, dressed in the starry robes she had given him for his birthday, he was waiting for her. He had uncorked a bottle of Syrah to allow it to breath. Now it was only a matter of her arrival. He hoped that Minerva wouldn’t become distracted or waylaid on her way up. He had enlisted the assistance of both Gertrude and Malcolm, so she should be on time.

He leaned back in his chair and remembered the astonishment he had felt when, a few weeks before, he had finally learned when it was that Minerva had fallen in love with him. He had tried to hide his shock, but he knew he hadn’t been entirely successful. The first thought that had sprung to his mind had been that it had been the accident itself that had caused her to believe herself to be in love with him, that she never had been, that it was some kind of an odd and unreproducible binding, and that she had only come to believe herself to be in love with him because the sudden influx of emotion had been so strong and she had been too young to understand it. His heart had clenched with the thought that her love for him might not be real.

In his shock, though, Albus had listened to Minerva as she spoke of the ways she had tried to rid herself of her crush, as she believed it to be or hoped that it was, and when she talked about going into the backroom of the Three Broomsticks to watch the old wizards playing gobstones and chess, and about all of her subsequent mental exercises, she had him laughing. 

“I know that I would have fallen in love with you, Albus, even if it hadn’t been for that accident,” she said, “but it was so sudden. To have gone from loving you and being slightly aware of you as a man—which awareness I was always trying to ignore, being a sensible girl—to suddenly being completely smitten with you, always intensely aware of your presence, and very afraid that you would learn of my feelings for you, it was very difficult for me. I was only seventeen years old, and even if you hadn’t been my teacher, I saw the gap between us as utterly unbridgeable. And at that time, it was. I had hope, though, that once I was away from school, my feelings would change, that I would outgrow them or redirect them toward someone more outwardly suitable, but that never happened. Even when I was with Rudolf, I was still in love with you. He asked me to marry him, and the very first thing to enter my mind was your face and the knowledge that I could not live married to another and never to see you.

“When I was far from you, it was as though there was a kind of shadow over me, even when I was with others, even as I enjoyed myself. It was as though there was something missing, something that I had forgotten or left behind. Like thinking one had forgotten to do something important, but unable to remember what it could have been, or believing one had left one’s wand somewhere. Just that sense of vague unease and of something missing or lost.”

“I am so sorry, Minerva, sorry for all of the years I kept a distance between us, and so very sorry for the pain you experienced, even if there was nothing I could have done about it.”

“It was not easy, but it was the way things were. You didn’t have an easy time of it, either, Albus.”

“No, but it was different for me. I am older, my life was more ordered. My experience was simply different from yours.”

“Yes, but then you had Valerianna,” Minerva pointed out.

“True, but that was poor judgment on my part, and certainly something I could have avoided or saved myself from if I hadn’t been so stubborn,” Albus said. He paused, thinking. “It must have been particularly difficult for you after Carson died. You were very upset with me, and I didn’t know how to fix it. I couldn’t. I could only focus on what I had to do, and I had no idea of your feelings. Which probably was not a bad thing, in retrospect, as it likely would have disquieted me, had I known at the time. I never would have wanted to hurt you, but out of love for you, I probably would have tried to distance myself. So I am glad that I did not know then.”

“It was difficult for me, Albus, to feel as though you were rejecting my friendship, as though you thought of me as still a child. I knew that I could not tell you how I felt, though. I thought I never could. The best I hoped for was a true friendship to develop between us. I actually did not even want to tell you now, to let you know how long ago I fell in love with you. It seems so improbable, I’m sure. I feared you might think me mad or obsessed.”

“I am simply surprised, my dear.” He kissed her cheek. “And I wish that you had not suffered as you did. But I suppose it is the way it was meant to be for you, although I do wish I had realised sooner, for both our sakes. Earlier this year—or perhaps even before you came to Hogwarts, although that may have been awkward.” He kissed her again. All of those other opportunities for her to fall in love, and those other fine wizards in her life, and yet she came back to him. Just as Wilspy had once said, his Professor Minerva always comes back to him. “I feel blessed that your love for me had been so steady. And I see now why you are so insistent that I believe you will never want to leave me. You can believe nothing else.” 

On reflection, Albus knew that it could not have been the accident that caused Minerva to love him; that had only been the catalyst of her awareness, and once aware, she was unable to return to her previous innocence. No wonder she had been so reluctant to resume her Animagus training with him—and why she had wondered about his Legilimency, as he later recalled. It saddened him to realise how difficult her feelings for him had been, and how long she had waited for him, even just for a deeper friendship with him. Yet he had maintained a certain distance from her, particularly after he had begun to fall in love with her himself. And when she came to Hogwarts to teach, he had increased that distance. He must have hurt her. He had known that he had, but now, realising that she had been waiting fifteen years for a true opportunity to become closer friends with him, only to see less of him than she had when they had lived so far apart—he could even more clearly understand why she had been so upset and angry that day in Poppy’s office.

Remembering that morning and what he had overheard reminded Albus of the first time they had made love, though they had both been too eager to take their time on that occasion. Their passionate needs and desires had overwhelmed them, though he had allowed Minerva to take control and do as she wished. He smiled, remembering how he had suggested that she “fuck Albus Dumbledore.” It hadn’t been the first time he had used that term in his lifetime, but it was a rare word to cross his lips, and he certainly had never thought he would be whispering it in Minerva’s ear. But it had excited her, and she had enthusiastically taken his suggestion. He hoped that the suggestion he had planned for that night would be met with as much enthusiasm. If not, it would be rather embarrassing for him, but not an insurmountable embarrassment. Besides, Minerva liked to have fun, to play, and she was fairly adventurous, though she kept that side of her carefully reserved for specific times and places. Otherwise, she was rather no-nonsense. The students were finding it difficult to believe that carefree and exuberant “Professor Malcolm” was really Professor McGonagall’s brother, though the two bore a clear physical family resemblance.

Once Quidditch season started the next weekend and the students saw how enthusiastically she supported her Gryffindors—though with a great deal of intensity, as well—they would see another side to her. But Transfiguration could be a dangerous discipline, and he appreciated Minerva’s control over her classes. Of course, Defence Against the Dark Arts was dangerous, as well, and Malcolm didn’t tolerate any fooling about, as a few of the students had learned to their displeasure and disappointment. His notions of discipline were as unconventional as his teaching methods, and the few detentions he had had to assign had been carefully crafted to teach the miscreants lessons and not simply to punish. As Malcolm had said with a grin, the dull and tedious detentions he had received as a student had only taught him not to get caught the next time, and the worse punishments had convinced him of its necessity. 

Albus felt the tingle from the gargoyle that indicated that Minerva was on her way up. He certainly hoped that it was Minerva. He did not want their evening interrupted. A few minutes later, however, he heard her tread on the stairs up to his suite, and he rose to open the door and greet her.

She had changed from her teaching garb into a pretty set of robes, the under-robe a mossy green with tartan insets, and the over-robe, a long tunic of darker green with rust-coloured trim. She was wearing her amber necklace and the amber earrings he had given her that summer.

“Oh, Minerva, my dear! You look lovely!” Albus said with a smile.

“Thank you. You do, as well, Albus,” Minerva replied, admiring the starry robes.

He took her hands and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “Your first birthday as a member of Hogwarts faculty and your first as Head of Gryffindor! The first of many, I hope!”

“Thank you for inviting me for dinner, Albus,” she said. “Since it fell on a Friday, I didn’t know if I would celebrate it at all. I thought perhaps drinks with a few people over the weekend.”

“That would be nice, too,” Albus said, nodding in agreement. “I am afraid that our dinner is delayed, but I thought we could have some wine while we wait.”

Minerva agreed and went to sit on the sofa. Albus poured their wine, just half filling each glass, and called her over to the table. She raised her eyebrow, but rose and joined him beside the set table. There were no flowers on it, she noticed, and not a hint of decoration anywhere. Still, it had been a last-minute invitation, and it had been a busy week for Albus, no doubt.

He handed her her glass of wine, then he raised his and toasted her. “Slàinte.”

Minerva smiled and nodded, raising the glass to her lips.

“Are you not going to return my toast, my dear?” Albus asked, extending his glass toward her.

Minerva touched her glass to his and said, “Slàinte Mhath.” At that moment, Albus raised his other hand and grasped her wrist. Minerva felt a disturbing jolt in the pit of her stomach. A moment later, following the uncomfortable sensation of Portkeying, Albus slipped his hand from her wrist to put his arm around her waist, supporting her.

“Happy Birthday, my darling Minerva. And I apologise for the abrupt departure!”

Minerva blinked and looked around her. They were in their island cottage, all of the candles and lamps were lit, the table was beautifully laid, crystal and silver sparkling, and there were flowers in every corner of the room. 

“Oh, Albus! It’s lovely! I thought you had forgotten!”

“How could I forget your birthday?” Albus asked with a grin. “I have planned it for a while now, but I wanted it to be a surprise. I enlisted Blampa’s assistance, and she gave Wilspy a packed bag for you. We will be here until Sunday morning, unless we are recalled by some emergency before then.”

“But my House, I have no arrangements—”

“You do not believe I would leave that detail unattended, do you? Malcolm will be staying in your rooms tonight and tomorrow night—I do hope you don’t mind, my dear, but that seemed most sensible—and Gertrude will be available in my stead. Everything at Hogwarts should run quite smoothly without us for a day,” Albus told her.

“But Gryffindor has the Quidditch pitch reserved for practice tomorrow. I thought I would be there—”

“If you truly wish to return for that, of course you may,” Albus said.

“No, no … they will do fine without my presence, I’m sure,” Minerva said quickly. Whatever possessed her to even mention that, she didn’t know. Just the surprise to realise that all of her plans for the weekend were suddenly changed.

Minerva’s wine had spilled during their journey, despite the glass being only half-filled, but Albus waved his wand, and the red wine stain on the front of her robes disappeared. As he had been aware of the pending Portkey, his own wine hadn’t spilled, but he opened another bottle for them both and refilled Minerva’s glass.

“Happy Birthday, Minerva!” he said, raising his glass. “I was hoping to be able to surprise you at least half as well as you surprised me this summer.”

“I was very surprised,” Minerva replied smiling happily. “And this is a wonderful present. The best you could give me. All of this time to ourselves!”

Albus put his glass down and took Minerva’s from her and set it down next to his. “It’s not just the time to ourselves, you know, Minerva … although I must start our celebration properly.”

He caressed her cheek as he put one arm around her waist and drew her closer to him. He looked down into her eyes and said, “Happy birthday, and thank you, my dear, for sharing your life with me. I am very, very lucky.”

Albus bent his head and kissed her softly, Minerva’s arms tightening around him. Albus broke the kiss, then placed his lips lightly on her forehead before saying, “As much as I would like to prolong this moment, our main course is fish, and although Wilspy’s charms are holding it nicely, I would like your birthday dinner to be served at its best.”

He held her chair for her, then went into the kitchen and brought out their entrees.

“It looks lovely, Albus.”

“I am sorry that I did not prepare it myself, but I hope you will enjoy it. It is haddock broiled with lime, olive oil, garlic, and crushed fennel seed, truffle risotto, and Swiss chard sauteed with malt vinegar and toasted walnuts, with,” he said, producing a block of blue-veined cheese, “Stilton to crumble over the top of the greens.”

“It all smells wonderful!” Minerva said.

Albus opened a bottle of Chardonnay and poured it into new glasses, banishing their used ones to the kitchen, then sat across from her and raised his glass.

“To you, Minerva! Happy Birthday and Many Happy Returns!”

“Thank you, Albus,” Minerva said, “and I look forward to spending many more birthdays with you.”

After their meal, Albus brought out a cake; it was a moist chocolate cake filled with a rich vanilla custard and drizzled with both dark chocolate and white icing, a circle of lit red and gold candles around the perimeter. Albus smiled, then sang “Happy Birthday” to her, recalling the surprise birthday dinner that Minerva had prepared for him and the way that she had sung to him.

“And now, blow out your candles, my dear!”

Minerva took in a breath, then paused. She looked up at Albus. “I don’t know what to wish for! I have all I could possibly want.”

“And may it always continue so, my love,” Albus said softly, his eyes shining in the candlelight.

Minerva laughed and blew out all the candles in one go. “How many are there? Not thirty-three.”

“No, it was the number that fit comfortably around the cake and looked the prettiest,” Albus said. “I hope that is all right with you! I still remember that each of the candles on my cake had a specific meaning—these all signify simply that I love you.”

“That is all I need,” Minerva replied with a smile.

“Now, my dear,” Albus said as they finished the cake, “I have a few little presents for you. I have a sense you may not like the first one, but it was important to me.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheaf of parchments tied in a red ribbon and handed them to Minerva. “This is for you to look at tonight, then I will return it to safe-keeping.”

Puzzled, Minerva untied the ribbon and unfolded the parchments. One look at the first words on the first page, and she set them down on the table and looked up at him, a slight frown on her face. “Why must you bring up such a subject tonight?”

“I have no intention of expiring any time soon, but one never knows what accident may befall any of us. It was important to me to do this for you,” Albus replied.

“Do I have to read it tonight?”

“No, there is no need for you to read it at all. Simply know that if I should die, other than a few specific bequests, all of my property passes to you. Wilspy will return to my brother, unless he agrees to allow me to have her pass with my estate. I have not approached him about that, and it is something that can be added later by codicil,” Albus said.

“Everything?” Minerva said.

“It is not as much as it may seem, put like that, but I did specify all real property, both within and outside of Britain, so that although this island is not recorded anywhere, if there is ever any dispute as to your right to it—though there should be none, and your control over the blood wards should ensure that—this will confirm my wishes.”

“But what of Aberforth?”

“He had half of my mother’s estate and a sizable bequest from my Uncle Christopher and another when our Aunt Beatrice died, and the cottage in the Dales is without any mortgage. I have left him a few very specific family items. There is also a specific bequest to Gertrude, and a few other small items to some other old friends, as well as a small gift to St. Mungo’s. I am sure that as time goes on, I will change some of the specific bequests, but the bulk and residue of my estate, modest though it may be, shall pass to you as primary beneficiary.”

Minerva was silent for a moment. “Thank you, Albus. I am not certain whether this is precisely a birthday present, but I do appreciate the thought.”

“Good! Now that that is taken care of, I wish to give you your next gift, a happier one, I hope,” he said, reaching into his pocket again, this time pulling out a small box wrapped in gold paper tied with a green tartan ribbon.

Minerva unwrapped the present, carefully releasing the Sticking Charms and placing the paper and ribbon on the table beside her plate. She opened the small hinged box and took in a sharp breath. 

“It’s beautiful, Albus,” she said softly, removing the opal brooch from its box and looking at it in the candlelight, admiring the play of colour within its depths.

“I thought as it’s your birthstone … and I thought that one was particularly pretty,” Albus replied.

“It is. It’s one of the nicest opals I’ve seen—and quite large, too,” she said, smiling as she touched the oval stone’s smooth surface. The brooch was a single large black opal in a gold setting, a narrow band of gold surrounded by a narrow band of mother-of-pearl, and then another band of gold. “I like the setting. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“I thought it might be something you could wear with your teaching robes, if you like.”

“I will, most certainly.” Minerva rose and bent to kiss his cheek. “It is wonderful. Truly beautiful. Thank you, Albus. And I do appreciate the first present, as well, you know. I just was surprised, particularly by the timing. It was nothing I would have expected or even thought of.”

“There is one more present, but that is for later, upstairs,” Albus said, smiling, but blushing as well. 

Minerva thought it quite cute that he might still blush at the thought of making love with her, and she bent and kissed his lips tenderly. “I hope it is not too much later. It has been a long week, after all. Perhaps … early to bed?”

“That would be very nice, although I have some Madeira I thought we might share, and I brought the music box—or Wilspy brought it on ahead, I should say. I thought a drink, a dance, a snuggle by the fire … we could even keep the next part of your present for tomorrow.” He grinned up at her. “I want you well-rested for it!”

“But it’s been days since we’ve made love—” Minerva began, ready to say she wasn’t at all too tired for that.

“Oh, I most certainly think that our snuggle might lead to more than a snuggle. It’s just that your next gift … it’s a bit _different_ ,” Albus explained. “Can I keep you in suspense a while longer, my dear?”

“Well, as you have done very well with your surprises so far, if you think we should wait for the next one, I will try not to be too terribly impatient! And I do think that the rest of your plan for the evening sounds lovely,” Minerva replied.

“We shall see how the evening proceeds, then,” Albus said, “and whether I can wait, too!”

Albus stood, kissed Minerva, then walked over to the fireplace. After lighting a fire in the grate with just a flick of his finger, he raised the lid of the musical box, which Wilspy had set on the chimneypiece. Minerva smiled to hear “In the Mood” emitting from the Charmed box.

“So that is why you borrowed it last week—you sly old phoenix!” Minerva exclaimed. Albus had claimed that he was having trouble sleeping without her on those nights he spent in the Headmaster’s suite, and he thought that listening to restful music might help him. He obviously had borrowed it in order to have more music added to its charms—music he knew she enjoyed dancing to.

“I didn’t lie to you, my dear! I _was_ having trouble sleeping without you, and listening to soothing music might have been helpful. I never said I was actually going to take advantage of it,” he replied with a grin.

“You should be a Slytherin, Albus!”

Albus laughed. “I will take that as a compliment—though I think that Gertrude would say that I lack the subtlety of a true Slytherin.” He held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

Minerva took his hand. “You may. In fact, I believe my dance card may have a few openings on it this evening.”

He smiled. “I believe I should like to reserve every one of them, my dear.”

After dancing to several Big Band numbers and then snuggling on the couch, each with a glass of Madeira to sip, Albus’s kisses and caresses became more ardent, and finally, as he began to bare her breasts to his touch, he whispered, “Let’s go up to bed now, shall we?”

Minerva agreed quite happily, and laughed as he picked her up in his arms. She kissed his cheek, then said with a smile, “You needn’t carry me, Albus! I am not that tired, nor have I had very much to drink.”

“Indulge me, my dearest,” Albus said as he carried her around the sofa.

“But if you hurt your back, we may find our little holiday somewhat less enjoyable—you, in particular,” Minerva replied.

“Oh, I believe I can manage.” He grinned puckishly. “Provided, of course, that you do watch your diet!”

“Albus Dumbledore! Are you suggesting that I am anything less than fit?”

“No more so than you are implying that about me, my dear!” he replied with a chuckle. “You do know I find you to be perfection itself.”

“Mmm … yes, I do, and I know that you were teasing, but your back—”

“Is fine,” Albus said as he started up the stairs. “And if it weren’t, that would simply mean that I could put myself in your hands for some tender loving care, and I am sure that your care would be very loving, indeed! There are certain activities that are very nice when I am lying flat on my back, after all.”

“Yes, there are. Perhaps we should practise them,” Minerva said, her eyes sparkling.

“An excellent suggestion,” Albus replied. He waved his hand and the bedroom door opened, the lamps lighting as it did.

As he carried her into the room, Minerva’s gaze moved from his face to the room, and her eyes widened. “The bed! You added the headboard and footboard.”

“Yes, I did. More correctly, I had Wilspy do it. I know that we won’t be here long this visit, Minerva, but I thought it might be time to begin creating those new memories you spoke of,” Albus replied. “Would you help me with that?”

Minerva smiled. “It will be my pleasure, Albus.”

“They already look completely different here in this room, which now reminds me so much of you. On Sunday after my lunch with Aberforth, I popped over very briefly to see them when Wilspy was finished, and they seemed changed simply by being in the room with the bed in which we had made love,” Albus said, setting Minerva down to sit on the bed.

“The room seems cosier with the bed matching the rest of the furniture, too,” Minerva said. “And the flowers are beautiful.” There were roses on Minerva’s vanity, a smaller bouquet of mixed flowers on the dresser, and a very large, colourful arrangement on the bench beside the wardrobe.

“Wilspy brought those over early this morning immediately after I had arranged them and put a freshness charm on them.” He gazed down into her eyes. “I wanted your birthday to be special, this one particularly so, as it was the first we will celebrate together—truly together.”

“It has been very special, Albus, especially since we were able to come here to the island for it—and that was a surprise, not only that we were having dinner here and staying the night, but that you had made arrangements for us to be away until Sunday. That is a wonderful gift,” Minerva said as she raised his hands to kiss each one. “Thank you, Albus.”

“Do you know what else today is, my dear?”

“The first Friday of October,” Minerva replied. “Other than that, no, I can’t think what it might be.”

“It is three months to the day that I discovered how unhappy you were with me, when I heard you complain to Poppy about my behaviour toward you.”

“Is it really? Somehow, it seems much longer ago than that. So much has happened in the meantime.” She smiled up at him. “So much has changed between us.”

“Indeed.” Albus caressed her face. “You were very angry with me that day. Quite rightly so.” He brushed his lips over her forehead. “I had provoked you terribly.” He kissed her cheek. “I remember quite well how shocked I was to hear you, to hear what you said.” His hands were at her breasts, parting her robes, and his lips moved over hers, pulling her lower lip between them. “And then later,” he whispered, moving his mouth over to her ear as his thumbs caressed her nipples, “later, those same words became very exciting.” His tongue traced the outline of her ear. “So exciting to think of you fucking Albus Dumbledore.”

Minerva had begun to unfasten the front of his robes, and now her hand had found his cock, fully erect, and her arousal grew. 

“Oh, gods, Albus, I want you now, now,” she gasped as he began to kiss her throat.

“Mmm. But do you remember what else you said that morning?” he asked as he drew back to look down at her face. “And do you remember what I told you when I explained why I was late? About Aberforth’s potion?”

Minerva nodded, unsure why he was digressing into irrelevancy. She wanted to make love to him, not rehash their misunderstanding. It had been cleared up and was over.

“I also mentioned another potion of Aberforth’s, one made with powdered goat-horn that had some unfortunate side-effects.” He caressed her face. He had already gone so far, he thought, he would continue and see what her reaction was. “He never could seem to counteract that side-effect, and it was one that seemed quite undesirable.” Albus cleared his throat. “I took a little time over the last couple of weeks and tinkered with his formula. I have preserved the primary side-effect while eliminating any of the potion’s other effects.”

Minerva furrowed her brow. “Why on earth would you want to do that?” She tried to remember what he had said about the failed potion. Something to do with a wizard’s vitality, but she had scarcely been in a state at the time to make note of precisely what he had said about the potion.

Albus stepped back away from her. He bent and removed his shoes and socks, then he sent his robes sailing across the room to fold themselves over the back of the rocking chair.

Minerva licked her lips. “You look gorgeous, Albus,” she said as her eye travelled over his body. “Absolutely edible.”

Albus smiled, blushing. “I hope you always find me so, my dear. My final surprise for you, for your birthday.” He took a deep breath. “I will let you see it for yourself.”

He walked over to the dresser and picked up a small brown bottle. He uncorked it. 

“Do you remember what else you said, Minerva? You said, fuck Albus Dumbledore, and his stupid beard, too. You have done the first.” He grinned slightly. “Very well, too. And here is your surprise.”

Albus lifted the bottle to his lips and drank down the potion. Minerva blinked. The hair of his beard was coming together, seemingly moulded by an unseen force. She blinked again. His beard was now an erect phallus jutting out from his chin. It was bizarre. Minerva’s eyes moved from Albus’s erect penis to the phallus that had once been his beard—or still was his beard, she supposed. Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t say anything.

Albus reddened. “It was an idea. Something that popped into my mind some time ago. It was foolish of me. I knew it was in questionable taste. It’s something that is better remaining a fantasy.” He reached behind him for another bottle. “I have an antidote—”

“No, no, don’t.” Minerva stood and approached Albus. “It is very odd and it was definitely a surprise.” She reached out and touched the beard phallus. It was firm but not hard, somewhat spongy when she squeezed it experimentally. She looked up at him. “Can you feel that?”

“No. It is still just like my beard. Originally, the side-effect did this and it created a number of, um, similar protuberances from the head, as well. I eliminated the others,” Albus said.

“It looks just like your erection,” Minerva said, though when she looked down, she saw that his erection had flagged with his uncertainty and nervousness. She looked up and her eyes met his. “You want me to fuck your beard.”

“If you want to, but only if you want to.”

“Wouldn’t I hurt you?” Minerva asked, thinking about riding his phallus energetically and wondering if it wouldn’t hurt his neck or head. The thought of riding it made her throbbing grow, however.

“I have thought of that,” Albus replied. “A couple of charms, including one on my pillow, and I should be fine.” He swallowed. “Do you want to fuck my beard, Minerva?”

“But what about you? If you can’t feel anything, it might be unpleasant.”

“Thinking about it excites me,” Albus said in a low voice, “and thinking about what my tongue could be doing while you fucked my beard, that does too. Quite a nice position for bringing you two of your favourite pleasures at the same time. And you know how I like to watch you come when I lick you.” He smiled as he saw Minerva’s growing excitement, her skin flushing and her eyes darkening. He began to finish opening her robes. “I love to see you come, to see you lose control to your pleasure, and I love it when you come with a gush and I can drink from you.” Her robes were open. He slipped his hand into the crotch of her knickers. “You are very wet and ready.”

Minerva shrugged off her robes and stepped out of them and her shoes at the same time. She quickly removed her knickers, and Albus reached out and began to rub her clit with one finger as she dropped her chemise to the floor. 

“I want to fuck your beard, Albus Dumbledore,” Minerva said, reaching out and taking hold of his cock. “But I want to fuck you properly, too.”

“I am sure you have the stamina to do both if you wish,” Albus said with a grin.

“Isn’t there any way that you could have your cock feel what I’m doing to your beard?” Minerva asked.

Albus thought a moment, then he nodded. “Yes, I can think of a spell that I can use to transfer the effect from my beard to my penis. If I do that, I will want to use the other spell, too.”

“Mmm, yes, do that. Not only do I have the stamina, Albus, but I do think that I may be almost insatiable tonight, and I want to feast on you.” She reached out and touched his beard and laughed. “I must say, though, that this is rather an obstacle to kissing you.”

“Then allow me to kiss you,” Albus said, taking her hands and pulling her toward the bed. “Let me kiss you where you enjoy it so much.”

Albus took his penis in his hand and cast two spells in quick succession.

“Now, stroke my beard, Minerva.”

With one tentative finger, she stroked the side of his beard, ending at the tip of the phallus, then circling it. Albus closed his eyes and nodded.

“The spell worked,” he said. “That was very interesting.”

Albus lay down in the centre of the bed. He adjusted a pillow under his head and muttered another spell.

Minerva looked down at him and stroked his beard again. “I am still afraid of hurting you,” she said.

“I will stop you if you do, but I am sure it will be fine,” Albus said. “Fuck my beard, Minerva. Just fuck me hard.”

Minerva sat beside him uncertainly.

“Just straddle me as you normally would and hold onto the headboard, then ride me and take your pleasure.”

Minerva did as he suggested, holding onto the headboard with one hand. With some nervousness, she took hold of the phallus and guided it into her as she slowly lowered herself. She looked down and saw Albus’s bright eyes. She took the entire phallus into her vagina and moaned as she felt Albus’s tongue flick out.

“Oh, gods, Albus,” she said with a gasp, wanting to move on him, but wanting also to feel his tongue pleasuring her clitoris as the phallus filled her. 

She compromised by rocking slightly back and forth, meeting his tongue as the phallus shifted with her movement. Soon, she could not restrain herself, and she began to raise and lower herself on the phallus, meeting his tongue on each downstroke, grasping the headboard with both hands. She looked down into his face, and he seemed to be in no hurry for her to stop. His hands were on her buttocks, providing her with some guidance and squeezing in time with her movement on his face. She began to move back and forth over his tongue, the phallus stimulating her inside as his tongue pleasured her clit. 

Albus gripped her buttocks harder, and he muttered, “Talk, talk, Minerva,” then his words were lost in her folds.

“Fuck Dumbledore’s beard, you said,” Minerva said breathlessly, “so I’m fucking your beard. You know I love to fuck your cock. And you like it when I do, I know you like it. You probably think about it all the time, how I want you and how I want to fuck you and your gorgeous cock. You like thinking about teasing me, driving me mad with desire, and now I need you so much, I’m fucking your beard as you lick me. Such a naughty wizard, wanting me to fuck your beard, making me want to fuck your beard!” Minerva’s voice had become more breathless as she spoke, riding him harder and faster, and now she let out a long cry as she began to come with a gush. “Gods, yes, Albus, I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Albus held her still and lapped at her as she came in his mouth.

Minerva rested her head against her forearm, leaning against the wall above the headboard as she tried to catch her breath. She heard Albus try to say something, so she shifted slightly.

“More, Minerva, more.”

“You want more?” Minerva pushed back from the wall and looked down at his smiling eyes.

“Once isn’t enough with that spell you had me cast,” he said, his words whispering against her sensitive clitoris.

Minerva smirked. “I can give you more if you really think you can take it, Dumbledore.”

“Test me.”

She began to rise up, but then she stopped. “Would it hurt you if I were to face the other direction?”

“No, don’t think so,” came the mumbled reply. It was difficult to speak when he couldn’t properly move his jaw.

“Stop me if it’s uncomfortable.”

Minerva turned, keeping the beard phallus inside her. She flexed her vagina around it and was pleased to see Albus’s penis twitch in response. She lowered her head, closing her mouth around the head of his cock and then slowly taking him more deeply into her, all the while flexing her muscles around the phallus. She sucked and licked and swallowed around him, continuing to tighten and relax her vagina around the phallus. She could hear Albus gasping, then his grip on her legs tightened, and she could feel his cock pulsing in her mouth as she swallowed around him, cupping his balls in one hand.

Albus hadn’t released the spell on his penis creating a dry orgasm, and his cock was still erect when Minerva sat up and licked her lips. She felt his hands on her thighs, urging her off him, and she carefully slid off of the phallus and sat to one side.

Albus Summoned the antidote from the dresser and caught it with his right hand. He pushed up on one elbow and blinked at the bottle. Minerva smiled and took the bottle from him, uncorked it, then handed it back. Albus swallowed the potion, making a face.

Minerva watched as his beard slowly returned to its normal state, though somewhat tangled and rather damp. She Summoned her wand and it flew to her from the pocket of her robes. A quick wave, and his beard was clean, fluffy, and tangle-free. She set her wand on the night stand and lay down beside him, one hand around his erection.

Minerva kissed Albus’s cheek. “That was very interesting, but we still have this,” she said, squeezing his cock.

“I didn’t think to release the spell. I was somewhat distracted—more so than usual,” Albus said somewhat apologetically.

“I am actually glad,” Minerva replied with a grin, stroking his penis. “I told you I was insatiable tonight.”

He turned his head and kissed her lips, rolling over onto his side and putting an arm around her. He pulled her close, and Minerva relished the sensation of his beard against her breasts. She put her left leg over his hips, shifting so that she could rub the head of his cock against her folds and stimulate her clitoris.

Albus moaned slightly into her mouth then broke away to take a breath. “You _are_ insatiable tonight.” 

His hand slid from her back to her buttocks and then his fingers sought her crux. His hand met hers still encircling his cock.

“I know what you want, Professor McGonagall. You want my cock in here.” He slid a finger inside her. “That’s what you want, isn’t it, Professor? You want to fuck the Headmaster’s cock.”

“I want to fuck your cock?” Minerva asked as she stroked him and rubbed him against her clitoris. “I think that’s what you want. You want me to fuck you and you want me to make you come. You want to feel me surrounding your cock when you come. But before you can have that, you need to admit it, admit that you want me to fuck you. You want me to take you, you want me to want you, and you want me to fuck you. You would love to have me beg to fuck you, wouldn’t you, Dumbledore?” She continued rubbing the head of his cock against her as she began to rock her hips.

Albus withdrew his finger, but then inserted two, letting Minerva’s movements control her stimulation.

“I know you want me, Professor. I have my fingers up you and I can feel how much you want me.” 

Minerva closed her eyes and gasped as she began to come, rubbing herself more firmly against his penis. Albus, recognising her orgasm, began to thrust his fingers inside of her.

“Yes, come, come for me, come, yes, come,” he murmured.

Minerva shuddered as her orgasm burst through her. “Gods, Albus, so good, so good!”

She kissed him hard, drawing his tongue into her mouth, swirling it with her own, then sucking it lightly before breaking away to gasp. She slid the head of Albus’s cock from her clitoris into her entrance, but only the head, keeping her hand around him.

“Tell me what you want, Dumbledore, tell me,” Minerva said, moving her hips so that the head of his cock entered and exited shallowly. She rocked and squeezed her fist in rhythm. “Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck Albus Dumbledore,” he said hoarsely.

“What do you want?” she asked, continuing her slow movement over the head of his cock.

“Gods, fuck me,” he said with a moan.

“With pleasure,” she replied, letting go of his penis as she slid over him.

She rolled Albus onto his back and began to move back and forth on his cock. Albus ran his hands up her sides, reaching for her breasts, and she bent so that he could fondle her breasts as she rode him.

“I’m going to come, Minerva, I’m going to come,” he gasped. “Do you want me to release the spell?”

“Not yet, not yet, you said I was insatiable, and I am not sated,” she said, watching his face as his orgasm overcame him.

She lay flat on top of him, closing her legs. For his comfort, she remained still, though she did flex her vagina around him. He didn’t require any recovery time, as such, since the spell kept him from losing his erection, but she had the sense that even with the spell, he was highly sensitive immediately after his orgasm and would appreciate a moment’s rest.

Albus spread his legs and bent his knees so that Minerva was lying with her legs between his, his cock held tightly inside her. Minerva pushed up on her hands, looking down at him. His eyes were closed.

“I love you, Albus,” she whispered. “In every way, so very much.”

He looked up at her and smiled, then he raised his hand and caressed her cheek. “I love you, too.” He paused with his hand cupping her face. “I cannot express how much I love you.”

“Show me. Show me some of your love,” Minerva said.

Albus drew her down into a kiss as he rolled them onto their sides. He straightened his outer leg as she raised hers and put it over his hip. As he kissed her, he began to move, gently at first, then with more vigour until he finally rolled Minerva onto her back. He urged her to bend her legs and raise her knees to her chest as he pumped harder and faster. He brought one of his hands to her buttocks and lifted her, uttering a spell that placed a cushion of air beneath her hips. He thrust his cock into her and withdrew, thrust and withdrew, thrust and withdrew. One hand caressed her stomach then moved to fondle her clitoris. 

“That’s good, Albus, that is so good,” Minerva said, moaning and rocking her hips to meet his pumping cock.

She raised one leg and placed an ankle on his shoulder, twisting slightly and moaning as his cock repeatedly hit her sweet spot and his thumb flicked her clitoris. Albus watched Minerva’s face as her eyes closed and her mouth opened, gasping as she began to come.

“Gods, yes, Albus, yes, yes!” Her words became unintelligible moans as throbbing warmth and electric pleasure pulsed through her body. Tears came to her eyes as her orgasm went on and on and she felt for a moment as though she had fallen into an eternity of ecstasy. 

As Minerva peaked, Albus ended the spell on himself, and after a few more thrusts, he gasped as he began to come, this time his orgasm accompanied by a powerful ejaculation. He held himself still as his cock pulsed and he released deep inside her. 

Minerva stretched her legs out, and Albus slowly lowered himself to lie on top of her, cancelling the cushioning spell beneath her hips as he did so. He let out a long sigh. Minerva gently caressed his back.

“Mmm,” she sighed. “I love having you lie like this, to feel your weight on me. Don’t know why, but I do.”

“I always think I’m too heavy,” Albus said sleepily, “but I like it too. You’re warm and soft. And it’s nice to stay inside of you for a while.” He turned his head and kissed her cheek.

“I think I will sleep very well tonight,” Minerva said with a yawn, “and we certainly did make good use of our uninterrupted privacy.”

“Happy birthday, Minerva, my love.”

“Thank you, Albus, and thank you for all of my surprises. It has been a wonderful birthday, especially since I thought you had forgotten it and we were only having a simple dinner in your suite.”

“I almost didn’t go through with the final surprise. It seemed in very questionable taste. And I thought that if you didn’t like it, I would seem … disgusting, I suppose.”

Minerva chuckled. “It was very bizarre to look at, and a very strange idea at first, but even if I hadn’t wanted to take advantage of your offer, I wouldn’t have found you disgusting.” She gave him a squeeze. “You’re far too sexy to be disgusting. Besides, we said we would be honest and open with each other. I’d like to think that if I ever have an idea that you think is better remaining a fantasy, that you would just say so and not find me disgusting.”

“That is the point of being open with each other, isn’t it,” Albus agreed with a nod. He raised up on one hand and looked down into her face. “Are you hungry? Or thirsty?”

“May I gather that you are?”

He grinned. “Dinner _was_ quite a while ago, and we’ve been rather active. All that dancing,” he said with a wink. “I could get us a snack.”

“Let’s do it together,” Minerva suggested.

“All right,” Albus said, pecking her on the cheek before rolling off.

He Summoned his wand and cast a cleaning and freshening spell on each of them, then he got up and padded over to the wardrobe.

“Here you are,” he said, handing Minerva her dressing gown. “And there should be slippers here, too.”

“My green dressing gown,” Minerva remarked.

“Yes, I hope that one is acceptable,” Albus said. “I didn’t think you would need anything warmer, and I like that one on you, so I asked that they pack it for you. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, I’m just surprised,” she said as she stood, slipped on the dressing gown, and pushed her feet into the slippers Albus had found for her.

“I told you before that I liked it on you, and I meant it.” He walked over to her, his own dressing gown draped loosely around him. “Later, I will give you a full demonstration of a few of the reasons I like it on you, but it brings out the colour of your eyes, and,” he added, “I can do this.”

He slipped his hands into the front of the robe and ran them down over her breasts, the dressing gown parting as he moved his hands lower, the sash loosening when he reached her waist. Albus smiled and leaned forward to kiss her lightly. 

“As I said, I will give you a more complete demonstration of this robe’s virtues later,” he said. “Now, time for that snack!”

Minerva grinned at him as they walked down the stairs. “I am looking forward to that complete demonstration, Albus, so make it a hearty snack!”

“I certainly will, and I might even be able to demonstrate a few of its virtues as we fortify ourselves, if you are adventurous enough!”

“With you, always, Albus,” Minerva said. “I love adventures with you.”

Albus turned at the foot of the stairs and reached for her, putting his arms through the wide, floaty sleeves of her dressing gown. She felt his hands on her shoulders as he drew her towards him.

“This is just the beginning, my dear,” he murmured before kissing her, “just the beginning of a long and wonderful adventure together.”

_~The End~_

**Author's Note:**

>  _Resolving a Misunderstanding_ was voted first place in the HP Fanfic Fan Poll Awards Spring/Summer 2013 round for favorite Minerva McGonagall Legacy Fic.
> 
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